RED STRINGS

One of those most deeply interested in the arrival of Dorothea was Lucy, the colored girl whom Mrs. May had appointed to attend upon her niece. Her mistress’s pretty clothes set the little maid in an ecstasy of delight and she would have liked nothing better than to dress Dorothea in all of them, one after the other, to see how they looked. She was ready for all sorts of gossip, and while she combed and braided her young lady’s hair she talked at a great rate of the quality folks in the neighborhood, of “Ol’ Miss,” as she called Mrs. May, and “Young Miss,” meaning April. A good deal of the talk Dorothea could make neither head nor tail of, but she liked to listen to the soft Southern accents and smiled more than once at the unfamiliar expressions, of which she comprehended but half the meaning.

She was almost dressed when there was a knock at the door and Miss Imogene floated into the room with her bright, bird-like air. She cocked her head on one side as she surveyed Dorothea and then nodded as if satisfied.

“You may run along now, Lucy,” she told the maid; “I’ll finish Miss Dorothea.”

“Yes’m,” Lucy replied, but she went reluctantly, with many backward glances.

“I couldn’t resist the temptation to look at you in your finery before any one else, my dear,” Miss Imogene began. “I wanted to see how far behind the times our patterns are—and things look so different in the hand.”

She, herself, was dressed with care, and, though there were wanting touches here and there to show the very latest whim of fashion, her hoops were as wide as Dorothea’s and she looked as dainty as a picture.

She put the finishing touches to Dorothea’s toilet and then sat down with a little gesture of invitation to the girl to occupy a chair near her.

“We’ve a few minutes before all is ready downstairs, and I thought you’d like to know something of the people you are to meet,” Miss Imogene suggested.

“Indeed I should,” Dorothea agreed, making herself comfortable. “It’s awfully awkward if you don’t know who is related to you and all about them. And I have lived so far from my American relatives, haven’t I?”

Miss Imogene nodded understandingly, at the same moment slipping a dainty finger inside a red velvet band she wore about her neck as if it might be a little tight. As she did this she glanced at Dorothea rather keenly and a few moments later made a gesture as if to brush back the hair from her forehead.

“First of all there’s your Cousin Hal,” Miss Imogene began. “The dearest boy I know. He’s fighting, of course.”

She named over half a dozen others of those who were living for the time being at the Mays. Two or three ladies “refugeeing,” or on their way to other points and breaking the journey at Washington; a number of officers in the Confederate Army, busy all day with duties of one sort or another, consisting mainly of gathering food or horses wherever they could be found.

“Then there’s Val Tracy,” she went on. “You’ll like him. He’s Irish and has a gay, blarneying tongue. Compliments flow from him like water down hill. He’s in the Army, though I think it is more for the fun of fighting than for any faith he has in the cause of the South.”

Miss Imogene continued with her description of the people Dorothea was soon to meet, and then quite suddenly changed the subject.

“Dorothea dear,” she asked abruptly, again slipping her finger under the red band around her neck, “have you heard any mention up North of the Confederate prison at Andersonville?”

“It was talked of a little, I think,” the girl answered hesitatingly. “At least I don’t remember whether that was the name, but there was something in the papers about how badly the Union soldiers were treated in the prisons here. I hope it isn’t true.”

“I am afraid there is more than a little truth in what is being said,” Miss Imogene acknowledged. “It isn’t all our fault, you know. We haven’t enough to eat ourselves, so of course the prisoners suffer like the rest of us. It is very hard on them, poor souls. Many of them try to escape by coming through Georgia. But there are few who get away.”

A little later as they descended the broad stairs, Dorothea heard so much talking and laughter that she concluded there must be a special cause for rejoicing, and was a little surprised to find that there was no great news, no particular occasion for merriment, other than the natural gayety of spirit that she was to find universal among these Southerners among whom she had come to live.

She was introduced to the assembly one after the other, and each had a pleasant and characteristic word to say to her. Val Tracy, true to his reputation, at once paid her a compliment, but in such a bright laughing spirit that his extravagance of expression was robbed of any offense.

“I have heard it is your way to say flattering things,” Dorothea answered his little speech.

“And to mean them, Miss Drummond,” he returned with a bow. “Faith, the man would be dumb who could fail to have a pretty speech on his tongue’s tip when he sees so inspiring a subject.”

“Don’t mind his blarney, Cousin Dorothea,” Hal May laughed. “It’s notorious. After a while, you won’t notice it any more. It’s only at first that it makes an impression.”

“’Tis better to make a first impression than none at all,” Val laughed.

“You’re right, young man,” Miss Imogene said gently; “and do not fear that even the oldest of us resent your compliments. We like them, don’t we, April?”

“Indeed we do, Val,” April replied. “Hal is too stupid to appreciate us.”

“It takes an Irishman to do that, April,” Val protested.

So the bantering went on through the supper and Dorothea, sitting quietly looking from one to the other about the table, thought it was strange indeed that this company of young people should be so gay and care-free with all the evidences of war about them. Everything they saw must have reminded them of the conflict. The young officers wore tattered uniforms, stained and patched; the girls made-over finery; the very food was so limited in variety that Aunt Decent grumbled from morning till night. And yet there was no faltering of the confidence these charming Southerners had in the outcome. They made light of their make-shifts; they laughed at the privations they were forced to endure; they faced with courage what might be in store for them, predicting victory at the end.

Dorothea was in two minds whether to admire them for their fortitude or to question whether they had any realization of the seriousness of the times in which they were living. It seemed as if they gloried in scorning the thought that they might lose. That contingency they put away from them, as they did all other unpleasant facts. The English girl’s first sight of these care-free people set her to wondering if they could ever be serious. She could not help but contrast this lightness with the different view of the matter held in the North, where a universal anxiety was met with on every hand. With their gay laughter all about her she had a remembrance of the sad face of Mr. Lincoln, who seemed to grieve for all the suffering, no matter on whom it fell.

“How can they win?” Dorothea asked herself.

“I tell you it’s getting downright serious,” she heard Val Tracy saying, as she brought her thoughts back to her surroundings. “The Yankees seem to know just what we mean to do and to prepare for it. There have been a dozen plans that have had to be abandoned. The South is full of spies!”

“And some of them are worse than that,” April broke out passionately. “They are traitors!”

“Yes, that’s right,” her brother Hal put in. “We’ve just learned that there’s a society all through the South that is growing more powerful every day. It’s called the Red Strings.”

“The Red Strings?” cried a half dozen voices at once.

“Where did you hear of them?” demanded Val Tracy.

“No matter,” said Hal shortly; “but I’ll tell you how they came to be organized. You all know that ever since the war began there have been a lot of cowards in this state, up in the North and East. There are more in Tennessee and some in the Piedmont region of North Carolina. Blackguards who voted for the Union, all of them! Well, when war was declared, you may be sure the first people our conscript officers went for were these half-Yankees; but they were mighty clever and took to the mountains. When the officers went away, back they came to their homes. They arranged it so that they were warned in ample time of any attempt to draft them, and pretty soon an organization grew up among them. This developed until it occurred to some one that here was a good crowd to help the Yankees and the Abolitionists. To-day they’re scattered all over the South, and it’s said there are a number of them in our army itself.”

“The traitors!” cried April. “They should all be hung!”

“Maybe,” said her brother, with a laugh, “but first you have to catch them. They’re mighty slippery.”

“But why are they called ‘Red Strings’?” asked Miss Ivory, in her gentle voice.

“Because in the beginning,” Hal explained, “they used to wear a piece of red, white and blue cord somewhere about them so they would know each other. But this was conspicuous and not easy to get, so they adopted just a piece of red ribbon—anything so it was red. A red string dyed with pine roots would do. And they took their name from that. They have passwords and signs, so they say; but anyhow this society, which began among the poor mountaineers, has come to be mighty powerful and is making all sorts of trouble for us. They are helping prisoners to escape from Andersonville and the other camps. They are doing all they can for the regular spies, and any information they get is sure to be sent North to the Yankees sooner or later. It’s a bad business.”

“Then we’ll have to watch out for suspicious people who wear red strings,” cried Val Tracy with a chuckle. “Ah, ha! I see one already. Miss Ivory has one about her neck.”

There was a fine laugh at this.

“You had better keep an eye on me after this,” said that gentle lady with a serious face.

“Ah, Miss Imogene,” cried Val contritely, “’Twould give me joy—but I should as soon believe Mr. Davis a traitor as you.”

Dorothea, suddenly conscious of some one staring at her, raised her eyes to find April’s gaze fixed on the red velvet ribbon around her wrist, but at the same moment she noticed with a start of surprise that her beautiful cousin wore a thin red girdle about her waist.