"Wait a minute," he interrupted, "what became of the old colored man who—"
"Uncle Billy? Yes, sir. We sent him up to Richmond—to get some things, but he can't come back—the Yankees won't let him."
"Won't they?"
"No, sir. An' Daddy's been tryin' to get me up to Richmon', where my Aunt Margaret lives at, but he can't—'cause the Yankees are up the river an' down the river, an'—an' everywhere—an' he can't." She paused, as Morrison turned to her from his restless pacing up and down. "My, but you've got fine clo'es! Daddy's clo'es are all rags—with—with holes in 'em."
He could not answer. There was nothing for him to say, and Virgie scorched him with another question:
"What did you come after Daddy for?"
"Oh, not because I wanted to, little girl," he burst out harshly. "But you wouldn't understand." He had turned away, and was gazing through the open door, listening to the muttered wrath of the big black guns far down the river. "It's war! One of the hateful, pitiful things of war! I came because I had my orders."
"From your Gen'ral?"
He lowered his chin, regarding her in mild astonishment.
"Yes—my General."