“Yes, I’ll be there at ten o’clock,” said Polly, and Roxy, sure that nothing would prevent her being there at the time, agreed promptly.
The big sycamore was on the further slope from the Miller house that led up toward the Lawrence farm. It was a huge tree, that leaned protectively over a clear little brook that ran down the hills to empty into the Antietam, or as Dulcie called it, the “Anti-eatem” River. This tree was about half-way distant between the two places, and was a favorite meeting place for the two girls. There was a little hollow among the big roots well cushioned with soft, green moss where they often rested, and from this pleasant seat they could see two of the stone bridges that spanned the river.
After a few more words about their “signals,” and deciding that they would keep it a secret, Polly said good-night and ran down the path, while Roxy walked slowly toward the house, thinking over all the wonderful events of the day.
The long June day had come to an end; the sun had set, and long rose-colored clouds lay along the western horizon; one faint star shone in the evening sky, and the fragrance of the white roses that grew about the porch filled the air with sweetness. Mrs. Delfield was on the porch steps and as Roxy came toward her she heard her mother singing:
“For life or death, for woe or weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
Maryland, my Maryland.”
As Roxy heard the words of the song she exclaimed:
“Oh, Mother! The soldiers in gray were singing that very tune.”
“Were they, dear? Well, perhaps all the South is singing it by this time,” said Mrs. Delfield, a little sorrowfully, for her Virginia cousins were in the Confederate Army while her husband and friends fought for the Union. The song “Maryland, my Maryland,” by James R. Randall, had been published the previous year, and its haunting cadences appealed to all.
“Mother! I hope the Yankee soldier is safe, don’t you?” said Roxy, as they went indoors.
“If he is he ought to be grateful to you, my dear,” replied Mrs. Delfield, and a little smile came over Roxy’s face. She thought it was a fine thing if she had really helped a Yankee soldier to win his freedom and reach safety. But Roxy was not altogether happy as she remembered that she had permitted the young soldier to be thought a thief.