“Death comes but once!” kept ringing in his thoughts; “it shall find me doing my duty.  God and Washington forever!” The song of the times had found a resting-place in Andy McNeal’s heart at last.

Point of Cedars was safely reached.  The general stepped upon the pebbly beach.  Almost at once, from among the bushes, appeared a young man in ragged Continental uniform, leading a large, white horse.

Without a word Washington mounted, nodded his thanks to the messenger, and a final farewell to Andy, then he, followed by his newer guide, faded from sight among the forest-trees.  Standing bareheaded and alone upon the shore, Andy watched until the last sound of the hoof-beats died away, then, with a sigh of hope and memory mingled, he retraced his way.

Janie McNeal greeted her son at the door-way.  “Andy!” she cried, “our guest is gone!” She quite forgot that Andy, presumably, knew nothing of the guest.  “He desired a lad to row him across the river.  I was going to neighbor Jones’s at early dawn to summon James.  I should have gone last night, but I was sore tired.  When I arose this morning, the stranger was gone.  God forgive me!

“The poor gentleman must have thought me a heedless body.  I trust he will not think me in league with the Britishers; there is much of that sort of thing going on.”  Janie shook her head dolefully, not heeding Andy’s smile.

“How do we know,” she went on, “but that the gentleman was on the great Washington’s business?  He was an overgrand body himself, and had excellent manners.”

“Mother!” the old hesitating tone crept back unconsciously into Andy’s voice as he faced his mother; “mother, I rowed the stranger across the river, he is—­safely landed.  It—­was—­it—­was—­Washington himself!”

“Andy!” Janie flung up her hands, and nearly fell from the step; “think, lad, of your words.  You look and talk clean daft.”

“It—­was—­Washington!” The boy drew the words out with a delicious memory.

“And—­you—­rowed—­him—­across!  You—­my—­poor—­lame lad!  God have mercy upon me, and forgive me for my doubts!”

“I can help a little, mother.”  Andy drew near the quivering figure.  “I know, mother, and I do not wonder, but there is a place for every one in these days, and I’m going to be ready.”

Janie drew herself up, and put a trembling hand on the young shoulder.  “Son!” she said, with a sudden but intense pride, “son, get ready, we go to Sam White’s burying, you and I. God be praised! blind as I was, He has opened my eyes to see my son at last!” This was a great deal for Janie McNeal to say, but it did its work.

CHAPTER III

THE CROWNING OF ANDY MCNEAL

Sam White’s burial was a very simple affair.  In that time of need and anxiety men were off upon their country’s business.  Few could stay to mourn.  The pastor himself read the simple service in a voice of pride, broken by a father’s grief.  He said that God would not let the sacrifice pass unheeded.  Since Sam had heard the call, and then had been so suddenly taken away, another would be raised up to do his work; another who, through Sam, might be touched more than in any other way.