Cary took her hands in his, looked into her eyes and his answer breathed the still unconquered spirit of the South.  “There is always hope—­as long as we have a man.”  Mrs. Cary went into the house, slowly, wearily, and Cary turned to Virgie.

“Well, little lady,” her father said, resting his hand on Virgie’s shining head.  “Have you been taking good care of mother—­and seeing that Uncle Billy does his plowing right?”

“Yes, sir,” came the prompt response.  “Susan Jemima an’ me have been lookin’ after everything—­but we had to eat up General Butler!”

“General Butler,” cried her father, astounded.

“Yes, Daddy—­our lastest calf.  We named him that ’cause one day when I was feedin’ him with milk he nearly swallowed my silver spoon.”

“Ha-ha,” laughed the amused soldier, and swept her up in his arms.  “If we could only get rid of all their generals as easy as that we’d promise not to eat again for a week.  Everything else all right?”

“No, sir,” said Virgie, dolefully.  “All the niggers has runned away—­all ’cept Uncle Billy and Sally Ann.  Jeems Henry runned away this morning.”

“The deuce he did!  The young scamp!”

“He’s gone to join the Yankees,” Virgie continued.

“What’s that?” and Cary sprang up to pace to and fro.  “I wonder which way he went?”

“I don’ know,” whimpered Virgie forlornly.  “I only wish I was a soldier with a big, sharp sword like yours—­’cause when the blue boys came I’d stick ’em in the stomach.”

Mrs. Cary was coming down the steps now with a small package of food and in the roadway Uncle Billy stood feeding and watering his master’s horse.  In this bitterest of moments, when his own family had to be the ones to hurry him along his way, there had come another and greater danger—­peril to those he loved.

“Tell me, dear,” he said with his hand warm on his wife’s soft shoulder.  “Is it true that Jeems Henry ran away this morning?”

“Yes,” she nodded.  “I knew the poor boy meant to leave us sooner or later, so I made no effort to detain him.”

“You did right,” was the answer.  “But which way did he go?”

“Up the river.  To a Union camp on the Chickahominy.”

“Chickahominy!” exclaimed Cary sharply, and bit his lips.  “So that’s the lay of the land, eh!  I’m mighty glad you told me this.  But still—­” Cary’s voice faded away under the weight of a sudden despair.  What was the use of fighting forever against such fearful odds?  What could they ever gain—­save a little more honor—­and at what dreadful cost?

“What makes you look so worried, Herbert?” his wife murmured, her nerves on edge again.

“Yes, it’s true,” the man said with a groan.  “They’re gradually closing in on us—­surrounding Richmond.”

“Surrounding us?” Mrs. Cary whispered, hardly believing her ears.

“Yes, it’s true—­all too true,” the man burst out bitterly.  “We can fight against thousands—­and against tens of thousands but, darling, we can’t fight half the world.”