“Lordy, Jinny,” said the Captain, “I’d put up with a good deal more than this for the sake of going anywhere with you.”

“Even to such a doleful place as this?” she sighed.

“This is all right, if the sun’ll only come out and dry things up and let us see the green on those trees,” he said, “Lordy, how I do love to see the spring green in the sunlight!”

She put out her hand over his.

“Lige,” she said, “you know you’re just trying to keep up my spirits.  You’ve been doing that ever since we left home.”

“No such thing,” he replied with vehemence.  “There’s nothing for you to be cast down about.”

“Oh, but there is!” she cried.  “Suppose I can’t make your Black Republican President pardon Clarence!”

“Pooh!” said the Captain, squeezing her hand and trying to appear unconcerned.  “Your Uncle Daniel knows Mr. Lincoln.  He’ll have that arranged.”

Just then the rattletrap pulled up at the sidewalk, the wheels of the near side in four inches of mud, and the Captain leaped out and spread the umbrella.  They were in front of a rather imposing house of brick, flanked on one side by a house just like it, and on the other by a series of dreary vacant lots where the rain had collected in pools.  They climbed the steps and rang the bell.  In due time the door was opened by a smiling yellow butler in black.

“Does General Carvel live here?”

“Yas, miss, But he ain’t to home now.  Done gone to New York.”

“Oh,” faltered Virginia.  “Didn’t he get my telegram day before yesterday?  I sent it to the War Department.”

“He’s done gone since Saturday, miss.”  And then, evidently impressed by the young lady’s looks, he added hospitably, “Kin I do anything fo’ you, miss?”

“I’m his niece, Miss Virginia Carvel, and this is Captain Brent.”

The yellow butler’s face lighted up.

“Come right in, Miss Jinny, Done heerd de General speak of you often —­yas’m.  De General’ll be to home dis a’ternoon, suah.  ’Twill do him good ter see you, Miss Jinny.  He’s been mighty lonesome.  Walk right in, Cap’n, and make yo’selves at home.  Lizbeth—­Lizbeth!”

A yellow maid came running down the stairs.  “Heah’s Miss Jinny.”

“Lan’ of goodness!” cried Lizbeth.  “I knows Miss Jinny.  Done seed her at Calve’t House.  How is you, Miss Jinny?”

“Very well, Lizbeth,” said Virginia, listlessly sitting down on the hall sofa.  “Can you give us some breakfast?”

“Yas’m,” said Lizbeth, “jes’ reckon we kin.”  She ushered them into a walnut dining room, big and high and sombre, with plush-bottomed chairs placed about—­walnut also; for that was the fashion in those days.  But the Captain had no sooner seated himself than he shot up again and started out.

“Where are you going, Lige?”

“To pay off the carriage driver,” he said.

“Let him wait,” said Virginia.  “I’m going to the White House in a little while.”