It was now late September, and the fertile country along the Antietam was in full autumn beauty. Harvests had been gathered, and fields of yellow stubble were golden under the September sun, and the distant mountains each day showed new shades of jewel-like blues when young Lieutenant Carver kept his promise to visit the Miller farm, and sitting on the porch beside Captain Delfield he pointed out the thicket of laurel near the highway where he had concealed himself, and where Roxy had brought him food; and he listened to the story of Roxy’s adventure on the ledge when the Confederate scout had discovered her signalling, and had tried to make the little girl tell the reason for her being stationed on the top of the ledge day after day.

“And I really think that Roxy may have saved me a good bit of trouble,” said Captain Delfield.

“If those Confederate scouts had discovered a Union soldier here they might have carried me off to Richmond; but Roxy’s resolve not to let them know her secret kept me out of danger,” and he smiled down at his little daughter who was sitting on the porch steps, and had been listening eagerly, and now felt that her long lonely days on the distant ledge, her fears when carried away by the Confederate scout, had been indeed worth while if they had saved her father from the danger of being taken a prisoner. She remembered Etta-Belle’s rough cabin in the lonely field, and that the negro woman had been friendless and alone until Roxy’s coming had brought her to the Miller farm where she had found a home and could remain in safety. And while Lieutenant Carver and Captain Delfield talked of President Lincoln’s recent Proclamation of Emancipation, that declared the freedom of all negroes held in slavery in the United States, Roxy’s thoughts dwelt happily on all the events of the past summer, and she resolved that she would that very day begin a letter to Amy Fletcher, in far-off Newbury port, and tell her of all the adventures that had befallen a little Yankee girl during her visit to Antietam.

When Dulcie came to say that dinner was ready the young lieutenant held out his hand to Roxy and they walked into the dining-room together.

It was the best dinner that Dulcie could prepare. There were fried chicken, and creamed potatoes, late peas, and stewed corn. There were three kinds of jelly, hot batter-bread and fresh butter; there was new cider right from the press, and steamed apple dumplings with cream sauce. It was no wonder that the young soldier, who had lived on camp fare and who had known the hunger of a man in prison, declared it the finest dinner he had ever tasted. “But,” he added laughingly, with a nod toward Roxy, “nothing can ever again taste as good to me as that cold chicken that this little Yankee girl brought me as I lay hidden behind the laurels with my pursuers almost within reach of me.”

In the afternoon Grandma Miller and Roxy walked to the ledge with Lieutenant Carver, and from the top Roxy once more signalled to Polly, who by good fortune happened to see the signal and waved in response, and the soldier declared that he did not wonder the Confederate scouts had been misled by Roxy’s signalling, and had believed her to have been stationed there by Yankee soldiers.

“Lee” and “Jackson,” the gray squirrels, were not to be seen, much to Roxy’s disappointment; but Grandma Miller admired Dinah’s house, and suggested that it would be a good plan for Roxy to build one like it, only perhaps larger, under the butternut tree, and Roxy decided that she would begin it on the following day.

On their return to the house it was time for Lieutenant Carver to start back for camp, and he bade them all a grateful good-bye, and again declared that but for Roxy’s kindness and courage he could not have evaded his pursuers and made his escape.

They all stood on the porch and watched him ride away; and after Grandma Miller and Roxy’s father and mother had entered the house the little girl wandered down the slope and stood by the wall from which place she could see the road stretching out like a gray ribbon toward the distant hills.

Roxy smiled to herself as she stood here, for she had only pleasant things to think of as she remembered the delight of the wounded soldiers in her “circus,” the words of praise the great general of the Union Army, George B. McClellan, had given her, and, best of all, she thought happily, was the fact that Philip Carver had said that but for her help he would not have escaped.

As she stood there Polly’s familiar call sounded from the highway “Who-whoo-who!” and Roxy quickly responded and a moment later Polly came running up the slope.

“Here I am, Roxy-Doxy,” she called smilingly. “I came over to hear all about the Yankee soldier.” And hand in hand the girl whose home was in the Maryland hills, and the little Yankee girl walked toward the swing under the big butternut tree.