"Which way did he go?" the officer demanded, and she pointed with her spoon.
"Down by the spring—through the blackberry patch."
The soldier was half-convinced. He stood for a moment, looking at the floor, then asked her sharply, suddenly:
"If your father had gone, then why did you lock that door?"
She faltered, but only for an instant.
"'Cause I thought you might be—niggers."
The man before her clenched his hands, as he thought of that new-born, hideous danger menacing the South.
"I see," he answered gently; "yes, I see." He turned away, but, even as he turned, his eye was caught by the double-doored cupboard against the wall. "What do you keep in there?" he asked; and the child smiled faintly, a trifle sadly, in reply:
"We used to keep things to eat—when we had any."
He noted her mild evasion, and pushed the point.