Mrs. Whately found her niece on the veranda watching the proceedings without, and she lost no time in expressing her purpose. To her surprise, a pair of arms were around her neck instantly, and a kiss was pressed upon her lips.

"That's my answer," said Miss Lou, who was as ready to forgive and forget as a child. "If you say a word about going home I shall be unhappy. See, auntie, the Yankees are retreating again as our men advance."

The morning sun was now shining brightly and the day growing very warm. Before them was the scene of military operations. At present, it afforded a deeply exciting spectacle, yet oppressed with no sense of personal danger. Scoville's little force was slowly retiring along the ridge which the Confederates were approaching, thus removing the theatre of actual conflict from the vicinity of the dwelling.

Mr. Baron appeared on the veranda and soon began to yield to the soothing influences of his pipe. It was not in his nature to make any formal acknowledgments of error, but he felt that he had gone on the wrong track far and long enough, and so was ready for a gradual amelioration in his relations to his niece and sister. They had become too absorbed in the scene before them to think of much else, while Mrs. Baron sought composure and solace in her domestic affairs.

At last Mrs. Whately said, "The Yankees appear to have stopped retreating and to be increasing in numbers. Alas! I fear our men are in great danger and that the main column of the enemy is near."

There was a sudden outbreak of cries and exclamations from the negroes in the rear of the mansion. Zany rushed out, saying, "De Yanks comin' by Aun' Jinkey's cabin."

She had scarcely spoken before they heard a rush of trampling steeds and the head of a Union column swept round the house. Miss Lou saw Scoville leading and knew that he had availed himself of his acquaintance with the place to guide an attack upon the Confederates in their rear. He saluted her with his sabre and smiled as he passed, but her sympathies were with the major, now taken at such disadvantage. At this period the troops on both sides were veterans, and neither fought nor ran away without good reason. Major Brockton knew as well what to do as had Scoville before him, and retreated at a gallop with his men toward the southwest, whence his supports were advancing. The Union attack, however, had been something of a surprise and a number of the Confederates were cut off.

The scene and event had been one to set every nerve tingling. But a few yards away the Union force had rushed by like a living torrent, the ground trembling under the iron tread of the horses. Far more impressive had been the near vision of the fierce, bronzed faces of the troopers, their eyes gleaming like their sabres, with the excitement of battle. Scoville won her admiration unstintedly, even though she deprecated his purpose. His bearing was so fearless, so jaunty even in its power, that he seemed as brave as any knight in the old-fashioned romances she had read, yet so real and genial that it was hard to believe he was facing death that sunny morning or bent upon inflicting it. Looking at his young, smiling, care-free face, one could easily imagine that he was taking part in a military pageant; but the headlong career and flashing weapons of his men, who deployed as they charged straight at the Confederates, dispelled any such illusion.

The ridge began to grow black with Union men and Miss Lou soon perceived the gleam of artillery as the guns were placed in position. Mr. Baron, who had permitted his pipe to go out in the excitement, groaned, "The Yanks have come in force and are forming a line of battle yonder. If our troops come up, the fight will take place on my land. Lord help us! What's coming next?"

Miss Lou began to receive impressions which filled her with awe. Heretofore she had been intensely excited by what had been mere skirmishes, but now she witnessed preparations for a battle. That long line of dark blue on the ridge portended something more terrible than she could imagine. The sounds of conflict died away down the main road, the ring of axes was heard in the grove which crowned the ridge near the mansion, and Mr. Baron groaned again. Thin curls of smoke began to define the Union position—before noon thousands of coffee-pots were simmering on the fires.

At last, a tall man, followed by a little group of officers and a squadron of cavalry, rode down the ridge toward the mansion. These troopers surrounded the house, forming one circle near and another much further away, so that none could approach without causing prompt alarm. The group of officers dismounted and orderlies held their horses. As the tall man came up the veranda steps Miss Lou saw two white stars on his shoulder. Then her uncle advanced reluctantly and this man said, "Mr. Baron, I presume?"

"Yes, sir."

"My name is Marston, commanding officer. This is my staff. Will you oblige us by as good a meal as can be provided hastily? I will pay for it."

"No, sir, you cannot pay for it," replied Mr. Baron indignantly. "I keep a house of entertainment only for my friends. At the same time I know your request is equivalent to a command, and we will do the best we can."

"Very well, sir. I can repay you in a way that will be satisfactory to my mind and be more advantageous to you. Hartly, tell the officer in command to permit no depredations. Ladies, your servant," and the general dropped into a chair as if weary.

Some of the younger officers promptly sought to play the agreeable to Mrs. Whately and her niece, and upon the latter all eyes rested in undisguised admiration. Cold and shy as she had appeared, she had not failed to note the fact. The woman was sufficiently developed within her for this, and the quick, unanimous verdict of these strangers and enemies in regard to herself which she read in their eyes came with almost the force of a revelation. For the first time, she truly became conscious of her beauty and its power. More than ever, she exulted in her escape and freedom, thinking, "What a poor figure is Cousin Mad beside these men whose faces are so full of intelligence!"

Mrs. Whately was the perfection of dignified courtesy, but quickly excused herself and niece on the plea of hastening preparations. She was one who could not extend even enforced hospitality bereft of its grace, and she also explained to Miss Lou, "We had much better gain their good-will than their ill-will."

"Well, auntie, we must admit that the Yankees have not acted like monsters yet."

The lady bit her lip, but said after a moment, "I suppose gentlemen are much the same the world over. Thus far it has been our good-fortune to have met with such only. There is another class, however, from which God defend us!"

"Lieutenant Scoville admitted that himself. So there is on our side —men like Perkins."

"No, I mean Yankee officers who have at least permitted the worst wrongs in many parts of our unhappy land." "Well," thought Miss Lou, as she helped Zany set the table, "after my experience I shall believe what I see. What's more, I mean to see the world before I die and judge of everything for myself. Now if the general on our side, with his staff, will only come to supper, I shall get quite an education in one day."

Mrs. Baron retired to her room and would have nothing whatever to do with her present guests, but Aun' Suke did not need her orders now, nor did any of her assistants.

Chunk had again returned to his haunts and had made havoc in the poultry-yard. Now he worked like a beaver, meantime enjoining Aun' Suke "ter sabe de plumpest chicken ob de lot fer my Boss. Marse Scoville brung 'em all yere, you knows. Hi! but we uns had ter git out sud'n dough dis mawnin'."

"Does you tink de Linkum men git druv off agin?"

"How you talks! Aun' Suke. Hi! Druv off! Why, de ridge des black wid um—anuff ter eat Mad Whately en all he men alibe. Dey des ridin' troo de kintry freein' we uns."

"Well, I hopes I kin stay free till night, anyhow," said Aun' Suke, pausing in her work to make a dab at a little darky with her wooden spoon sceptre. "Firs' Marse Scoville whirl in en say I free; den old miss whirl in en say I ain'; now conies de gin'ral ob de hull lot en I'se free agin. Wat's mo', de freer I git de harder I has ter wuk. My haid gwine roun' lak dat ar brass rewster on de barn, wen' de win' blow norf en souf ter oncet."

"No mattah 'bout yo' haid, Aun' Suke. Dat ain' no 'count. Hit's yo' han's dat de gin'ral want busy."

"No mattah 'bout my haid, eh? Tek dat on yo'n den," and she cracked
Chunk's skull sharply.

"Dat's right, Aun' Suke, keep de flies away," remarked Chunk quietly.
"You git all de freedom you wants ef you does ez I sez."

"Mo'n I wants ef I've got ter min' ev'ybody, eben dem w'at's neber growed up."

"I des step ter de gin'ral en say you hab dejections 'bout cookin' he dinner. Den I tell 'im ter order out a char'ot ter tek you ter glory."

"G'lang! imperdence," said Aun' Suke, resuming her duties.

"La! Aun' Suke," spoke up Zany, who had been listening for a moment, "doan yer know Chunk de boss ob de hull bizness? He des pickin' chickens now ter let de gen'ral res' a while. Bimeby he git on he hoss en lead de hull Linkum army wid yo' wooden spoon."

Chunk started for her, but the fleet-footed girl was soon back in the dining-room.

When the early dinner was almost ready Mr. Baron said to his sister:

"Surely, there's no reason why you and Louise should appear."

"Very good reason, brother. I shall make these Northern officers feel that they have eaten salt with us and so are bound to give us their protection. Moreover, I wish to gain every particle of information that I can. It may be useful to our general when he appears. Bring out your wine and brandy, for they loosen tongues."

It soon became evident, however, that General Marston and his staff felt in no need of Dutch courage, and were too plainly aware of their situation to confuse their minds with their host's liquor even if they were so inclined. The general was serious, somewhat preoccupied, but courteous, especially to Miss Lou, on whom his eyes often rested kindly. At last he said:

"I have a little girl at home about your age and with your blue eyes.
I'd give a good deal to see her to-day."

"I think, sir, you are glad that she is not where I am to-day," Miss
Lou ventured to answer.

"Yes, that's true. I hope no harm will come to you, my child, nor will there if we can help it. I know what claims you have upon us and would be proud indeed if my daughter would behave as you have in like circumstances. I have travelled the world over, Mrs. Whately, and have never seen the equal of the unperverted American girl."

"I certainly believe that true of Southern girls, general," was the matron's reply, although she flushed under a consciousness of all that Scoville might have reported.

"Pardon me, madam, but you are in danger of perverting the minds of Southern girls with prejudice, a noble kind of prejudice, I admit, because so closely allied with what they regard as patriotism, but narrow and narrowing nevertheless. That old flag yonder means one people, one broad country, and all equally free under the law to think and act."

"Do you intend to remain in this country and hold it in subjection?"
Mrs. Whately asked in smiling keenness.

"We intend to give the Southern people every chance to become loyal, madam, and for one I rest confidently in their intelligence and sober second thoughts. They have fought bravely for their ideas, but will be defeated. The end is drawing near, I think."

"Well, sir," said Mr. Baron grimly, "I am sorry you are preparing for some more bloody arguments about our very ears."

"I am also, on account of these ladies; in other respects, I am not. By night there may be many wounded and dying men. It will be well for them that they do not fall in a wild and desolate region like some that we have passed through. As you say, sir, war is an argument, a heated one at times. But a wounded man is an appeal to all kindly humanity. You would nurse me a little, Miss Baron, if I were brought in wounded, would you not?"

"Yes, sir, I would, because I feel what you say about a wounded man is true."

"Oh, I know that," he replied with a very kindly smile. "I hope to tell my little girl about you." Suddenly he became grave again and said, "Mr. Baron, you are somewhat isolated here, and may not be so well informed as I am. However the prospective conflict may turn, I cannot remain in this region. Many of our wounded may be left. Do not delude yourself, sir, nor, if you can help it, permit your friends to be deluded by the belief, or even hope, that our forces will not soon control this and all other parts of the land. While I trust that humanity will lead to every effort to assuage suffering and save life, I must also warn you that strict inquisition will soon be made. There is nothing that we resent more bitterly than wrongs to or neglect of such of our wounded as must be left behind."

"It would seem, sir, that you hold me responsible for evils which I cannot prevent."

"No, sir. I only suggest that you employ your whole influence and power to avert future evils. I am offering a word to the wise, I trust. Ah, Scoville, you have news?"

"Yes, sir, important," said that officer, standing dusty and begrimed at the doorway.

"Is there haste? Is your information for my ear only? I'm nearly through."

"Plenty of time for dinner, sir. No harm can now come from hearing at once what I have to say."

"Go ahead, then. I'd like my staff to know."

"Well, sir, having got the enemy on the run, we kept them going so they could not mask what was behind them. There's a large force coming up."

"As large as ours?"

"I think so. I gained an eminence from which I obtained a good view. Major Jones told me to say that he would skirmish with the advance, delay it, and send word from time to time."

"All right. Get some dinner, then report to me."

"Yes, sir;" and Scoville saluted and departed without a glance at any one except his commander.

"What do you think of my scout, Miss Baron?" asked the general with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

"He proved himself a gentleman last evening, sir, and now I should think he was proving a very good soldier, much too good for our interests."

"You are mistaken about your interests. Don't you think he was rather rude in not acknowledging your presence?"

"I don't know much about military matters, but I reckon he thought he was on duty."

The general laughed. "Well," he remarked, "it does not seem to be age that makes us wise so much as eyes that see and a brain back of them. Scoville is a gentleman and a good soldier. He is also unusually well educated and thoughtful for his years. You are right, my dear. Pardon me, but you keep reminding me of my daughter, and I like to think of all that's good and gentle before a battle."

"I wish I could meet her," said Miss Lou simply.

"Come and visit her after the war, then," said the general cordially. "The hope of the country is in the young people, who are capable of receiving new and large ideas." Having made his acknowledgments to Mr. Baron and Mrs. Whately, he repaired to the veranda and lighted a cigar. The staff-officers, who had tried to make themselves agreeable on general principles, also retired.

Miss Lou's cheeks were burning with an excitement even greater than that which the conflicts witnessed had inspired—the excitement of listening to voices from the great unknown world. "These courteous gentlemen," she thought, "this dignified general who invites me to visit his daughter, are the vandals against whom I have been warned. They have not only treated me like a lady, but have made me feel that I was one, yet to escape them I was to become the slave of a spoiled, passionate boy!"

Mrs. Whately guessed much that was passing in her mind, and sighed deeply.

At the veranda steps stood Uncle Lusthah, hat in hand and heading a delegation from the quarters. The general said, "Wait a moment," then despatched one of his staff to the ridge with orders. "Now, my man."

Uncle Lusthah bowed profoundly and began, "De young Linkum ossifer said, las' night, how you tell us mo' dis mawnin' 'bout our freedom."

"You are free. Mr. Lincoln's proclamation makes you all free."

"Kin we uns go 'long wid you, mars'r? Folks des seem kiner deef 'bout dat ar prockermation in dese parts."

"No, my man, you can't go with us. We are marching much too rapidly for you to keep up. Stay here where you are known. Make terms with your master for wages or share in the crops. If it is necessary, the people about here will probably soon again hear the proclamation from our cannon. Mr. Baron, why don't you gain the goodwill of those people and secure their co-operation? They will be worth more to you as freemen, and they ARE free. I give you friendly advice. Accept what you can't help. Adapt yourselves to the new order of things. Any other course will be just as futile as to resolve solemnly that you will have nothing to do with steam, but travel as they did in Abraham's time."

Miss Lou looked at her uncle curiously to see how he would take this advice. His coldness of manner and silence told how utterly lost upon him it was. The general looked at him a moment, and then said gravely, "Mr. Baron, such men as you are the enemies of your section, not such men as I. Good-morning, sir. Good-by, my child. Heaven bless and protect you!" With a stately bow to Mrs. Whately he departed and was soon on the ridge again with his men.

"I wonder if Abraham and the Patriarchs would have been any more ready for the new order of things than uncle?" Miss Lou thought as she went to find Scoville.

"He down at Aun' Jinkey's cabin. Chunk took he dinner dar," Zany whispered.

"He des step ter de run ter wash he han's en face," said Aun' Jinkey a little later.

Passing some screening shrubbery, the girl saw him standing on the spot from which he had been carried insensible by her directions so brief a time before. "Your dinner is ready," she called.

He came to her quickly and said, "I've been trying to realize all that has happened since I fell at your feet yonder."

"Far more has happened to me than to you," she replied. "It seems years since then; I've seen and learned so much."

"I wish to ask you something," he said earnestly.

"That scamp, Perkins, fired on me at close range. You stood just over him and I heard what you said. How happened it that his bullet flew so wide of the mark?"

She began laughing as she asked, "Have you never heard that there was luck in throwing an old shoe? I hit Perkins over the eyes with one of mine."

"Took it off and fired it while he was trying to shoot me?"

"Yes."

He seized both her hands and asked, "What will you take for that shoe?"

"What a Yankee you are to ask such a question! It wasn't a shoe; it was a slipper." "Have you it on now?"

"Yes. What should you want of it?"

"I want to wear it next my heart. Which one was it? Let me see it."

"No; it's old. I haven't any other, and I shall wear it on my right foot as long as it lasts."

"Please let me see it and take it in my hands just a moment. I may never have a chance to ask another favor of you."

"Oh, yes, you will. You are coming to see us, and the general has asked me to visit his daughter after the war is over. Do you think he'll remember it?"

"The slipper, please."

"How can you ask so absurd a thing?" and a dainty foot was put out a brief instant before him.

"Oh, you little Cinderella! I wish I was the Prince." He saw something like a frown gathering on her face. "Don't look that way," he resumed, "I want to tell you something I've read. I don't remember the words, but the gist is that a woman never forgets a man on whom she has bestowed a great kindness. Already I have twice owed my life to you. You can't forget me. My hope is in what you have done for me, not what I can do for you. I can think of myself lying dead in front of the house, I know I am standing here looking into your true, sweet eyes. Let me look into them a moment, for I have no sister, no mother, no one in the world that I care for like you. Do not think I am making love. I may be dead yet before night. But whether I live or die I want you to remember that there is one human soul that always wishes you well for your OWN sake, that is wholly and unselfishly devoted to your interests and happiness."

"There, I'm beginning to cry, and your dinner's getting cold. You must stop talking so."

"Give me something to carry into battle this afternoon."

She stooped and gathered some wild violets. "There," she said.

"You could not have chosen better. Whenever I see violets hereafter they shall be your eyes looking at me as you are looking now."

"And—well—you can remember that there is always a little friend in the South who does care. That's a curious thought about a woman's caring for those she has—I don't believe a woman can care for any one and not try to do something for him. Let us just think of ourselves as friends. It seems to me that I never want to think any other way. Now you MUST get your dinner. You may be summoned hastily and have no other chance to-day. After Uncle Lusthah's words last night I'm not going to have any forebodings."

"Won't you let me call you Miss Lou once before I go?"

"Why not?"

"Well, then, Miss Lou, look in my eyes once more and remember what you see there. I won't say a word."

She raised hers shyly to his, blushed deeply and turned away, shaking her head. The power to divine what she saw was born with her.

"Yes, I understand you," he said very gently, "but you can't help it, any more than the sun's shining. Some day your heart may be cold and sad, and the memory of what you have just seen may warm and cheer it Miss Lou, you brave, noble little child-woman, didn't you see that my love was your servant—that it merely gives you power over me? Even as my wife you would be as free as I would be. Now good-by. We part here and not before others. Chunk is yonder with my horse. Be just as happy as you can whether we ever meet again or not." "Then—then—if you don't come again?" she faltered.

"I shall be dead, but don't believe this too hastily."

"You've been kind," she burst out passionately, "you've treated me with respect, as if I had a right to myself. You have saved me from what I dreaded far worse than death. You shall not go away, perhaps to die, without—without—without—oh, think of me only as a grateful child whose life you've kept from being spoiled."

"I shall not go away without—what?" he asked eagerly.

"Oh, I don't know. What shall I say? My heart aches as if it would break at the thought of anything happening to you." She dropped on the grass and, burying her face in her hands, sobbed aloud.

He knelt beside her and sought to take one of her hands.

Suddenly she hid her face against his breast for a moment and faltered,
"Love me as a child NOW and leave me."

"You have given me my orders, little girl, and they would be obeyed as far as you could see were I with you every day."

"Lieutenant Scoville!" shouted the distant voice of an orderly. He hastily kissed away the tears in her eyes, exclaiming, "Never doubt my return, if living," and was gone.

In a moment he had passed through the shrubbery. Before she had regained self-control and followed he was speeding his horse toward the ridge. "There, he has gone without his dinner," she said in strong self-reproach, hastening to the cabin. Chunk, who was stuffing a chicken and cornbread into a haversack, reassured her. "Doan you worry, Miss Lou," he said. "Dis yere chicken gwine ter foller 'im right slam troo eberyting till hit cotch up," and he galloped after his new "boss" in a way to make good his words.