"Ku Klux!" exclaimed several voices, as the trailing, rattling white
gown disappeared in the recesses of the wood.

The stage door was thrown open, three or four men alighted, and going to
the body stooped over it, touched it, spoke to it, asking, "Are you
badly hurt, Jones?"

But there was no answer.

"Dead, quite dead," said one.

"Yes, what shall we do with him?"

"Lift him into the stage and take him to the next town."

The last speaker took hold of the head of the corpse, the others
assisted, and in a few moments the vehicle was on its way again with its
load of living and dead.

No one had noticed the tiny white figure which now crouched behind a
clump of bushes weeping bitterly and talking to itself, but, in a
subdued way as if fearful of being overheard.

"Where am I? O mamma, papa, come and help your little Vi! I don't know
how I got here. Oh, where are you, my own mamma?" A burst of sobs; then
"Oh, I'm so 'fraid! and mamma can't hear me, nor papa; but Jesus can;
I'll ask him to take care of me; and he will."

The small white hands folded themselves together and the low sobbing