a look down the road," he ordered, in a guarded voice; and, when
she had reached a point commanding the danger zone, he asked, "See
anybody?--soldiers?" She shook her head. "Hear anything?"

She stood for a moment listening, then ran to him, and sprang into his
waiting arms.

"It's all right, Daddy! It's all right now!"

He raised her, strained her to his breast, his cheek against her own.

"My little girl!" he murmured between his kisses. "My little rebel!" And
as she snuggled in his arms, her berry-stained fingers clasped tightly
about his neck, he asked her wistfully, "Did you miss me?--_awful_
much?"

"Yes," she nodded, looking into his eyes. "Yes--in the night time--when
the wind was talkin'; but, after while, when--Why, Daddy!" He had
staggered as he set her down, sinking into a chair and closing his eyes
as he leaned on the table's edge. "You are hurt!" she cried. "I--I can
see the blood!"

The wounded Southerner braced himself.

"No, dear, no," he strove to reassure her. "It isn't anything; only a
little scratch--from a Yank--that tried to get me. But he didn't,
though," the soldier added with a smile. "I'm just--tired."

The child regarded him in wondering awe, speaking in a half-breathed
whisper:

"Did he--did he _shoot_ at you?"

Her father nodded, with his hand on her tumbled hair.

"Yes, honey, I'm afraid he did; but I'm so used to it now I don't mind
it any more. Get me a drink of water, will you?" As Virgie obeyed in
silence, returning with the dripping gourd, the man went on: "I tried to
get here yesterday; but I couldn't. They chased me when I came
before--and now they're watching." He paused to sip at his draught of
water, glancing toward the carriage road. "Big fight down the river.
Listen! Can you hear the guns?"

"Yes, plain," she answered, tilting her tiny head. "An' las' night, when
I went to bed, I could hear 'em--oh! ever so loud: Boom! Boom!
Boom-boom! So I knelt up an' asked the Lord not to let any of 'em hit
you."

Two arms, in their tattered gray, slipped round the child. He kissed
her, in that strange, fierce passion of a man who has lost his mate,
and his grief-torn love is magnified in the mite who reflects her image
and her memory.

"Did you, honey?" he asked, with a trembling lip. "Well, I reckon that
saved your daddy, for not one shell touched him--no, not one!" He kissed
her again, and laughed. "And I tell you, Virgie, they were coming as
thick as bees."

Once mor