Lily’s “feather-bag,” as Berry called the receptacle in which the negro girl so carefully stored each feather that she could secure, was missing from her belt one morning, and Berry at once announced the fact.

“Your feather-bag, Lily! Have you forgotten it?” she asked, as Lily appeared at the corner of the cabin and stood watching Berry who was busily engaged in transplanting woodland violets to the shady corner of her garden.

“No, Missie Berry. I knows jes’ whar dat bag is. Yas’m, I’se got it hid up safe,” Lily responded with her usual nods and chuckles. “I’se got all de feathers I wants,” she added.

“Well, you must have nearly enough to stuff a pillow,” Berry declared, wishing that Lily would tell her what she intended to do with the treasured feathers, but Lily only repeated:

“Yas’m,” and Berry went on with her work. Lily immediately vanished, and did not again appear until it was time for her to help with the midday meal.

“I do wonder where Lily goes, and what she is up to,” Berry confided to her mother. “Every day she suddenly disappears and is gone for an hour or two. She always comes back looking as well pleased with herself as if she had just discovered a pot of gold.”

“Why do you not ask her where she goes?” questioned Mrs. Arnold. “Very likely she only goes off by herself for a nap, for she is up very early each morning.”

“I have asked her,” Berry responded, “and she just chuckles and nods and says that she hasn’t been anywhere. ‘Jes’ kinder perspectin’ ’roun’’; that’s what she says, Mother.” And Mrs. Arnold smiled at Berry’s imitation of Lily’s voice and manner. But it was only a few days after this when Berry, coming into the sitting-room, discovered Lily peeping out from Berry’s chamber.

“Lily! What are you doing in my room?” she called sharply, and the surprised Lily gazed at her a little fearfully.

“I jes’ stepped in to take yo’ somefin’. Somefin’ ter s’prise yo’,” she finally found courage to say, for Berry did not usually speak in so sharp a tone, and Lily was sure that she herself was to blame. “I wasn’t lookin’ fer yo’, Missie,” she went on, as if to excuse herself for some fault, but Berry pushed past the negro girl and entered her chamber. Her quick glance went straight to the dainty dressing-table and with an admiring exclamation she ran across the room and stood looking eagerly at the prettiest basket she had ever seen. It was shaped like a shallow bowl, and at the first glance Berry thought it was made entirely of feathers, but the feathers were only skilfully woven in broad bands through the sweet-grass that formed the warp of the basket. The woof was of the fragrant cedar roots; these Lily had split and polished until they shone like silver bands.

It was indeed a beautiful piece of work, and Lily’s “surprise” was a great success. The negro girl had never before been so praised and thanked, and when Mr. and Mrs. Arnold were called to come and admire “Lily’s basket,” and when they also said that it was the finest basket they had ever seen, Lily was as happy as it was possible for a girl to be.

“Who taught you, Lily?” questioned Mrs. Arnold, and Lily told of the old negroes at the plantation from which she had fled, who were expert basket makers.

“I hears tell dey learned ter make baskets ’fore dey was fetch to dis country,” she said, and Mr. Arnold remembered having seen feather baskets that were brought from Africa.

“And that’s what you wanted feathers for; and that’s what you have been doing when I wondered where you were!” Berry exclaimed, and she was now eager to learn how to make just such a basket, and Lily promised to at once begin gathering more feathers.

The basket henceforth was one of Berry’s chief treasures, and years afterward, in her New England home, she would often show it and tell of Lily’s “feather-bag.”

As the days went on Berry was constantly discovering how many things Lily knew.

“Not the same things I know,” she explained to her mother, “but wonderful things. Lily can make all sorts of things out of tiny twigs; she can make dolls and birds; long-legged cranes, that look just like those that Father and I have seen along the river.” And Lily could indeed twist the pliant willow twigs into many shapes, over which Berry would laugh delightedly.

The spring days went rapidly by, and it was now months since the Arnolds had received any word from their soldier son, Francis, and visits to the post-box on the Corinth road only brought disappointment. One morning, toward the end of March, after her unfailing daily visit to the clump of Judas-trees, Berry decided to visit the box and then to go on to the Braggs’ cabin and see if there was any sign of the witch’s promise of Mollie’s speedy return coming true.

Much to Berry’s surprise there was something in the box. But she quickly discovered that it was not the hoped-for letter, for her hand had closed on a smooth roll of birch-bark. Berry drew it out and looked at it wonderingly. There were a number of queerly-shaped letters traced on its smooth surface.

“I wonder who put this in our box?” she said aloud, and then suddenly she waved the bark triumphantly and exclaimed, “Mollie! Mollie did it. She makes letters just that way. This means Mollie’s home!” and Berry started off toward the wood road leading to the Braggs’ cabin, sure that Mollie would come running to welcome her, and thinking happily of all she would have to tell and of all Mollie’s probable adventures of which she would hear. She looked eagerly for some trace of smoke rising from the cabin chimney, but there was none to be seen, and as she came to the rough clearing about the cabin Berry stopped suddenly.

“They’re not there!” she exclaimed; for the windows were still boarded over and there was no sign that the dilapidated cabin was again inhabited. Berry, standing near a sheltering clump of fir trees, felt almost ready to cry over her disappointment. She still held the roll of bark in her hand, and now again looked at it. The letters M. and B. were clumsily traced with a bit of charcoal on the smooth surface of the bark, and were followed by the lines and curves such as Mollie had drawn on the slate during the lesson hour in the Arnolds’ sitting-room. “I am sure Mollie wrote these,” Berry whispered, “and that she put them in our box as a message to me. She must have been here;” and Berry’s eyes again turned anxiously toward the cabin, but there was nothing to be seen to indicate that the Braggs had returned.

Berry decided that she would go home by a woodland trail that led from the back of the cabin through a thick growth of forest trees toward the stream which ran down from the Shiloh plateau, and she walked slowly across the clearing and to the back of the cabin. Her moccasin-covered feet made no noise, and as she turned the corner of the cabin she heard the familiar voice of Mrs. Bragg and saw that the back door was ajar. Berry’s first impulse was to run toward the open door, but at that moment she heard Mrs. Bragg say, “No, Mollie! How many times must I tell ye that yer can’t see Berry Arnold? Didn’ yer Pa warn us ter keep ter ourselves till he lets us know which army’s gwine ter win? I reckon we kin stan’ bein’ a little hungry, an’ I reckon Berry’s fergot ye ’fore this!”

“Oh! Mrs. Bragg! I haven’t!” Berry exclaimed, darting forward and pushing open the cabin door. “Why don’t you want us to know you are home? Oh, Mollie! I’m so glad to see you!” and Berry ran toward the thin little figure that, at the sound of her voice, had jumped up from the wooden stool in a far corner of the room.

“Oh! Berry! Berry!” sobbed Mollie, as she felt Berry’s firm arms holding her tightly; and for a moment the two little friends quite forgot Mrs. Bragg and everything except the joy of seeing each other again. It was Mollie who spoke first. “My nice dress is spoiled,” she said, and Berry’s swift glance noticed that the serge skirt had evidently been torn and clumsily mended, and the blouse showed that it had received hard wear. The kitchen was cold and dark, and Mrs. Bragg explained that Mr. Bragg had warned her not to start a fire for fear some wandering spy might discover that the cabin was inhabited.

“Steve says Corinth is chuck full of Confederate soldiers and that the Yankee soldiers have landed at Crump’s Landing, not more’n ten miles from here; the Yanks tore up a good stretch of railroad between Corinth an’ Columbus, an’ Steve says thar’s more Yanks on the march from Columbia; an’ Steve jes’ put off ter the mountains. He’ll cum back soon’s these pesky armies goes off,” Mrs. Bragg explained, as if thinking it only natural that Steve should flee from any possible danger.

“But we have fires, Mrs. Bragg; and no American soldier, Confederate or Yankee, would harm you,” Berry declared. “Why, Mrs. Bragg, perhaps your own boy, Len, might get a chance to come and see you if the Confederates come this way; and if the cabin is all shut up he would think you had all gone away, and he would go off and you wouldn’t see him,” said Berry eagerly.

For a moment Mrs. Bragg stared at her little visitor in amazement; then, moving toward the fireplace, she exclaimed, “My lan’! That be the very truth. Yo’ gals fetch me some kindlin’-wood an’ I’ll start up a blaze. An’ I’ll wrench them boards off’n the windows and open the front door——” But a shrill scream from Mollie brought her mother’s plans to a sudden end. Looking toward the open door Mollie had discovered a stranger; a young negro boy stood there peering anxiously into the cabin; for Lily never permitted Berry to be long out of her sight and had followed her to the post-box and then on to the Braggs’ cabin.

“It’s only Lily!” Berry explained. “She is living with us, and wearing Francis’s old clothes because they are easier to go about the woods in.”

“Dat’s so!” agreed Lily solemnly, looking first at Mollie and then at Mrs. Bragg.

“I declar’!” exclaimed Mrs. Bragg. “Wal, then she can take hold and holp us git this cabin fit ter live in. Ter think I didn’t project Len comin’ this way!” and Mrs. Bragg was now as eager to get a fire started, to open the windows, and give the cabin the look of being in use as, a few hours earlier, she had been to hide away from any possible visitor.

“It’s a blessin’ you happened this way, Berry!” she declared. “Yo’ jes’ tuck that roll of nice birch-bark under those sticks,” she added, noticing the roll of bark, on which Mollie’s message was traced, that Berry still held.

With a smiling glance at Mollie, Berry promptly obeyed, and in a moment the bark blazed up, the kindlings caught fire, and a cheerful glow and warmth filled the room. With the help of Berry and Lily the boards were taken from the cabin windows and Mrs. Bragg did her best to put the poor rooms in order. When Berry declared it was time for her to start for home Mrs. Bragg cheerfully consented for Mollie to go with her, and with Lily close behind them, the two little friends made their way along the forest trail.

Berry listened eagerly to Mollie’s story of the wandering life the Braggs had led since leaving their cabin.

“We visited Paw’s cousin first,” Mollie explained, “but he wanted Paw to jine up with the Tennessee sojers an’ go ter Corinth, but Paw don’ b’lieve in fightin’, so we went on. We lived in a cave fer a spell. An’, Berry, mos’ days I’ve bin hungry!” concluded the poor little mountain girl, looking up at her friend as if appealing for protection.

“Well! you shan’t be hungry again, Mollie!” Berry promised. “And we have lots of new maple syrup; and I’ll ask Mother to make batter-cakes for our dinner to-day!”

Mollie’s pale eyes brightened at this unexpected delight. She was sure her troubles were over now that Berry was with her.

“I hoped you could read what I wrote on the birch-bark,” she said, as they came in sight of the Arnolds’ cabin. “I put it in the box day before yesterday. Oh, Berry! I’m so glad we have a fire in our kitchen,” she added solemnly, with a little shiver in remembrance of the dark, chilly cabin where she and her mother had remained in hiding for several days without warmth or light.

Mrs. Arnold gave Mollie a warm welcome, and when, late that afternoon, the little girl started for home, Lily, carrying a basket filled with food, went with her; and Berry promised to be at the brook, in the place where she and Mollie always planned to meet, by an early hour the next forenoon.

That evening Berry told her mother and father the story of the Braggs’ wanderings, and of the hardships Mollie and her mother had suffered. “Wouldn’t it be fine if Len could only come home and help them?” said Berry, as she finished the story.

“He may be here at any time, for his regiment is probably in Corinth,” Mr. Arnold responded gravely. “I do not believe the Confederates mean to wait for Grant’s army to attack them. The spies of General Johnston and General Beauregard will keep them informed each day of the advance of General Buell’s troops. Beauregard is used to winning; with the laurels of Fort Sumter and Manassas fresh in his mind he may decide to advance upon Grant’s forces at once. Len Bragg is with Beauregard’s army, and may find himself near home any day.”

“That will be splendid!” Berry declared, smiling happily at the thought of the pleasure of Mollie and Mrs. Bragg if Len should suddenly appear.

But Mr. Arnold shook his head.

“Anything but that, Berry,” he replied. “If Beauregard’s army surprises the forces of Grant and Buell it might mean the capture of the Army of the Cumberland. The Confederate troops must be nearly equal in numbers to those of the Union forces. If Beauregard could take Grant by surprise it would indeed be a sad day for the Union cause.”

Berry listened soberly. She well knew that her brother Francis was fighting for the cause of the Union that slavery might cease to exist and the United States remain an undivided nation. She now began to realize that war might come very near her cabin home; that General Grant’s men, marching toward Corinth, might be surprised and captured by the daring and triumphant Beauregard. And that night Berry resolved to henceforth keep a sharp outlook for possible Confederate spies, or for any evidence of marching troops along the Corinth road.

“If I could let General Grant know that Confederates were on the march, then Beauregard could not surprise him,” thought Berry, remembering that she knew all the forest trails and woodland roads, and that, if she kept a sharp watch, no body of soldiers could reach Pittsburg Landing, where her father believed Grant would land his soldiers, over either of the Corinth roads without her seeing them. “And no one can run faster than I can. I could get to the Union camp long before the Confederates, and then General Grant would be ready,” she thought, not realizing any of the dangers in store for such a messenger just before an impending battle.

“I’ll go to the top of the ridge twice every day, and I’ll make Lily promise to keep a sharp watch,” resolved Berry.

At first the little girl thought she would tell her mother and father of her plan; but she remembered her father’s caution in regard to keeping out of sight of wayfarers along the trails, and said to herself, “I’ll wait until I have seen real soldiers. Perhaps until after I have seen General Grant himself. I guess my father will be proud if I run faster than any Confederate soldier.” And so Berry confided her new resolve to no one but Lily; and the colored girl proved the best possible assistant.