court-martial, dismissing you from the service. I told you my decision was carefully male and was final. Now I give you fair warning never to show yourself in this room again. I can bear censure, but I will not endure insult!"
In whining tones, the man begged for his papers he had dropped.
"Begone, sir," said the President, as he thrust him through the door. "Your papers will be sent to you."
The poor mother trembled at this startling act and sank back limp in her seat.
With quick, swinging stride the President walked back to his desk, accompanied by Major Hay and a young German girl, whose simple dress told that she was from the Western plains.
He handed the Secretary an official paper.
"Give this pardon to the boy's mother when she comes this morning," he said kindly to the Secretary, his eyes suddenly full of gentleness.
"How could I consent to shoot a boy raised on a farm, in the habit of going to bed at dark, for falling asleep at his post when required to watch all night? I'll never go into eternity with the blood of such a boy on my skirts."
Again the mother's heart rose.
"You remember the young man I pardoned for a similar offense in '62, about which Stanton made such a fuss?" he went on in softly reminiscent tones. "Well, here is that pardon."
He drew from the lining of his silk hat a photograph, around which was wrapped an executive pardon. Through the lower end of it was a bullet-hole stained with blood.
