The smile died away from the girl’s lips at the reply, and she looked at Jeanne with coldness.
“I did not think that you were a Southerner when you spoke,” she said. “What are you doing here? We are Confederates.”
“Yes, I know,” answered Jeanne. “My aunt and uncle left me on a deserted plantation because I was a Yankee, and I started back to New Orleans hoping that General Butler would send me home. I must have taken the wrong road, and so gotten lost. You won’t turn me away, will you, just because I am a Yankee?”
“No; not for to-night anyway. I just hate Yankees, but I reckon you don’t count as you are a girl. Come on to bed now, and we’ll talk it over in the morning.”
And Jeanne went into the tent content to let the morrow take care of itself now that she was sheltered for the night.
CHAPTER XIX
“BOB”
At daybreak the roll of martial drums startled Jeanne into wakefulness.
“What is it?” she cried, springing from the couch.
“The drummers are beating the reveille,” answered the calm voice of Bob who was already up. “That means that it is time to get up. You needn’t be in a hurry, however. There are two hours yet until breakfast.”