ro is, my
boy?"

George Washington drew his ragged coat about him with a gesture of
patient pity, then answered with a slow, pained dignity. "Co'se I knows
what a hero is, sah. How could I know dat I wanted ter be one if I
didn't? A hero is a pusson, sah, what ain't afraid to tackle a job too
big fur other folks, an' goes right froo wid it or dies a-doin' it!"

Something in the quiet words drove all desire to laugh for good and all
from the listening officer. "I have a character on my hands, evidently,"
he thought; aloud he said, "George Washington McKinley Jones, I presume
you haven't any particular job in heroism in sight at present?"

"No, sah. I jes' wants to go 'long wid de boys, an' watch out fur my
chance. Mammy done tole me heaps ob times dat if I jes' was wid sojers,
I was boun'ter be a hero some day, shore. She 'lowed she had visions."

"You shall have your chance, comrade!" The Colonel got up and took the
thin little hand in his. "If you have told me the truth, my boy, I will
take you along with my regiment and give you a show." He called to an
officer who was passing the tent. "Martin!"

The man stopped and touched his cap.

"Martin, we have a young volunteer here. He's no common soldier, please
understand; he's enlisted as a hero. Feed him up, give him all that he
can hold, and let him report to me later."

Lieutenant Martin's face never changed expression; he simply held out
his hand gravely to George Washington McKinley Jones, saluted his
superior officer, and led the volunteer out of the tent.

While George Washington ate, solemnly and long, investigations were made
as to the truth of his story. Colonel Austin made them himself. He
wished to make sure, for his sympathy was deeply enlisted, and he did
not intend to be deceived. He found the little fellow had not departed
from the facts in the least particular. He belonged to nobody; but every
one who knew him had a kindly word for him. He was known as an honest,
good-natured little waif, with a reputation for hitting the bull's-eye
every time any one would lend him a gun at a rifle-match.

Upon the evidence gathered the boy was taken into the army as the
"mascot of the Ninth," and before long he was the pet of the men in that
city of white tents, and became known as "G. W.," for who in that hot,
lazy place could waste time in calling him all of his various historical
national names? It was "G. W." here and "G. W." there. He danced for
them and s