“You heard that?” almost moaned the listener.  “My God! could they plan such a cowardly thing?”

“Aye, sir.  I am thinking they can.  I would warn the General if I could, but you may be luckier.  The men said Lord Howe desired the death of every rebel.”

“May heaven forgive him!” The words fell sadly from the strong lips.

“And now,” again Andy took the lead, “do not speak as we pass here.  It is the spot where they shot our pastor’s boy, only two days ago.  I fear the place.  A few rods beyond, we will again strike the thicket, and be under cover until we reach the river.”

The solemn quiet that precedes a hot summer dawn surrounded the man and boy.  The red band broadened in the east.  The birds, fearing neither friend nor foe, began to challenge the stillness with their glad notes, and so guide and follower passed the gruesome place where young Sam White gave up his untried life a few short days ago.  The thicket gained, the two paused for breath.

“We must not talk in the boat, sir.”  They had reached the moored boat now.  “Pray tell me how I am to know our General’s messenger.”

“By this.”  The stranger detached a charm from a hidden chain and held it in his palm so that the clearer light fell upon it.  “I command you to learn its peculiarities well.  There must be no blunder.”

It was very quaint.  Andy’s keen eye took in every detail.

“I shall know it,” he sighed.  And the stranger smiled and replaced it.  “And you, sir?” he faltered, for the hour of parting came with a strange sadness; “may I not know your name?  You have made me so proud and happy because you accepted my poor service.”

“George Washington, and your true friend, Andy McNeal!  We are both serving the same great cause.  God keep us both!”

The General clasped the boy’s trembling hand, and Andy looked through dim eyes into the face of his hero.  The hero who for months past had been the imaginative comrade of lonely hours and dreamy play.

[Illustration:  “Andy was at the oars now.”]

“We shall meet again—­comrade!” Washington was smiling and the mist passed.  “Never fear death, lad, if you are doing your duty; it comes but once.  Row swiftly.  Day is breaking.  A messenger with a horse awaits me on the further shore.  Head for Point of Cedars.”

“Good-by, sir; I shall never fear anything again—­after this, I think.  Good-by!” Andy was at the oars now.  He handled them like the master that he was.  The old Indian had taught well, and the apt pupil had been making ready against this day and chance.

While Andy kept Point of Cedars in view, he saw, also, the noble figure in the stern.  The keen eyes kept smiling in kindly fashion, while the firm lips kept their accustomed silence.  To Andy, the future was as rosy as the dawn, and he wondered that he had ever been depressed and afraid.