She had told him to meet her at the statue of Washington in the Capitol Square. They would wait there for the appearance of the President and follow him. His habits were simple and democratic. He walked daily from the Confederate White House to the Capitol grounds, crossed the Square and at the foot of the hill entered his office in the Custom House on Main Street, unaccompanied by an escort of any kind.
Anybody on earth could approach and speak to him. The humbler the man or woman, the easier the approach was always made.
Socola was waiting at the big group of statuary contemplating the lines of its fine workmanship with curious interest.
Jennie startled him from a reverie:
"You like him?"
The white teeth gleamed in pleasant surprise.
"The father of his country?—Yes—I like him. It's going to be my country, too, you know."
They strolled through the grounds and watched the squirrels leap from the limbs of a great tree to the swaying boughs of the next.
A tall awkward trooper on whose hat was the sign of a North Carolina regiment toiled painfully up the hill slightly under the influence of whisky. Socola saw that he was navigating the steep with difficulty and turned into a by-path to give him a free passage. It was never pleasant to meet a man under the influence of liquor in the presence of ladies.
They had taken but a few steps along the little path when the quick firm military tread of the President was heard.