“I don’t blame him for not wanting to fight for the Yankees,” she said.

The Colonel could not resist a retort.

“Then why doesn’t he fight for the South he asked”

“Fight for the South!” cried the young lady, scornfully.  “Mr. Hopper fight?  I reckon the South wouldn’t have him.”

“I reckon not, too,” said the Colonel, dryly.

For the following week curiosity prompted Virginia to take that walk with the Colonel.  Mr. Hopper being still absent, she helped him to sort the papers—­those grimy reminders of a more prosperous time gone by.  Often Mr. Carvel would run across one which seemed to bring some incident to his mind; for he would drop it absently on his desk, his hand seeking his chin, and remain for half an hour lost in thought.  Virginia would not disturb him.

Meanwhile there had been inquiries for Mr. Hopper.  The Colonel answered them all truthfully—­generally with that dangerous suavity for which he was noted.  Twice a seedy man with a gnawed yellow mustache had come in to ask Eliphalet’s whereabouts.  On the second occasion this individual became importunate.

“You don’t know nothin’ about him, you say?” he demanded.

“No,” said the Colonel.

The man took a shuffle forward.

“My name’s Ford,” he said.  “I ’low I kin ’lighten you a little.”

“Good day, sir,” said the Colonel.

“I guess you’ll like to hear what I’ve got to say.”

“Ephum,” said Mr. Carvel in his natural voice, “show this man out.”

Mr. Ford slunk out without Ephum’s assistance.  But he half turned at the door, and shot back a look that frightened Virginia.

“Oh, Pa,” she cried, in alarm, “what did he mean?”

“I couldn’t tell you, Jinny,” he answered.  But she noticed that he was very thoughtful as they walked home.  The next morning Eliphalet had not returned, but a corporal and guard were waiting to search the store for him.  The Colonel read the order, and invited them in with hospitality.  He even showed them the way upstairs, and presently Virginia heard them all tramping overhead among the bales.  Her eye fell upon the paper they had brought, which lay unfolded on her father’s desk.  It was signed Stephen A. Brice, Enrolling Officer.

That very afternoon they moved to Glencoe, and Ephum was left in sole charge of the store.  At Glencoe, far from the hot city and the cruel war, began a routine of peace.  Virginia was a child again, romping in the woods and fields beside her father.  The color came back to her cheeks once more, and the laughter into her voice.  The two of them, and Ned and Mammy, spent a rollicking hour in the pasture the freedom of which Dick had known so long, before the old horse was caught and brought back into bondage.  After that Virginia took long drives with her father, and coming home, they would sit in the summer house high above the Merimec, listening to the crickets’ chirp, and watching the day fade upon the water.  The Colonel, who had always detested pipes, learned to smoke a corncob.  He would sit by the hour, with his feet on the rail of the porch and his hat tilted back, while Virginia read to him.  Poe and Wordsworth and Scott he liked, but Tennyson was his favorite.  Such happiness could not last.