It was never clear to G. W. why the "boys" were always anxious to be "going." For him the lazy, fun-loving life was never tedious or unpleasant. From all that he could gather by endless questioning, war was not half so agreeable, although he granted it must certainly be more exciting.

"When will the order come for us to move?" That was the daily question in camp.

At last it came! They were to sail at once. Of course the President of the United States, whose illustrious name G. W. bore himself, meant all the thousands who were encamped in Tampa; but to G. W. the order meant that he and "de Colonel" were to "pull up stakes" and sail away to that strange, mysterious Cuba, and face war!

The little dusky fellow in blue suddenly felt that his hands were pretty full.

He it was who packed all the Colonel's belongings, giving special care to the photograph. He polished up the guns and swords, and even his own buttons. He meant at least to command the respect of the foe. He often grew hot and tired, during those days, but never made a complaint. And when the hurried camp preparations were completed, it was G. W. and "de Colonel" who marched down the long pier to the waiting transports. To G. W.'s mind, it was for them the cheers rang out, and for them did the band play the inspiring music that set his feet dancing. Oh, it was the proudest moment of G. W.'s life so far. His buttons almost burst over his swelling chest. He was marching straight into the glorious future. He was going to be a hero without further delay. He saw "visions," like his mammy. Somewhere, off in the misty distance, his "chance" was waiting for him; he felt as certain of it as he was that under his beloved uniform he was surely melting.

The days in the crowded transport put little G. W.'s endurance to the test. But during the wretched hours one glance at the Colonel's face gave him courage to suffer and be—still!

His Colonel saw it all.

"Bear up, old chap! Heroes grin—and conquer things," said the officer, while his heart ached for the silent child; and in the end, through sea-sickness and a longing for old easy days, G. W. did grin and "conquer things."

Then they came to Cuba! Under the dark palms and cacti, once more the white tents were pitched; and facing the fact of approaching battles, the men made ready, but still lightened the heavy hours by song and joke, and boisterously welcomed the old comradeship of G. W.

G. W. revived when once his feet touched solid land. "I doan't like de water," he explained; "it's shaky an' onsartain an'—an'—wet! Dere's too much ob it too, an' when it gets wobbly, whar are yo?"

So the boy cheerfully took up again his dancing and singing. War grew again to seem to him a matter of some other day. The regiment seemed merely to have shifted its pleasure-ground. To be sure, there were fewer hours alone with the Colonel, for he was very busy, but G. W. followed him about at a distance whenever and wherever he could. If love could shield the young officer from harm, surely never was he safer.

But presently G. W. began to form new and more personal ideas of war; his imagination, fed by the stories he had heard, sprang to life. Perhaps war wasn't anything they would know about beforehand. That might be the reason for the look of anxiety he had noticed upon the face of his Colonel. Possibly war was like a great cloud hurled along by the hurricane—G. W. knew how that looked. They might all be sitting by the camp-fire some night, when suddenly war would descend upon them and find them unprepared. With that thought G. W.'s face took on an expression of anxiety. He clung closer to his Colonel; he did not intend that war should find his Colonel unattended by body-guard.

Colonel Austin often took heed of the faithful little shadow, and began to fear anew for the time when he might be obliged to "go to the front" and leave the boy behind.

"G. W., you must never go beyond that point alone," he said one day, naming a hill a half mile or so distant. "These are not play-days, comrade; I want to feel that you are safe. I cannot afford to worry about you now. Obedience first, old man, you know, and then you are on the way to being a hero."

"Yes, sah!" The small black hand gave the salute gravely. G. W. never by any possible chance forgot his military training. "But, Colonel, you goes furder dan de hill right often."

"That's true, G. W., but my duty calls me beyond; your duty bids you stay this side of the hill—that's the difference, G. W."

"Yes, sah! but how is I goin' ter take care ob you, wid you trapesing off de Lawd knows whar?"

Colonel Austin smiled. "You must try to be willing to trust me out of your sight, my boy," he said, "just as I have to trust you when you stay behind."

"But, Colonel, jes' 'spose war should attack you, wid me fur off? How does yo' 'spec I 'se goin' ter report to de Boy an' his Mother?"

Colonel Austin saw trouble ahead unless he got G. W. into shape.

"Look here, old fellow," he replied, taking the young body-guard between his knees. "War isn't going to catch us napping. We'll know at what minute to point our guns at the enemy. We shall know and we shall obey our orders. And you'll know, and you must obey your orders, comrade. You must stay in your turret chamber, like the brave boy of old. You mustn't follow me past that point. If you do, G. W.,"—Colonel Austin had never threatened the boy before,—"unless you promise me, G. W., I'll tie the flaps of the tent upon you every time I leave it."

The childish lips quivered in an un-soldier-like way. "I'll promise, Colonel!"

"All right, then, and give us your hand. Comrade, you've taken a load from my mind."

The days following grew to be hard days for the boy, so long petted by the regiment. Food was scarce, and when there was plenty it was often of a kind that he turned from. The evenings in the tent were very long and lonely before he fell asleep. No stories now. His Colonel's absences grew more frequent and more prolonged. G. W.'s only solace was to gaze at the picture of the Boy and his Mother.

The half-mile hill became more and more every day a dread landmark. From that hated point of view he had to watch the Colonel's tall figure disappear only too often, while he stayed behind to return ingloriously to the tent. Where was the "chance" that was going to make him a hero if he must always stay behind in the place of safety? Did the Colonel think heroes were made on hill-tops a half mile from camp? G. W. grew sarcastic. He kept his buttons bright and his uniform brushed and trim; not because he loved it as when he expected to soon wear it as a hero, but because the Colonel kept himself in order—his faithful G. W. could at least follow him in that.

But at last came a thing that roused him from this mood. Fever broke out in camp, and G. W. developed into a nurse of no mean order. He carried water and bathed aching heads. Hot hands clung to him, forgetting how very small and weak he was. "Sing to us, G. W.," often those weary, suffering fellows said, "and don't give us the jig-tunes, old man, but something soft."

With his brown, childish face upraised G. W. would sing the old camp-meeting songs that his mother used to sing in the days of long ago before he had dreamed of being a hero.

Was it the religious thought in the quaint words, or the tender quality of the airs, or was it G. W.'s pathetic voice that had the power to quiet the delirium and make it possible for the tired sick men to rest? How can one tell? But as the boy sang stillness settled down over the rough hospital, and many a "God bless you, G. W.!" came from thankful lips.

Colonel Austin watched the little comforter bustling to and fro, and with a grim smile he thought that the hero-side of G. W. was developing fast.

The boy had grown thin, and an anxious, worn look made the small dusky face very touching; but weariness, disappointment, and bodily discomfort never dragged a complaint from the firm lips.