such duty with the capture of her father. Therefore, she
raised her tiny chin and resorted to tactics of a purely personal
nature:

"An' didn't you know, if you hurt my daddy, I'd tell Uncle Fitz Lee on
you?"

"No," the Yankee smiled. "Is he your uncle?"

The littlest rebel regarded him with a look of positive pity for his
ignorance.

"He's _everybody's_ uncle," she stated warmly. "An' if I was to tell
him, he'd come right after you an'--an' lick the _stuffins_ out of
you."

The soldier laughed.

"My dear," he confided, with a dancing twinkle in hip eye, "to tell you
the honest truth, your Uncle Fitz has done it already--_several_ times."

"Has he?" she cried, in rapturous delight. "Oh, _has_ he?"

"He has," the enemy repeated, with vigor and conviction. "But suppose we
shift our conversation to matters a shade more pleasant. Take you, for
instance. You see--" He stopped abruptly, turning his head and listening
with keen intentness. "What's that?" he asked.

"_I_ didn't hear anything," said Virgie, breathing very fast; but she
too had heard it--a sound above them, a scraping sound, as of someone
lying flat along the rafters and shifting his position and, while she
spoke, a telltale bit of plaster fell, and broke as it struck the floor.

Morrison looked up, starting as he saw the outlines of the closely
fitting scuttle, for the loft was so low and shallow that he had not
suspected its presence from an outside view; but now he was certain of
the fugitive's hiding-place. Virgie watched him, trembling, growing hot
in the pit of her little stomach; yet, when he faced her, she looked him
squarely in the eye, fighting one last battle for her daddy--as hopeless
as the tottering cause of the Stars and Bars.

"You--you don't think he can fly, do you?"

"No, little Rebel," the soldier answered gently, sadly; "but there are
other ways." He glanced at the table, measuring its height with the
pitch of the ceiling, then turned to her again: "Is your father in that
loft?" She made no answer, but began to back away. "Tell me the truth.
Look at me!" Still no answer, and he took a step toward her, speaking
sternly: "Do you hear me? _Look_ at me!"

She tried; but her courage was oozing fast. She had done her best, but
now it was more than the mite could stand; so she bit her lip to stop
its quivering, and turned her head away. For a moment the man stood,
silent, wondering if it was possible that the child had been coached i