The Littlest Rebel Part 30

And then, to the ears of the two prisoners who stood looking at one another with sad eyes, came a sound which made both men start and look again with apprehension written on their faces--the shrill scream of a child who is being kept from something she has set her heart upon.

Another moment and there was a rush of tiny feet in the hall, whereupon the two sentries crossed their rifles across the doorway. But what might have proved a serious obstruction for a man was only an absurdity to a child's quick wit and Virgie, with a little duck of her sunny head, dodged quickly under the muskets and charged, flushed and panting, on the General's desk.

"You shan't shoot Colonel Morrison," cried this astonis.h.i.+ng new comer in tones of shrill command as she stamped her little foot: "I won't let you! You shan't! You shan't!"

A moment of displeased surprise on the part of the General. Then--

"Take the child out of here," he ordered.

"I won't _go_!" answered Virgie, tossing her curls back and standing her ground with' angry eyes.

"Orderly!" called the General.

With a whirl Virgie dashed away from the desk, eluded the orderly and threw herself into her father's arms.

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy! You won't let him shoot the Colonel. Daddy, you won't! You won't!" She burst into a pa.s.sionate flood of tears.

Cary lifted his hand to the General in a plea for a moment's respite from force.

"General--please. She'll go."

He turned to the sobbing child and shook her gently. "Virgie! Virgie!

Listen, honey! _Remember General Lee!_" The bowed head rose from her father's shoulder; the little shoulders stiffened, and eye to eye she looked into the face of Cary as his pleading voice went on: "_He_ wouldn't want you to cry like this. He said--'She's a brave little soldier to stay there all alone. Dixie and I are _proud_ of her.'"

The Littlest Rebel's chin went up, and she bravely choked back her sobs.

If this was what her General wanted, this her General would have, though childhood's sobs are hard to check when a little heart is aching for the pain of those she loves.

"Go now, darling," her father pleaded. "Go."

She kissed him, and turned in silent, slow obedience, casting a scowl at the grim and silent General Grant, then moved toward the guarded door.

"Wait!" said a quiet voice.

"Harris! They say that fools and children speak the truth." He paused and then said gently: "Come here, little girl. Come here and talk to me."

Somewhat in fear now that the kind voice robbed her of her anger the little pale faced child choked down her sobs and came slowly forward to the desk. But, as she stood there, her courage returned and, marvel of marvels, her tiny hand went up in imitation of a salute.

Grant dropped his chin in his hand so that their heads were nearly on a level across his desk and looked at her with gentle kindness in his eyes.

"The Littlest Rebel, eh?" he said in low tones. "How old are you?"

"S-s-s-even. Goin' on eight," responded Virgie, gulping down a sob and nervously fingering her tattered dress.

"Ah, yes," he nodded. "And do you know the uniform of a Union officer--when you see it?"

Virgie's small mouth dropped open at the absurdity of the question and she almost laughed.

"A Yankee?" she queried with scorn. "Well, I reckon I _ought_ to--by _this_ time."

"Very good," the brown bearded man nodded, and gently blew smoke at the ceiling. "Now, tell me. When you lived at home--and afterwards in your cabin--did your father come to see you often?"

Virgie's sunny head nodded in emphatic a.s.severation. "Yes, sir. Often."

"_How_ often?" asked the bearded man.

Virgie's fingers twisted themselves deep in her dress.

"I--I don't know, sir. But heaps of times."

"Good again," and the questioner actually smiled. "When your father came, did he ever wear clothes that--that were not his own?"

Virgie turned a side-long look on her father but, as he could not help, her puzzled eyes went back to the General.

"Well--well, lots of our men don't have hardly _any_ clo's," she said pathetically.

Another smile broke the sternness of the General's face.

"That isn't what I mean," he explained gently. "Did he ever wear a coat of blue--a _Yankee_ uniform?"

"_General_!" broke in Harris.

"Lieutenant!" Grant frowned. He turned back to Virgie and coaxed her a little.

"Well? Tell me!"

With one bare big toe twisted under her foot and fingers interlocked in agony the child turned a look of pure anguish on her silent, grave faced father. This was torture--and she could not escape.

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy!" she burst forth with a wail of tragedy in her voice.

"_What must I tell him_?"

The father's lips, which had been closed against the pain that racked him, softened with the perfect trust which went into his gentle command.

"The _truth_, Virgie. Whatever the General asks."

The General's observant eyes rested on the proud Southerner for an instant, noted that his face was quite without anxiety, then went back to the little child.

"Well, did he?" he asked.

"Y-y-y-es, sir," answered Virgie with a gulp.

The General nodded and his face grew grave again.

"I wonder if you even know what it means. A _spy_!"

"Yes, sir," said the Littlest Rebel, and dropped her eyes.

"Hm. And do you remember how many times he came that way?"

"Yes, sir," came the instant answer, and she threw up her head.

"_Once_."