After other matters had been given the attention so sorely needed, a canteen was started where passing troops could be fed. On busy days Lucie was often summoned to help. It was after one of these days of rush and excitement that she was coming home and was startled at hearing a lusty but mellow voice singing: “Way down upon the Swanee river.” She stood stock-still waiting for the man to come up. What memories the old song brought. She must see who this was, an American, of course, for many had passed that way in the course of the past twenty-four hours. She waited till the khaki-clad figure was within speaking distance, then she saw that he was as black as the ace of spades, and that he bore a bandaged head. At last she was beholding one of those negroes of which her mother had so often told her. She would speak to him. “Were you looking for the canteen?” she asked. The man looked at her then burst into a cheerful guffaw. “Deed, miss, dat sho is perzackly what I is a lookin’ fo’,” he replied. “I done axed severial pussons but somehow dey doesn’t unnerstan’ my desires, an’ I ain’t ketched on to dis yere Frenchified langwidges yit. It sho does son’ good to me to yer ole United States.” Lucie had some difficulty in taking in this speech herself, but it was clear that he wanted the canteen, and she decided to show him the way. “I think I’d better go with you,” she said. “Were you wounded?” “Yas, miss, but not to say so bad, jes a little tech o’ shrapnel in de haid, but hit kep me at de dressin’ station an’ I kinder los’ sight o’ de res’ o’ de boys, so I pikes along de road by mahsef. Is yuh one o’ de America ladies dey done tells me about?” “My mother is an American, but my father is French, so I can speak both French and English.” “What part o’ de States is yo’ ma fum?” “From Virginia.” Another cheerful laugh greeted this information. “Ain’t it de troo? now, fum ole Ferginny. Das jes whar I comes fum. Yo ma is one o’ de fust famblies, I reckons.” This was a trifle puzzling to Lucie but she replied that her mother’s maiden name was Randolph, which appeared entirely to corroborate the opinion of the man. “Mah name Gus Fitchett,” he told Lucie, “and I comes ovah to fight dem Bushes fo’ dey git ready to draf me. We gwine bus’ ’em, too, yuh hyar me. We gwine chase ’em clar to Berlin, an’ den kick ’em downhill.” It was evidently not quite clear in his mind just what or where Berlin might be, but it was a word to conjure with, and he wished to impress upon Lucie his good intentions. Presently the canteen was reached, Gus was conducted in and promptly served with a bowl of soup and a chunk of bread. While he was eating Lucie whispered her report of him to Miss Lowndes. “I never saw a black before,” she said, “but I was curious to see one, and when he began singing ‘The Old Folks at Home’ I knew he was not from any other place than my mother’s country. I can’t understand half he says, but I think he is very funny.”