“I was thar too,” cried Ephraim.

“What!” said the President, “with the lame hip?”

“Well, General, I went back, I couldn’t help it.  I couldn’t stay away from the boys—­just couldn’t.  I didn’t limp as bad then as I do now.  I wahn’t much use anywhere else, and I had l’arned to fight.  Five Forks!” exclaimed Ephraim.  “I call that day to mind as if it was yesterday.  I remember how the boys yelled when they told us we was goin’ to Sheridan.  We got started about daylight, and it took us till four o’clock in the afternoon to git into position.  The woods was just comin’ a little green, and the white dogwoods was bloomin’ around.  Sheridan, he galloped up to the line with that black horse of his’n and hollered out, ’Come on, boys, go in at a clean, jump or You won’t ketch one of ’em.’  You know how men, even veterans like that Fifth Corps, sometimes hev to be pushed into a fight.  There was a man from a Maine regiment got shot in the head fust thing.  ‘I’m killed,’ said he.  ‘Oh, no, you’re not,’ says Sheridan, ’pickup your gun and go for ’em.’  But he was killed.  Well, we went for ’em through all the swamps and briers and everything, and Sheridan, thar in front, had got the battle-flag and was rushin’ round with it swearin’ and prayin’ and shoutin’, and the first thing we knowed he’d jumped his horse clean over their logworks and landed right on top of the Johnnie’s.”

“Yes,” said the President, “that was Sheridan, sure enough.”

“Mr. President,” said the senator, who stood by wonderingly while General Grant had lost himself in this conversation, “do you realize what time it is?”

“Yes, yes,” said the President, “we must go on.  What was your rank, Comrade?”

“Sergeant, General.”

“I hope you have got a good pension for that hip,” said the President, kindly.  It may be well to add that he was not always so incautious, but this soldier bore the unmistakable stamp of simplicity and sincerity on his face.

Ephraim hesitated.

“He never would ask for a pension, General,” said Cynthia.

“What!” exclaimed the President in real astonishment, “are you so rich as all that?” and he glanced at the green umbrella.

“Well, General,” said Ephraim, uncomfortably, “I never liked the notion of gittin’ paid for it.  You see, I was what they call a war-Democrat.”

“Good Lord!” said the President, but more to himself.  “What do you do now?”

“I callate to make harness,” answered Ephraim.

“Only he can’t make it any more on account of his rheumatism, Mr. President,” Cynthia put in.

“I think you might call me General, too,” he said, with the grace that many simple people found inherent in him.  “And may I ask your name, young lady?”

“Cynthia Wetherell—­General,” she said smiling.

“That sounds more natural,” said the President, and then to Ephraim, “Your daughter?”

“I couldn’t think more of her if she was,” answered Ephraim; “Cynthy’s pulled me through some tight spells.  Her mother was my cousin, General.  My name’s Prescott—­Ephraim Prescott.”