First they saw Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War, who made them dine and spend the night as his guests, and who the next morning took them to the White House. George trembled when he was ushered into the private office of Mr. Lincoln. He felt nervous at the thought of encountering the man who, more than any one else, held in his hand the destiny of the nation. But, when a tall, gaunt person, with wonderful, thoughtful eyes and a homely face, illumined by a melancholy but attractive smile, walked up to him and asked: "Is this George Knight?" all the boy's timidity vanished. As he answered, "Yes, I am George Knight," he felt as if he had known the President for years. Mr. Lincoln listened to the narrative of the two fugitives--now fugitives no longer--and put to them many questions. When the recital was over the President asked: "Do you know that poor General Mitchell has died from yellow fever?" They answered in the affirmative, for Mr. Stanton had given them this unwelcome information upon their arrival in Washington. Mr. Lincoln pulled a paper from one of the pockets of his ill-fitting black coat and handed it to Watson. "Here is a commission for you as a Captain in the regular army," he explained. "I know of no one who could deserve it more than Captain Watson." "How can I ever thank you, Mr. President?" cried Watson. "The thanks are all on my side," answered the President, smiling. "That reminds me of a little story. When----" Mr. Stanton, who was standing immediately behind his chief, began to cough in a curious, unnatural way. A gleam of humor came into the unfathomable eyes of the President. "Mr. Stanton never appreciates my stories," he said, quizzically, "and when he coughs that way I know what he means." Then, turning to George, he continued: "My lad, you are one of the heroes of the war! I had intended giving you, too, a commission, but I find you are too young. But I suppose you want to see more of the war?" "Indeed I do, Mr. Lincoln!" cried George. "Well, since poor Mitchell is dead, how would you like to go as a volunteer aid on the staff of one of our generals?" "The very thing!" said the boy, with ardor. Mr. Lincoln faced his Secretary of War. "You don't always let me have my own way, Mr. Secretary," he observed, dryly, "but I think you must oblige me in this." "The boy's pretty young," answered the Secretary, "but I fancy it can be arranged." "Very good," said the President. "And now, George, if you behave with half the pluck in the future that you have shown in the past, I'll have no fear for you. Do your duty, and some day you may live to see--as I may not live to see--a perfect reunion between North and South; for God surely does not intend that one great people shall divide into two separate nations."