" he said to some one holding the glass to his lips, but did
not open his eyes. He was very tired.

"G. W. is coming around all right," said a grave, quiet voice. "Plenty
of nourishment, nurse,--all that you can get for him. That boy mustn't
slip through our fingers." The boy heard, but he did not stir.

A new voice broke in upon the strange calm. "Can't you speak to me, my
child?"

The simple question sent a thrill through the faithful heart. G. W.
faintly unclosed his eyes. He must see who was speaking in that dear,
dear voice.

"Colonel!" he whispered. "Oh! my Colonel!"

Then G. W.'s eyes opened wide. On the pillow of the bed next his
own--for they were both lying in the tent hospital--he saw the face of
Colonel Austin. The one face in the world that G. W. longed to see, and
the one that he had dreamed and dreamed and dreamed was gone forever!

Little G. W. opened his lips with a gasp and an effort to speak. But
memory rushed upon him. In that glance of recognition he remembered what
he had done.

"I done broke my word, Colonel!" was what he said. Two slow tears rolled
down the dusky cheeks.

"Yes, G. W."

"An' I follered you, Colonel, like you tole me not to."

"I know it--thank God!"

If poor little G. W. had not been so weak he would have sprung up; he
tried to, but fell limply back.

"G. W., my child," said the Colonel, moving a little nearer, "if you had
not disobeyed and come after me I would not have been here. You took
your orders from some one higher in command, G. W. We're going home
soon, going home together. Do you know what I am saying, G. W.? Just as
soon as we can travel we are going up North together to the Boy and his
Mother!"

Things happened for dear little G. W. in snatches after that.
Pain-filled pauses and unconscious lapses and short, sudden, sharp
throbs of happiness, made up life.

The Colonel gained his strength far sooner than G. W. He could have
travelled, but he would not leave his little comrade. "I'll stay by the
little chap until the end, or I'll take him home with me," he said to
the doctor who urged his departure. "I'll never desert him."

The "end" did not come to G. W., however. All at once he began to mend.
White and weak, his eyes too large for his face, for fever had worn him
to a shadow, Colonel Austin sat beside his bed retelling the old
hero-stories, while G. W. smiled with closed eyes. Sometimes the boy
roused and asked a series of questions.

"When is