“Why, you are not going to have a rebel for a sweetheart?” said her father.

“Yes, I am.  I am going to make him Union,” she declared gravely.

“Well, that is a good way.  I fancy that is about the best system of Reconstruction that has yet been tried.”

He told the story to General Keith, who rode over very soon afterwards to see the child, and thenceforth called her his fairy daughter.

One day she had a tiff with Gordon, and she announced to him that she was not going to kiss him any more.

“Oh, yes, you are,” said he, teasing her.

“I am not.”  Her eyes flashed.  And although he often teased her afterwards, and used to draw a circle on his cheek which, he said, was her especial reservation, she kept her word, even in spite of the temptation which he held out to her to take her to ride if she would relent.

One Spring General Huntington’s cough suddenly increased, and he began to go downhill so rapidly as to cause much uneasiness to his friends.  General Keith urged him to go up to a little place on the side of the mountains which had been quite a health-resort before the war.

“Ridgely is one of the most salubrious places I know for such trouble as yours.  And Dr. Theophilus Balsam is one of the best doctors in the State.  He was my regimental surgeon during the war.  He is a Northern man who came South before the war.  I think he had an unfortunate love-affair.”

“There is no place for such trouble as mine,” said the younger man, gravely.  “That bullet went a little too deep.”  Still, he went to Ridgely.

Under the charge of Dr. Balsam the young officer for a time revived, and for a year or two appeared on the way to recovery.  Then suddenly his old trouble returned, and he went down as if shot.  The name Huntington had strong association for the old physician; for it was a Huntington that Lois Brooke, the younger sister of Abigail Brooke, his old sweetheart, had married, and Abigail Brooke’s refusal to marry him had sent him South.  The Doctor discovered early in his acquaintance with the young officer that he was Abigail Brooke’s nephew.  He, however, made no reference to his former relation to his patient’s people.

Division bitterer than that war in which he had fought lay between them, the division that had embittered his life and made him an exile from his people.  But the little girl with her great, serious eyes became the old physician’s idol and tyrant, and how he worked over her father!  Even in those last hours when the end had unexpectedly appeared, and General Huntington was making his last arrangements with the same courage which had made him a noted officer when hardly more than a boy, the Doctor kept his counsel almost to the end.

“How long have I to live, Doctor?” panted the dying man, when he rallied somewhat from the attack that had struck him down.

“Not very long.”

“Then I wish you to send for General Keith.  I wish him to take my child to my aunt, Miss Abigail Brooke.”