At the sound of a voice which he had heard that same morning while he hid in the attic of the overseer’s cabin Cary’s hold on his daughter’s hand tightened warningly.

“Come along, Virgie,” he whispered.  “We’ll get out of the way.”

“But, Daddy,” she protested in low tones, “we’ve got our pass.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he answered, with a twinge of regret that the rest of the world could not trust so faithfully to human kindness.  “But that’s for emergency.  Come along, honey—­quick!”

Silently as a shadow the two stole out of the shelter of the ledge of rock, and by dint of keeping it between them and the troopers, managed to cover most of the open space between the spring and the protecting trees without being seen.  Meanwhile, they heard the Corporal giving his commands.

“You, Collins, take sentry duty out there in the road for a while.  As soon as we make the coffee we’ll bring you out a cup.  Now—­over the wall with you, men.”

Leaving one man behind to pace slowly up and down the dusty road the four sprang over the wall and advanced towards the spring.  It was well the sight of the cool water held their eyes for if they had only looked up they might have seen Virgie wresting her hand out of her father’s grasp and standing suddenly petrified with the thought that she had left behind her one beloved possession.

“Here’s the spring, Smith—­under the rock.  Fill up the canteens.  Here, Harry, help me get fire wood.”

With a soldier’s readiness when it comes to making camp one of the troopers promptly collected the canteens and knelt down by the spring, carefully submerging one at a time so as to get the sweet, cold water in all its purity.  Another opened the knapsacks and took out a can of coffee, biscuits and some scraps of meat—­not much with which to make a meal but still so much more than many a Rebel soldier had that day as to take on the proportions of a feast.  Meanwhile, Corporal Dudley had drawn his saber and was engaged in leisurely lopping off the dead branches of a fallen tree.

“This strikes me a lot better than the camp,” he remarked as he tossed his firewood into a heap.  “A man and his friends can have a quiet drink here, without treating a whole battalion.”

His eye fell on the ground near the spring as he spoke and he paused.  Then, with a grin on his face, he jabbed his saber into something which lay there and held it transfixed on the point.

“Say, boys—­look at this,” and he shook poor Susan Jemima till her arms and legs wiggled spasmodically and her dress seemed on the point of complete disintegration.

Perhaps, if Corporal Dudley had not laughed derisively Virgie might have stayed hidden in the protection of the trees, but this outrageous insult combined with the terrible sight of poor Susan Jemima impaled on a Yankee sword was too much for her bursting heart.  With blazing eyes she broke away from her father and dashed back to the group at the spring.