“Into the mill,” she replied, “to the offices.”
“But there can't anybody go through here unless they have a pass. I'm sorry, but that's the order.”
Her answer came so readily as to surprise her.
“I was Mr. Ditmar's private stenographer. I have to see him.”
The sentry hesitated, and then addressed another soldier, who was near the bridge.
“Hi, sergeant!” he called. The sergeant came up—a conscientious Boston clerk who had joined the militia from a sense of duty and a need for exercise. While the sentry explained the matter he gazed at Janet. Then he said politely:—“I'm sorry, Miss, but I can't disobey orders.”
“But can't you send word to Mr. Ditmar, and tell him I want to see him?” she asked.
“Why, I guess so,” he answered, after a moment. “What name shall I say?”
“Miss Bumpus.”
“Bumpus,” he repeated. “That's the gatekeeper's name.”