"It's all right, Cary," Morrison laughed. "She's only starting in at giving orders a little earlier than most women.
"Never you mind, Miss Brigadier," he comforted. "We'll have all those luxuries next time, or when I come to see you in Richmond after the war is over. Just now we'll do the best we can. Come along."
Virgie got down from the wall and pattered up to the fire.
"Is it ready yet?" she asked with the perfect directness of seven years.
"In a minute now. Ah-hah! There she goes."
He took the pot from the fire and set it down on a rock where, presently, he brought a cupful of cold water to pour in.
"Is that to settle it?" she asked of her father.
"Yes, child—and I wish all our questions were as easily cleared up. And now—to the attack."
"Right-o. Virgie—pass the beautiful, hand painted china and let's fill up. This one for your daddy—you can put the sugar in. Only don't burn those precious fingers."
Virgie carried the steaming cup to her father and put it in his hands with shining eyes.