“I have made you this flag,” continued Mrs. Vance, drawing a small United States flag from the folds of her dress. “I began it some time ago as a surprise for your birthday, but finished it last night for you to take with you. Keep it about your person, and each night look upon it and pray for the success of the Union.”
“And it is really my own,” exclaimed Jeanne, delightedly, pressing the silken folds to her lips. “It makes me so happy to have it, mother. I never had one before that was all mine. See,” folding it and placing it in the bosom of her dress, “I will wear it over my heart that no disloyal thought may find entrance there. I will bring it back to you unsullied.”
Her mother pressed her again to her breast.
“I believe it, dear. Now kiss me, Jeanne. I hear your father coming for you. Oh, ’tis hard to let you go!” She clasped her convulsively to her, and caressed her repeatedly.
“Are you ready, Jeanne?” asked Mr. Vance entering. “We have not much time left.”
“I am all ready, father,” answered Jeanne quickly catching up her satchel. “Aren’t you coming with us, mother?”
“No, dear;” Mrs. Vance struggled bravely with her emotion. “I am going to let your father have you for the last few moments alone. I have had you all day, you know.”
Jeanne ran back to her for another embrace.
“My child! My child!” whispered the mother passionately. “There! Go while I can bear it.”
Unable to speak Jeanne followed her father to the carriage.