The sad look had departed from Dorothy's face as she now stood watching the great man whom she might never have the opportunity of beholding again; and while so engaged, it happened that one of the buttons of his coat came directly opposite her small nose. At first she looked at it without any interest,--almost mechanically. Then she was overcome by a sudden intense desire to possess it as a souvenir, to be treasured for all time to come. The feeling grew stronger each moment, and there is no saying to what lengths her childish impulsiveness might have spurred her, had it not been for the keen looks bent upon her by the officers at the other side of the room. Washington seemed to be conscious of this, for his eyes took a curious expression as he said, looking down into the girl's earnest face, "I am tempted to ask, little one, what great subject makes your eyes so solemn." He spoke more than half jestingly, and it was apparent that he judged her to be much younger than her actual years, because of her diminutive stature and childish appearance. "I was wishing, sir, that you would give me something to remember you by," was her frank answer; "that is,"--hesitating a little--"I was wishing I could have something to keep all my life." She stopped, scarcely knowing how to express herself, while Mary stared at her with manifest disapproval. "I understand, my child," Washington said, now looking at her more gravely. He paused, and seemed to be considering the matter. Then he laid his hand lightly upon the girl's shoulder, much in the way a father would have done. "I shall take pleasure, little one, in giving you something by which to remember me." Resuming his seat by the table, he took up the packet he was examining when they interrupted him a few minutes before. He now opened it hastily, and a number of papers dropped out. One of these he picked up, and tore from it a strip, which he looked at carefully, as though to be certain it was clear of writing; then, dipping a quill into the ink, he wrote a few words upon it. "Take this, my child," he said, extending it to her, "and should you ever be in need of any service within my power to render, you have but to send this slip of paper, to remind me that I have promised to assist you." Dorothy stood speechless, well-nigh bewildered, her eyes fixed upon his face, now alight with an aspect almost paternal. She said nothing, did not even thank him; but taking the paper, she pressed her lips to the hand that proffered it, and then, turning quickly, sped from the room. "We are most honored, sir--you are very kind," said Mary, who felt it incumbent upon her to express their gratitude in more formal fashion than Dorothy had adopted. Washington was looking at the door through which the girl had disappeared, but now he turned and bowed courteously.