"Ah, yes," he nodded. "And do you know the uniform of a Union officer—when you see it?"
Virgie's small mouth dropped open at the absurdity of the question and she almost laughed.
"A Yankee?" she queried with scorn. "Well, I reckon I ought to—by this time."
"Very good," the brown bearded man nodded, and gently blew smoke at the ceiling. "Now, tell me. When you lived at home—and afterwards in your cabin—did your father come to see you often?"
Virgie's sunny head nodded in emphatic asseveration. "Yes, sir. Often."
"How often?" asked the bearded man.
Virgie's fingers twisted themselves deep in her dress.
"I—I don't know, sir. But heaps of times."
"Good again," and the questioner actually smiled. "When your father came, did he ever wear clothes that—that were not his own?"
Virgie turned a side-long look on her father but, as he could not help, her puzzled eyes went back to the General.