"Well, you go and ask her then," said the soldier, always wearing a
benign smile. "You go ask her and then come and tell me."

When the girl pushed open the door and entered the kitchen, she found
it empty. "Ma!" she called softly. There was no answer. The kettle still
was humming its low song. The knife and the curl of potato-skin lay on
the floor.

She went to her mother's room and entered timidly. The new, lonely
aspect of the house shook her nerves. Upon the bed was a confusion of
coverings. "Ma!" called the girl, quaking in fear that her mother was
not there to reply. But there was a sudden turmoil of the quilts, and
her mother's head was thrust forth. "Mary!" she cried, in what seemed to
be a supreme astonishment, "I thought--I thought----"

"Oh, ma," blurted the girl, "there's over a thousand Yankees in the
yard, and I've hidden three of our men in the feed-box!"

The elder woman, however, upon the appearance of her daughter had begun
to thrash hysterically about on the bed and wail.

"Ma!" the girl exclaimed, "and now they want to use the barn--and our
men in the feed-box! What shall I do, ma? What shall I do?"

Her mother did not seem to hear, so absorbed was she in her grievous
flounderings and tears. "Ma!" appealed the girl. "Ma!"

For a moment Mary stood silently debating, her lips apart, her eyes
fixed. Then she went to the kitchen window and peeked.