With bent head and covered eyes Berry stumbled toward the trees, and at the sound of her approach Orson promptly extinguished his pipe; the tiny light, that Berry had mistaken for a witch lantern, having been the match he had used in lighting it.

The little girl had just reached the clump of trees when, close at hand, a high-pitched voice called: “Halt! What seek ye at the witch-tree?”

Orson was so close to Berry that he could have touched her, and Berry gave a little gasp of terror at the sound of a voice coming, apparently, from the tree itself. But her question was ready, and, although her voice faltered a little, Orson could hear distinctly.

“If you please, kind witch, I want to know where Mollie Bragg is, and when I will see her?” said Berry.

“Do you intend to obey, and promise what I require, if I answer?” growled the voice, so near to Berry that she gave a little backward start.

To obey a witch seemed rather a dreadful undertaking, but Berry did not hesitate. “I do!” she faltered.

“’Tis well! You promise to come to this tree each day: to look under a flat rock at its roots, and when you find a letter there to take it and run your swiftest until you give it to the person whose name is written upon it?” growled the voice.

“I promise,” said Berry.

It seemed to the little girl that the witch chuckled, and then there was a moment’s silence. The wind died away, the thrashing branches of the forest trees gradually lessened, stars shone out from among the drifting clouds, and the darkness of the night grew less dense. Berry heard the movement of some large body close beside her, and knew that the witch would soon vanish.

“But tell me of Mollie?” she called anxiously.

“Boy! Mollie will soon return; watch for letters,” came the response from some little distance. And now Berry uncovered her eyes and lifted her bowed head.

“Boy!’” she repeated in amazement. “Witches don’t know everything after all!” she decided, “and it was so dark how could it see I didn’t wear a dress?” And Berry was conscious of a vague disappointment, as she turned back toward the cabin. But the “witch” had said Mollie would soon return; and Berry told herself that this news was worth all her trouble. Then she recalled her promise, and wondered about the letter. To carry a witch’s letter would, she thought, be something that had never before happened to a little girl. She wished she could tell her mother of this wonderful encounter with a witch; but Lily had said that one must never tell of such things or the witches would be angry. So Berry made her way back through the shadowy forest, climbed into her chamber-window, and crept noiselessly into bed. But she lay long awake thinking over her wonderful adventure at the witch’s tree.

Orson was well pleased at his success in securing “Berry Nees’s” promise to watch for any message the “witch” might leave at the Judas-tree. He lurked behind a stout oak until the little girl had made her way up the trail, and then started back toward his camp. If this “boy” could run as fast as Berry had boasted he knew it might prove the means of defeating General Grant when that officer should decide to attack the Confederates, and assured himself that he had been very clever indeed in making Berry believe that she had really encountered a witch.

Orson knew that Grant was determined to push on to the Memphis and Charleston railroad, and that Beauregard hoped to surprise and capture the Union Army of the Cumberland. To send the Confederate General news of Grant’s approach would be a great triumph for this spy, and might, as he well realized, bring him a reward in the approval of Jefferson Davis, the head of the Southern Confederacy. It was therefore natural that he should think himself very clever in securing Berry’s promise to become his messenger. Ever since he had overheard Lily’s story of the witch-tree he had lurked about the place, confident that “Berry Nees” intended to ask a favor of the witches; and, on discovering the honey and cake he had promptly established himself close to the tree, thinking if Berry braved the darkness and the high wind it would be a good proof of “the boy’s” courage; and Orson was well pleased to find Berry so fearless. “Plucky little chap,” he thought approvingly, and almost regretted that he had not openly told Berry the service he meant to ask. But, on the whole, he decided he had chosen the better way. He was glad that he could now start off toward the Tennessee River, where he could keep a sharp outlook for any advance of the Union army.

Berry had not the slightest idea as she sped along through the darkness that close behind her came Lily; or that, when the voice had called, “Halt!” Lily, trembling with terror, had nevertheless moved a step nearer to her little mistress, ready, if need be, to risk any danger to herself in defense of Berry. She had been so frightened at Berry’s question that it was a wonder she had not screamed aloud; but when Orson responded, calling Berry “Boy,” Lily regained her courage.

“Dat ain’ no witch!” she promptly decided; for the negroes of the Southern plantations firmly believed in the existence of unseen creatures, which they called witches, that knew far more than mortals; and Lily was sure that a true witch could not be deceived, and instantly she remembered the man Berry had met at the brook and whom they had seen at his forest camp.

“I reckon dat man am a makin’ believe jes’ ter skeer my Missie, or else he be up to somethin’,” decided Lily; and, as Berry turned toward home, Lily moved quickly after the shadowy figure that was rapidly making its way from tree to tree.

It did not take Lily long to discover that she was right in her suspicion, and to recognize the tall, shadowy figure as that of the woodsman whom she had seen roasting a partridge near the ledge where she had discovered Berry.

“De misserbul critter,” Lily muttered angrily to herself; “an’ who know w’ot place he wan’ my missie ter kerry a letter to? I jes’ kal’ate I’ll get dat air letter,” and Lily now hastened after Berry, reaching the cabin just in time to see her young mistress clamber into the open window.

With a sigh of relief Lily crept silently to her own room. Although she had gone to sleep very early that evening she had awakened an hour before Berry left the cabin, and, prompted by a vague fear in regard to the safety of her young mistress, Lily had cautiously made her way through the shadowy rooms to the door of Berry’s chamber and curled herself up there. Her quick ear had instantly followed Berry’s movement toward the window, and she had been close behind the adventurous little girl as Berry scrambled down the trunk of the oak tree.

Both the girls slept late the next morning, and Mrs. Arnold watched Berry a little anxiously, for the little girl seemed unusually serious. “I believe Berry misses Mollie Bragg more than we have realized,” she said to Mr. Arnold, after Berry had gone out to work in her garden, where the iris was already several inches high and where the transplanted butterwort was in blossom.

“I should not be surprised if the Braggs return to their cabin,” Mr. Arnold replied; “Bragg is such a coward that the sight of the marching troops, of either the Confederate or Union army, will start him off; and he will not be welcomed by any community where brave men are willing to fight for what they believe to be right.”

It was very hard for Mr. Arnold to feel that he could not serve his country. He realized now that from this remote cabin, perched on the side of a ridge of the mountains of Tennessee, he might watch the advance of General Grant’s army of the Cumberland moving toward Corinth to attack the forces of General Johnston. Not for a moment did Mr. Arnold imagine that the task of the Union army would be one of defense, or that on the heights of Shiloh the Confederates would surprise and very nearly overcome the Army of the Cumberland; nor could it possibly occur to him that his small daughter was to render a great service to the Union cause, and to be long remembered as “The Yankee Girl of Shiloh.”

Berry, busy in her garden, thought over her adventure of the previous night and wondered if the “witch” was right in saying that Mollie would soon return. “Father thinks they will come back,” she reminded herself; for Berry could not forget that the witch had failed to discover that it was a little girl who had asked assistance. Nevertheless, Berry was resolved that not a day should pass without her visiting the clump of red-buds near the stream, that she might keep her promise to the witch and deliver any letter she might find there. And, quite unknown to her young mistress, Lily had resolved to be the first to discover any letter hidden at the witch’s tree.

“An’ I’ll tek dat letter right ter Massa Arnold. Dat’s w’ot I’ll do. Mebbe ’tis ‘bout me,” Lily decided firmly.