She sat up and wiped her eyes on her apron. "But Papa Jack would die
befo' he'd take help from you," she wailed. "An' so would mothah. I
heard her tell the doctah so."

The tender expression on the Colonel's face changed to one like flint,
but he kept on stroking her hair. "People sometimes change their minds,"
he said, grimly. "I wouldn't worry over a little thing like that if I
were you. Don't you want to run down-stairs and tell M'ria to give you
a piece of cake?"

"Oh, yes," she exclaimed, smiling up at him. "I'll bring you some, too."

When the first train went into Louisville that afternoon, Walker was
on board with an order in his pocket to one of the largest dry goods
establishments in the city. When he came out again, that evening, he
carried a large box into the Colonel's room.

Lloyd's eyes shone as she looked into it. There was an elegant
fur-trimmed cloak, a pair of dainty shoes, and a muff that she caught up
with a shriek of delight.

"What kind of a thing is this?" grumbled the Colonel, as he took out a
hat that had been carefully packed in one corner of the box. "I
told them to send the most stylish thing they had. It looks like a
scarecrow," he continued, as he set it askew on the child's head.

She snatched it off to look at it herself. "Oh, it's jus' like Emma
Louise Wyfo'd's!" she exclaimed. "You didn't put it on straight. See!
This is the way it goes."