Roberta watched from an upper porch, and old Squire by the avenue gate.

At least Roberta thought she watched, but next morning mamma told her with
tears in her eyes that Uncle Charlie was gone, that somebody had given him
away. Uncle Squire heard the Federals coming, and told him, and he barely
had time to escape.

In February of '64 old Squire came out from town one afternoon strutting,
as Aunt Judy said, for all the world just "lak er turkey goberler." He
made six consecutive trips to the sitting-room, carrying one stick of wood
each time as a pretext, before he caught Roberta's eye. When he finally
succeeded, he beckoned mysteriously to her, and she got right up and
followed him from the room. He led her out of ear-shot of the others
before he told her what he wanted.

"Lil Missus, how's it happen dat you never axes me no mo' whar your par
is?"

"Because, Uncle Squire, I am afraid you will tell me 'lay o'ers to catch
meddlers.'"

"I neber sed erlong wid dat, honey, 'en you'd be de fus' one caught.'
Well, if I never sect dat, thar's nuffin' sartin erbout who I means when I
sez 'lay o'ers ter ketch meddlers'; you musen jump et conclugeons, honey.
Ennyhow, you ax me ergin, en see what I'll say dis time."

She asked him, her eager eyes uplifted to his face, her small hands
clasped, wondering and hope bursting into instant full dawn. A way hope
has of doing in youth.