"Why—why, they've turned into our road!" Her breath came fast, as she sank her voice to a faint, awed whisper, "Daddy—do you reckon it's—Yankees?"
"Yes," said her father, who had risen to his feet. "Morrison's cavalry! They won't hurt you; but I'll have to get to the woods again! Good-by, honey! Good-by!"
He kissed her hurriedly and started for the door, but shrank into the shadow at sight of a blue-clothed watcher sharply outlined on the crest of a distant rise. Escape was cut off, and the hunted soldier turned to Virgie in his need.
"Shut the door—quick!" She obeyed in silence. "Lock it!" She turned the rusty key, and waited. "Now the windows! Hurry, but do it quietly."
She closed the clumsy shutters and set the heavy bars into their slots; then the man came forward, knelt down before her and took her hands.
"Listen, Virginia," he whispered earnestly; "don't you remember how your dear, dear mother—and I, too, darling—always told you never to tell a lie?"
"An' I haven't, Daddy-man," she protested, wondering. "'Deed, an' 'deed, I haven't. Why—"
"Yes, yes, I know," he interrupted hurriedly; "but now—you must!" As the child stepped backward and tried to draw away, he clasped her hands more tightly still. "But listen, dear; it's to save me! Don't you understand?—and it's right! When those men come, they mustn't find me. Say I was here, but I've gone. If they ask which way, tell them I went down past the spring—through the blackberry patch. Do you understand?—and can you remember?" She nodded gravely, and the Southerner folded her tightly in his arms. "Be a brave little rebel, honey—for me!"
He released her and began to mount the ladder leading to the scuttle in the ceiling; but halfway up he paused, as Virgie checked him with a solemn question:
"Daddy—would Gen'ral Lee want me to tell that lie?"