"Well—well, lots of our men don't have hardly any clo's," she said pathetically.
Another smile broke the sternness of the General's face.
"That isn't what I mean," he explained gently. "Did he ever wear a coat of blue—a Yankee uniform?"
"General!" broke in Harris.
"Lieutenant!" Grant frowned. He turned back to Virgie and coaxed her a little.
"Well? Tell me!"
With one bare big toe twisted under her foot and fingers interlocked in agony the child turned a look of pure anguish on her silent, grave faced father. This was torture—and she could not escape.
"Oh, Daddy, Daddy!" she burst forth with a wail of tragedy in her voice. "What must I tell him?"
The father's lips, which had been closed against the pain that racked him, softened with the perfect trust which went into his gentle command.
"The truth, Virgie. Whatever the General asks."