One day while I was sitting on a bench by my quarters, holding the little girl and talking to her father, a slim black-eyed young man came up, and abruptly said, “Good morning, sirs!” I looked distrustfully at him, for we had been warned against English-speaking German spies, and then opened my eyes with astonishment, for he looked as much like my friend, Jot, as one English sparrow looks like another. “Who are you?” I inquired. “What do you want?” “I am on important business,” he responded politely, “for the army.” “What do you mean by that?” I said. “Are you an American?” “I was born in America,” he replied with indescribable dignity, “and have lived there a good part of my life. But I was educated on this side.” Then I remembered what Jot had told me about his half-brother’s resemblance to himself and I distrusted him all the more. “Where’s your uniform?” I asked. “Why are you in citizen’s dress?” For answer he pointed to a loosely hanging sleeve. I turned my head to speak to my French friend, but found him gone; and then, turning back again, found the man I had been talking to had also vanished. I could not understand how he had disappeared so quickly, and this added to my suspicion that he was not straight. When I again saw the French soldier, Maurice, I said, “Where did you go so quickly? You were standing near me and in an instant had disappeared.” He shrugged his shoulders and replied, “It would not be, as your people say, ‘just the thing,’ to listen to your conversation with another gentleman.” Knowing something of a Frenchman’s idea of politeness that seemed to explain his sudden leaving. As soon as I got a chance from my duties, I started to see Jot. He had been discharged from the hospital, I had learned, but I had not seen him since he came back on duty. Passing the guard I stood before Lieutenant Nickerson and saluted as stiffly as possible, and waited until addressed by my superior officer. Jot returned the salute and, coming up to me, put his hands on my shoulder, saying, “No formalities, Davie, now that we are by ourselves. What is it that makes you look so confoundedly troubled? Have the rations given out, or what is the matter?” Then I told him about the man who so much resembled him. He stood for a moment as though meditating what to say, and then replied, “It’s all right, David; I have seen him, too.” “Is he your half-brother with whom you told me you could not agree?” “We may not have been able to agree, but it does not follow that he is not straight and a patriot, does it? We may be in agreement in a large way, if not in little ones?” I felt, knowing Jot’s habitual reserve, that it would be of no use to question him further, and as he had not really told me anything, I was much confused and uncertain what it all meant. “Well, Lieutenant,” I said stiffly, “I feel it my duty to report these facts to Colonel Burbank.”