“Milk!” he cried in mock despair.  “Well, dash my buttons if I didn’t forget to order a cow.”

“Oh, I know what to do,” cried the child.  Dropping her supplies and utensils she ran to the wall and climbed up.

“Hey, there, you” commanded the small general with an imperious gesture to the assembled troopers.  “One of you men ride right over to camp and bring us back some milk—­an’ butter.”

At this abrupt demand of so small a rebel on the commissary of the United States a roar of laughter went up from the troopers, though some of them had the grace to salute and so relieve the child of embarrassment.

“Virgie!  Virgie!” called her father, scandalized.

“It’s all right, Cary,” Morrison laughed.  “She’s only starting in at giving orders a little earlier than most women.

“Never you mind, Miss Brigadier,” he comforted.  “We’ll have all those luxuries next time, or when I come to see you in Richmond after the war is over.  Just now we’ll do the best we can.  Come along.”

Virgie got down from the wall and pattered up to the fire.

“Is it ready yet?” she asked with the perfect directness of seven years.

“In a minute now.  Ah-hah!  There she goes.”

He took the pot from the fire and set it down on a rock where, presently, he brought a cupful of cold water to pour in.

“Is that to settle it?” she asked of her father.

“Yes, child—­and I wish all our questions were as easily cleared up.  And now—­to the attack.”

“Right-o.  Virgie—­pass the beautiful, hand painted china and let’s fill up.  This one for your daddy—­you can put the sugar in.  Only don’t burn those precious fingers.”

Virgie carried the steaming cup to her father and put it in his hands with shining eyes.

“This is better than our old belt supper, Daddy, isn’t it?” she said, with a flirt of her tangled curls.  “Anyway—­it smells nicer.”

She was back at the sugar bag at once, digging out spoonfuls for Morrison’s coffee.

“Thank you, Miss Cary, I am indeed obliged to you.  Now do sit down and eat.  No, not another word till you’ve eaten two whole biscuits!”

For several ecstatic moments the child munched her biscuits.  It had been a long time since she had eaten anything so delicious, although if those same biscuits had appeared on the Cary table a month ago they would have probably been scorned.  But eager as her appetite was it did not stop the active workings of her mind and she presently was struck by an idea which tried to force itself out through a mouthful of biscuit—­with the usual amusing results.

“Virginia!” admonished her father.

Morrison laughed out like a boy and slapped his knee.

“Suppose we swallow—­and try again.”

Virgie, thus adjured, concentrated her mind on the task—­gulped, blinked, swallowed with pathetically straining eyes, and then smiled triumphantly.