r, for O'Connell had turned
to them with a serious face.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'll have to trouble ye to get under cover in the
woods. No argymint, sir," he said decisively, as he saw some show of
resistance on Cary's part. "I'm under orders."

"Yes, yes, I know," Cary cried, impatiently, "but I want to speak to
Colonel Morrison. I _must_ speak to him. Give me a moment, man. You
won't ever regret it."

"Come now--none o' that," commanded the trooper, pushing him back with
the carbine across his breast. "Don't make me use force, sir. Ye'll have
to go--so go quietly. And mind--no shenanigan!"

Cary stood his ground for a moment, meeting the trooper eye to eye--then
turned with hanging head and walked a few steps back into the woods.

"Come, Virgie," he said, "I guess we won't get to see Colonel Morrison
after all."

But Virgie, being a woman, had her own ideas about what she would or
would not do. At the same moment that the trooper was forcing her father
step by step back into the woods, Virgie was running madly towards the
stone wall and before either of the soldiers could stop her she had
clambered up on its broad top and was calling out to a man who clattered
by at the head of a troop of cavalry.

"Colonel Morrison! Colonel Morrison!"

CHAPTER VIII

"Halt!"

At the sound of that piping, childish treble calling his name in so
unexpected a place the officer at the head of the troop threw up his
gauntleted hand and brought the detachment to a standstill in a cloud of
dust.

"Hello, there," he said, turning curiously around in his saddle. "Who is
it wants me?"

"It's _me_, Virgie!" the child cried, leaping up and down on the wall,
all forgetful of her sore foot. "Come help Daddy and me--come quick!"

"Well--what on earth--"

Morrison threw out a command to his men and, wheeling his horse, spurred
vigorously up to the wall where he dismounted and came up to take a
closer view of the tangle haired little person dancing on one foot.

"Why--bless my soul if it isn't Virgie!" His arms opened to take her in
when, suddenly, his eye fell on O'Connell, standing at attention on the
other side of the wall.

"O'Connell," he said, sternly, "what is the meaning of this? Why aren't
you with your detachment?"

"It isn't _his_ fault," Virgie interposed in stout defense of the nice
Yankee who carried biscuits in his knapsack. "He's under orders."

The glib use of the military term made a smile flicker acros