Roxy was up as the first rays of the September sun came through her eastern window; but early as it was she found Dulcie busy in the kitchen, and could see Jacob starting off to the fields with the mule team.

“Yo’ gran’ma says ebery grain ob wheat and ebery ear ob co’n mus’ be out er de fields ’fore de marchin’ armies comes dis way,” said Dulcie solemnly, as she gave Roxy a plate of freshly baked corn bread, and bade her run to the dairy for a pitcher of milk.

“I want my lunch basket filled, please, Dulcie,” said Roxy. “I may be gone all day.”

“Don’ yo’ go near de roads, Missy Roxy,” warned Dulcie, “an’ yo’ tells Missy Polly Lawrence not ter go ridin’ off lik’ she does. ’Tain’ gwine ter be safe,” and the negro woman shook her head solemnly, as she started toward the pantry to fill the little covered basket.

Roxy put on the big straw hat that she always wore in her tramps about the pastures, and promising Dulcie to keep away from the roads she set forth. As she ran down the slope her thoughts were of the lookout she meant to keep from the top of the high ledge, and of the signals that should tell Polly that marching soldiers could be seen in the distance.

“I’ll have to fix a pole on the ledge,” she decided, “and Polly will give me some strips of white cloth.”

The early September morning was cool and pleasant, and the air was fragrant with ripening fruit and the scent of autumn flowers. Along the wall the grapes were turning purple, and Roxy noticed the yellow stubble of the wheat fields.

As she neared the brook she saw bunches of purple thistles growing among the silvery-like young willows on the borders of the stream, and the little girl lingered to admire the beauty spread before her.

But she was too eager to see Polly to stay long near the quiet stream. And as she climbed the pasture slope she decided that it would be a good plan to leave her lunch basket at the foot of the ledge where she could get it on her return; and she set it carefully on a shelf of rock that she could easily reach, and then hurried on.

Polly, busy in the hillside orchard gathering apples, had seen Roxy as she came toward the farm, and came running to meet her, her red hair dancing about her face.

“What is it, Roxy?” she asked a little anxiously, putting her arm about Roxy’s shoulders, and Roxy told of her plan to climb the ledge and keep watch of the distant highway.

“And then, Polly, when I signalled that soldiers were coming you could start off with your horses and cows for the hills, and I could run home and tell Grandma.”

Polly listened gravely.

“It’s a splendid plan, Roxy. I think you were clever to think of it. And the ledge is just the place. What did your father say about it? Was he not proud that you had thought of it?” she asked.

“Oh, Polly! I didn’t tell him. I was afraid they would not let me do it. And, Polly, you won’t tell, will you?” pleaded Roxy. “I want to keep it secret until I do see the soliders. Perhaps, after all, they won’t come.”

Polly agreed, and the two girls decided that the moment Roxy should see any sign of advancing troops she should fasten the strip of white cloth, that Polly would give her, to a stout pole and wave it from the top of the ledge.

“But of course after you wave it you had better fix the pole firmly among the rocks and start for home,” said Polly; “there are a lot of sticks near the ledge that will do for a flagpole,” she added, and after a little more talk of Roxy’s plan the friends said good-bye and Roxy turned back toward the ledge, well pleased that Polly had so promptly approved of her plan.

It was rather a difficult matter for the little girl to reach the top of the mass of rocks that rose from the rough pasture. To carry her basket and the slender pole that she had found, and to climb along the slippery ledges without losing her footing made it very slow work. Roxy at last poked the flag-stick as far ahead of her as she could, then, reaching up, she set the basket on some outstanding rock, and this left her hands free to seize at bushes and rocks and pull herself up to where the basket and flag-stick rested, and in this way she finally reached the top, where masses of rough stone, scrubby laurel-bushes, and one twisted little oak tree covered the surface.

Roxy was glad to rest in the scanty shade of the little oak tree. Sitting there she could look over the peaceful countryside and the quiet Antietam as it flowed under its arched bridges and made its way to the Potomac.

Turning her glance to the highway she could see the road like a gray ribbon in the distance, and realized that no horsemen could approach without her seeing them when they were yet miles distant, and Roxy smiled happily to think how well she was carrying out her plan.

But after she had rested from her scramble up the ledge, she began to look about for something to amuse her, and to realize that an entire day by herself on the top of this ledge was a very long time. She wished that she had brought the big rag doll, “Dinah,” that she had had ever since she could remember, for company; and she wondered what little Indian girls did for toys.

“I’ll bring Dinah to-morrow,” she resolved, and just then a gray squirrel poked his head over a near-by rock and fixed his bright, startled glance on Roxy, and an instant later another gray head appeared beside the first squirrel and they watched her for a brief moment and then vanished.

“Oh!” Roxy whispered softly, and noiselessly opening her lunch basket she drew out a fat molasses cooky dotted with raisins and tiny nuts, and breaking off little bits she threw them toward the place where the squirrels had appeared, and it was not long before the little creatures again ventured out and seized upon these unexpected dainties.

Very softly Roxy began to speak to them, at the same time tossing bits of the cooky in their direction.

“You must be Confederates because you wear gray clothes,” she said. “Lee and Jackson, I’ll call you, because Father says they are as brave as any Yankee soldier, and you are brave to come so near,” and Roxy held the last crumbs of the cooky in her outstretched hand tempting her new friends.

All the morning she found amusement in watching the squirrels and trying to make friends with them, although she did not forget to keep a sharp outlook toward the distant road; and when she saw the sun in mid-heaven she ate a part of the contents of her lunch basket, and again fed the squirrels with scraps of food, and was delighted when one of them boldly perched himself on her foot.

This first day that Roxy spent on the pasture ledge was September 6th, 1862, the very day on which the Confederates, under General Jackson, made their entry into the town of Frederick, Maryland. They had expected to be welcomed, but they were disappointed in this.

Jackson’s army of shoeless soldiers clad in tattered uniforms were not received as “liberators,” as Lee had expected. There was but little secessionist element in Western Maryland; and loyal women in Frederick dared to throw out the flag of the Union from their windows. McClellan’s army was marching to meet the invading foe, and a few days later the Confederates left Frederick, moving westward beyond the mountains, and McClellan’s troops riding into town on a bright Sunday morning were warmly welcomed.

People crowded about General McClellan, decking “Dan,” the fine horse he rode, with wreaths and flowers, and the Union flag floated everywhere.

But the people on the hillside farms above Sharpsburg did not know of this for days afterward—not until a terrible battle had raged almost at their very doors; and while General Jackson moved down the south side of the Potomac toward Harper’s Ferry the farmers harvested their grain in the fields along the Antietam and waited for news that might tell them of the movement of Lee’s troops.

Roxy did not mean to go to sleep that first day of her watch and when, in mid-afternoon, she awakened suddenly, to find both of the gray squirrels had settled themselves in her hat, that she had put down beside her lunch basket, she wondered at herself, and looked anxiously toward the road, fearful lest by sleeping she had risked her father’s safety.

But the road lay quiet and untraveled, and now a new question came into Roxy’s thoughts. “Nights.” Perhaps the army might advance under cover of the night, she thought. But the little girl finally decided there was nothing she could do in that case.

“I’ll just watch days; that’s all I can do,” she thought, and shared the remainder of her luncheon with “Lee” and “Jackson.”

It had seemed a very long day to Roxy, and when the sun began to approach the western horizon she was glad to scramble down the ledge and start for home.

“I’ll bring ‘Dinah’ to-morrow,” she thought, as she ran down the slope toward the sycamore.

As Roxy came in sight of the big yard near the house she gave a sudden exclamation.

“It’s a gray pony!” she said, as if she could hardly believe it, and as she entered the yard she again exclaimed: “It really is a gray pony,” and she ran to where the pony was nibbling at the thick grass beside the fence.

“It looks just like one of the Hinhams’ ponies,” she said aloud, as she stopped to look at it and wonder how it came to be in Grandma Miller’s yard; and seeing Dulcie in the kitchen doorway she called:

“Dulcie, where did this pony come from?”

“Dat pony ’rive here dis mornin’, Missy Roxy. Young Massa Hinham lef’ dat pony; an’ he say it were for Missy Roxy to hev ’til he comes ter fetch it. I reckon dat’s yo’ pony, Missy,” and Dulcie beamed and nodded as she saw Roxy’s delighted smile. “Young Massa Hinham say dat de pony’s name am ‘Beauty,’” Dulcie added, and Roxy ventured to pat “Beauty’s” neck, and found the pony well pleased by her attention.

Jacob declared the newcomer as “tame as a kitten,” and after supper Roxy came back to the yard, climbed to the pony’s back and, guiding it by pulling on its mane and rapping her feet sharply against its fat sides, she rode it about the yard, and for the time entirely forgot all about the ledge and her task of watching a distant road.

Grandma Miller said that she knew all about the gray pony: Roland, when he was Roxy’s age, had trotted it up and down the country roads and across fields and pastures, and Jasmine often rode on its fat back.

“Roxy will be perfectly safe with ‘Beauty’ and she can ride over to see Polly instead of walking,” said Mrs. Miller, greatly to Roxy’s delight, who at once decided that on the following morning instead of climbing up the slope to the ledge she would ride on “Beauty.” But she said nothing of this to Grandma, and was ready to go to bed at an early hour after her long day on the distant ledge.