"I wish you to know that I am a Southern girl," she replied stiffly, "and share in the feelings of my people."
"Well, I'm a Northern man, and share in the feelings of my people.
Can't we agree that this is fair and natural in each case?"
"But why do you all come marauding and trampling on the South?"
"I beg your pardon, Miss Baron, but your question opens up all the differences between the two sections. I have my views, but am not a politician—simply a soldier. You and I are not at war. Let us talk about something else. With your brave cousin enlisting your sympathies against our side, what use would there be of my saying anything?"
"My brave cousin does not enlist any of my sympathies; but that, certainly, is a matter which we cannot talk about."
"Pardon, but your reference to him made it natural—"
"There is no need of speaking of him," she interrupted, coldly. "I merely meant that he and those with him in what you slightingly term an unpleasantness can never be friendly to you. This war may be a small thing to you, but suppose your home and family were in danger, as ours are?"
"Can you think that this war is a holiday to me?" he asked, gravely. "What stands between me now and death—perhaps a shameful and horrible death—except your kindly, womanly impulses? I am hourly in danger of being caught and treated as a spy."
"Oh, I didn't realize it," said the girl, simply and kindly. "Everything looks so quiet and lovely. Aun' Jinkey, there, my old mammy, is at work just as I have seen her for years, and Chunk is busy yonder in the garden. It is hard to think how suddenly all might change."
"A soldier must think and be prepared."