"You are mistaken about your interests. Don't you think he was rather rude in not acknowledging your presence?"
"I don't know much about military matters, but I reckon he thought he was on duty."
The general laughed. "Well," he remarked, "it does not seem to be age that makes us wise so much as eyes that see and a brain back of them. Scoville is a gentleman and a good soldier. He is also unusually well educated and thoughtful for his years. You are right, my dear. Pardon me, but you keep reminding me of my daughter, and I like to think of all that's good and gentle before a battle."
"I wish I could meet her," said Miss Lou simply.
"Come and visit her after the war, then," said the general cordially. "The hope of the country is in the young people, who are capable of receiving new and large ideas." Having made his acknowledgments to Mr. Baron and Mrs. Whately, he repaired to the veranda and lighted a cigar. The staff-officers, who had tried to make themselves agreeable on general principles, also retired.
Miss Lou's cheeks were burning with an excitement even greater than that which the conflicts witnessed had inspired—the excitement of listening to voices from the great unknown world. "These courteous gentlemen," she thought, "this dignified general who invites me to visit his daughter, are the vandals against whom I have been warned. They have not only treated me like a lady, but have made me feel that I was one, yet to escape them I was to become the slave of a spoiled, passionate boy!"
Mrs. Whately guessed much that was passing in her mind, and sighed deeply.
At the veranda steps stood Uncle Lusthah, hat in hand and heading a delegation from the quarters. The general said, "Wait a moment," then despatched one of his staff to the ridge with orders. "Now, my man."
Uncle Lusthah bowed profoundly and began, "De young Linkum ossifer said, las' night, how you tell us mo' dis mawnin' 'bout our freedom."
"You are free. Mr. Lincoln's proclamation makes you all free."