Polly nodded.
“And who else?” questioned Roxy, adding quickly: “I do wish my father could come.”
“Perhaps he will,” responded Polly, “but I think with the Hinhams and Mr. and Mrs. Greaves it will be a real party. Where is your father, Roxy?”
Roxy’s face grew sober. “We don’t know,” she replied. “Mother thinks he may be with General Pope near Culpepper, and she is hoping to hear any day that he can come and see us.”
Polly made no reply; she had heard her father say, that very morning, that news had come that Confederate soldiers commanded by General Jackson were advancing against General Pope, and that a battle might follow. Polly knew that the city of Washington was believed to be in danger of an attack by the Confederates, but she did not speak of this to Roxy.
“Do you suppose the Yankee boy that I found is safe now?” Roxy questioned, and Polly assured her that the young soldier must have reached the Union lines.
“When your father comes you can tell him how you helped a Yankee soldier,” said Polly; “it isn’t every girl who has a chance. I wish I could do something.”
“Well, Polly, perhaps you can. Grandma says that maybe the war may come right into Maryland,” Roxy replied, and the two girls looked at each other with sober faces; for even ten-year-old Roxy realized that the approach of a battle between Northern and Southern troops was indeed a terrible thing.
“I promised to come home early,” said Polly, “so we had better start;” and, making sure that the fire was out, the two girls started across the pasture toward the big sycamore where they bade each other good-bye.
“I’ll stop for you about three to-morrow afternoon, and we will drive over and invite Mr. and Mrs. Greaves,” said Polly.