ns looked rigid, but she made no reply. "The Camp" was a depot
of United States supplies, established for the relief of the poor
blacks and whites of the region, and Major Randolph was the officer in
charge of it. In her great poverty, Miss Pickens had been forced to
apply with the rest of her neighbors for this aid, going every week with
a basket on her arm, and receiving the same rations of bacon and
corn-meal which the poorest negroes received. It was bitter bread; but
what can one do when one is starving? Major Randolph was sorry for the
poor lady, and kind and courteous always, but Miss Pickens could not be
grateful; he was one of the Northern invaders who had helped to crush
her hopes and that of her State, and to bring them to this extremity;
and though she took the corn-meal, she had no thanks in her heart.

"We are going to the village this afternoon, aren't we, Aunty?" went on
Annie.

"Yes, we must," replied her Aunt. "I came to tell you to get ready. And,
Annie, don't sing so loud when you are near the house. Grandmamma
doesn't like to hear it."

"Doesn't she?" said Annie wondering. "I'll try to remember, Aunty. But
sometimes I don't know when I am singing. It just sings of itself."

"Getting ready" consisted of tying on two faded, flapping sun-bonnets,
to which Miss Pickens added an old ragged India shawl, relic of past
grandeur. Annie's feet were bare, her Aunt wore army shoes made of
cow-skin, part of the Bureau supply. She was a tall, thin woman, and,
with the habit of former days, carried her head high in air as she
walked along. Little fairy Annie danced by her side, now stopping to
gather a flower, now to listen to a bird, chatting and laughing all the
way, as though she were a bird herself, and never heeding Aunty's
melancholy looks or short answers.

"Who _are_ those people?" asked Mrs. Randolph of her husband, as she
watched the odd-looking pair come along the road. "Do look, Harry. Such
a strange woman, and--I do declare, the prettiest child I ever saw in my
life. Tell me who they are?"

"Oh, that's my little pet, Annie Pickens," replied the Major. Then he
hastily told his wife the story.

"The poor ladies suffer dreadfully both in pride and in pocket, I fear,"
he added. "But Annie, bless her! she doesn't know what suffering means,
any more than if she were a bird or a squirrel. I thought you'd take a
fancy to her, Blanche; and perhaps you can think of some way to help
them. Women know how