Wondrous the transformation.

“Is that thrue?” she cried, with beaming face, forgetting already the day’s worry, “are they raly our own boys?  Sure, an’ it’s a dolt I am, not to know what the tallest one meant when he whispered to me: 

“When the South is free, I am for Jim McGarvy for any office he wants.”

“Whisht, Rosy, darlint, birds of the air carry tidings; but come along now and get us a hot supper, and a good one too to stay our stomachs, for I’ve got to carry the boys further on their way to-night, the holy Mither of God bless ’em!”

Now I am going to tell you how Roberta kept her promise about taking care of the soldier boy’s gun.  Not many weeks after that memorable Fourth, Squire came home in great excitement, saying the soldiers were searching every house for contraband articles, and soon would be at theirs.

“I should be very sorry,” said Mrs. Marsden, “to have to give up the suit of gray jeans I’ve made for Charlie and the dear boy’s boots.”

“You won’t have to give them up, mamma,” responded Roberta, who had lain awake night after night, planning what she should do in the event the soldiers came after them.  Now what do you suppose she did?  Pushed boots and clothes to the very bottom of the flour-barrel under the flour.  Not even our own Yankee Bligh could have detected their whereabouts.  Then she dressed the gun up in baby clothes, with long white robe and cloak and pretty baby cap; tied a veil over the cap.  When she was through, it really looked very much like a baby.  She gave the gun to Polly, and told her to walk up and down the porch with it and sing a lullaby.  Polly didn’t like counterfeit babies any more than she liked real babies.

“Lawdy!  Lawdy!  Lawdy!” said Polly, “iz you rite sho’, Lil Missus, thar ain’ nuffin’ in it that’s gwiner blow my head orf?”

“Right sure, Polly.  Uncle Squire cleaned it out yesterday.”

“O, Lawdy, Lawdy, Lawdy!  I dunno howter ketch on ter de creeter, nohow.  I’d redder nuss real live babies, I wud.”

“Be a good girl, Polly.  Take hold this way.  Now sing: 

    “Dear little baby, shut your eyes,
    Stars are shining in the skies;
    Soon an angel will at you peep,
    Whisper to you while you sleep. 
    Dear little baby, what do you hear? 
    Mamma’s voice, sweet and clear. 
    Why, mamma’s the angel, baby dear.”

“I dunno it; I never heered it.”

“Be a good girl, Polly, and I will give you my new China tea-set.”

“I don’ like cheeny dishes, caze I have ter wash ’em when dey gets dirty.  I’d redder eat orf chips en frow ’em erway.”

“Well, then, I’ll give you the pretty colored paper dolls I cut out of Godey’s Lady’s Book; any thing, just so you make believe it’s a real live baby.  Sing this, then: 

    “Folks, won’t you go?  Folks, won’t you go? 
    Folks, won’t you go to see the monkey show?”