"He was a cadet then, papa; he is in the army now."
"Who is he?"
"He is from Vermont; his name is Thorold."
"Not a Southerner?"
"No, papa. Do you care very much for that?"
"Is he in the Northern army, Daisy?"
"He could not help that, papa; being a Vermonter."
Papa let me go; I had been standing in his arms all this while; and took several turns up and down our little room. I sat down, for my joints trembled under me. Papa walked and walked.
"Does your mother know?" he said at last.
"I dared not tell her."