“There’s a line of your pickets about three miles up the road, Cary,” said he.  “If I loaned you a horse, do you think Virgie could ride behind you?”

“Me?” pouted Virgie.  “Why, Daddy says that when I was bornded, I came ridin’ in on a stork.”

Morrison burst out laughing and dropped his hand down on the small paw resting on his knee.

“Then, by St. George and the Dragon we’ll send you home to Jefferson Davis on a snorting Pegasus!”

Again Cary spoke to him in warning tones, which at the same time thanked him unendingly for the kindly thought.

“You needn’t trouble about the mount.  Why, man,” he said huskily, “you’re in trouble enough, as it is!  And if our lines are as close as you say they are—­”

Once more the Union officer checked him.

“It isn’t any trouble.  Only—­you’ll have to be careful of your approach, even to your own lines.  Those gray devils in the rifle pits up there have formed the habit of shooting first and asking questions afterwards.  There you are,” and he tore the leaf from his note book and handed it up with a faint smile.

The Southerner took it with a reluctant hand.

“I—­I wish I could thank you—­Morrison,” he said in tones that shook with feeling, “but you see I—­I—­”

“Then please don’t try.  Because if you do I’ll—­I’ll have to hold Virgie as a prisoner of war.

“Well, young one,” he said to the small Miss Cary with a laugh, “did you really get something to eat?”

“Yes, sir.  That is—­we almost did.”

“Almost?” he echoed.

“Yes, sir,” came the plaintive answer.  “Eve’y time we start to eat—­somethin’ always happens!”

“Well, well, that is hard luck,” he said with a gentle squeeze of her frail body.  “But I’ll bet you it won’t happen this time; not if a whole regiment tries to stop it.”

“Come on,” he suggested as he sprang to his feet and began picking up dry twigs.  “You can start in and munch on those heavenly biscuits while this terrible Yankee builds the fire.”  Cary made a move as if to help; but Morrison checked him.

“Oh, no, Cary, just you keep on sitting still.  This is no work for you.  You’re tired out.

“Here, Virgie, I know you want to get me some water from the spring.  Please pick out the cleanest pieces of water you can and put them carefully in the coffee pot.  All right.  There you are. ’Tention! Carr-ee coffee pot!  Right wheel! March!”

With a carefree laugh he turned away to light the little heap of twigs he had placed between two flat stones.  “It’s mighty considerate of my boys to leave us all these things.  We’ll call it the raid of Black Gum Spring.

“And here comes the little lady with the coffee pot filled just right.  Now watch me pour in the good old coffee—­real coffee, Virgie dear—­not made from aco’ns.”  He settled the pot on the fire and sat back with a grin.  “Oh, oh!  Don’t watch it,” he cried, in well feigned alarm as Virgie, unwilling to believe the sight, stooped over to feast her eyes on the rich brown powder sinking into the black gulf of the pot.  “If you do that it will never, never boil!”