“Nowhere in pertickerler, miss.”
“Dost know where General Brereton is to be found?” she asked boldly, though blushing none the less for some reason.
“I just seen him down ter Colonel Dayton’s quarters.”
“Wilt favour me by taking him these flowers?” Janice requested, holding them out with one hand, while her other tendered a Spanish milled dollar, her eyes dropped groundward, as if to hide something.
“Calkerlate I might; and who’ll I say sent ’em?”
“I—say nothing at all—but just give him the bunch.”
“Don’t hardly worth seem carryin’,” said the soldier, glancing at the flowers with open contempt, “an’ sartin it ain’t worth no sich money ter take ’em.” Lest she would agree with him, however, he set off with celerity. “Like as not he’ll give me a reprimand fer troublin’ him with a gal’s nonsense,” he soliliquised, as he walked. “Swan ef I ain’t most tempted ter throw ’em in the ditch.”
Fortunately he did not commit the breach of faith, though there were distinct qualities of shame and apology in his voice and manner, when he walked up to a group of officers sitting under a tree, and said to one of them,—
“A gal gave me this, general, ter take ter you, an’ she would hev it, though I told her she’d no business ter be botherin’ yer with sich plumb foolishness.”
The flowers were snatched rather than taken from his hand. “Where was she when she gave them to you?” demanded Brereton.