“In a moment, General,” responded the Adjutant, hastening to the doorway as the tread of feet sounded again in the hallway.  Dismissing the two privates who had arrived with Uncle Billy between them he led the old man down to the desk and left him there, bowing and scraping a little and holding his hat in front of him in both hands.

“Wan’ see me, suh?” ventured Uncle Billy, intruding delicately on the General’s calculations.  “Here I is!”

General Grant looked up quickly and ran his eye over the old man.

“Your name!”

“Er—­William Lewis, seh.  Yas, seh.”

“To whom do you belong?”

Although Uncle Billy’s back was not particularly straight this sudden question introduced a stiffening into it which made it more upright than it had been in years.

“I b’longs to Cap’n Hubbert Cary, seh—­of de Confed’it Army.  Das who I b’longs to.  Yas, seh.”

The General sat back a little in his chair and studied Uncle Billy.  He saw that after all the old negro was simply a natural slave—­that he probably had no other thought in his grayed head than that of faithful service to his owner.  But he would try him and see how far the old man would go.

“I understand,” he said, “that freedom has been offered you—­and you refused it.  Is this true?”

“Yas, seh.”

“Why?” asked the General quietly.

Uncle Billy stammered.

“Well—­er—­well, ‘skuse me, Mars’ Gen’l, but—­but down whar I lives at de—­de white gent’men understands a nigger better’n what you-all does.  Yas, seh.”

General Grant may have smiled internally, but the only symptom of amusement was the dry note in his voice.

“I see.  But there has been some difference of opinion on the point.”

He paused and then pointed past Uncle Billy directly at Morrison.  “Do you know that man?”

“Me?” said Uncle Billy.  He turned and saw Morrison and instantly his face lighted up.  It made no difference to the old negro that Morrison’s uniform was mutilated—­he could only see the familiar features of one who had treated his dead mistress with perfect respect under trying circumstances.

“Aw, yas, seh,” he broke out, with a broad grin.  “How you does, Cun’l.  I clar to—­”

Uncle Billy stopped.  His eyes had gone beyond Morrison to the man sitting beside him and at the sight of that loved figure the old man began to tremble.  His voice lowered to a whisper and he began to totter forward.

“Mars’ Cary!” he said, as if he were looking on one risen from the dead.  He came a little nearer, with his hand stretched out as if to touch him testingly—­then suddenly dropped down on his knees before Gary who had risen from his chair.  “Bless Gawd, I done fin’ you,” he sobbed, his face buried in his toaster’s coat.  “I done fin’ you at last.”

The General frowned.

“Forbes,” he ordered.  “Put a stop to that.  Bring him back!”