Mrs. Cary rose unsteadily to her feet.

"Through the Yankee lines! Oh, Herbert. _Not as a spy!_"

"A spy? Of course not. I hid in the woods all day, then climbed a tall
pine tree and got the lay of their camp--the number of their guns--the
disposition of forces and their lines of attack. Yesterday I had the
wires at Drury's Bluff and started trouble. I'm on my way now to join my
command, but I had a good excuse for coming home to hold you in in my
arms again, if only for a moment. You see, poor old Roger got a wound in
his flank--from a stray bullet."

"A _stray_ bullet," asked Mrs. Gary, doubtfully.

"Yes," he smiled, for he had escaped it, "a stray bullet meant for
_me_."

"But, Daddy," Virgie interrupted, "while you were up in the tree--"

A wild whoop broke off Virgie's question. Sally Ann was rushing down the
steps, her eyes rolling up with excitement.

"Mars' Cary! Mars' Cary! Somebody comin' long de road!"

"Who? How many?" Cary demanded, springing up and running towards the
gate that opened on the wagon road over the hills.

"Des' one," responded Sally Ann with naïve truthfulness. "Ol' Dr.
Simmons. He drivin' by de gate in de buggy."