Mrs. Cary looked up at her husband with a great fear written on her
face.

"Why, Herbert dear. You--you don't mean to say that the Yankees are in
the neighborhood?"

Immediately Cary was on the bench beside her with his arm around her,
while Virgie climbed up on the other side.

"Now, come," he murmured, "be a brave little woman and don't be alarmed.
It may be nothing after all. Only--there are several foraging
parties--small ones, a few miles down the river. I've been dodging them
all morning. If they come at all they won't trouble either you or
Virgie."

"But _I'm_ not afraid of them, Daddy-man," cried the small daughter,
and she doubled up her fist ferociously. "Look at _that_."

"Aha! There's a brave little Rebel," her father cried as he swept her up
in a hearty hug. "_You're_ not afraid of them,--nor you either, God
bless you," and his lips rested for a moment on his wife's soft cheek.
"Only, you are apt to be a little too haughty. If they search the house
for arms or stragglers, make no resistance. It's best."

"Yes, yes, I know," his wife cried out, "but you, dear, _you_! Why are
you here? Why aren't you with your company?"

Cary looked away for a moment across the fields and down the slope
towards the shimmering river. They were very beautiful--he wondered why
he had not fully realized all that wife and child and home meant to him