"My little girl!" he murmured between his kisses. "My little rebel!" And
as she snuggled in his arms, her berry-stained fingers clasped tightly
about his neck, he asked her wistfully, "Did you miss me?--_awful_
much?"

"Yes," she nodded, looking into his eyes. "Yes--in the night time--when
the wind was talkin'; but, after while, when--Why, Daddy!" He had
staggered as he set her down, sinking into a chair and closing his eyes
as he leaned on the table's edge. "You are hurt!" she cried. "I--I can
see the blood!"

The wounded Southerner braced himself.

"No, dear, no," he strove to reassure her. "It isn't anything; only a
little scratch--from a Yank--that tried to get me. But he didn't,
though," the soldier added with a smile. "I'm just--tired."

The child regarded him in wondering awe, speaking in a half-breathed
whisper:

"Did he--did he _shoot_ at you?"

Her father nodded, with his hand on her tumbled hair.

"Yes, honey, I'm afraid he did; but I'm so used to it now I don't mind
it any more. Get me a drink of water, will you?" As Virgie obeyed in
silence, returning with the dripping gourd, the man went on: "I tried to
get here yesterday; but I couldn't. They chased me when I came
before--and now they're watching." He paused to sip at his draught of