POLLY’S RETURN
There was not a sound in the quiet kitchen as Roxy entered. For a moment
the little girl stood still, listening intently, but the house itself
seemed to be taking a nap in the mid-afternoon quiet of the June day.
“Mother and Grandma will be in their rooms now,” thought Roxy; “they
won’t expect me home before the last of the afternoon. I’ll have plenty
of time,” and she tiptoed across the well-scrubbed floor toward the
pantry. Before she tried the door she again looked about the room
cautiously, remembering her promise to the half-starved man who had
trusted her, and fearful that someone might enter the kitchen before she
could secure food and escape. Roxy knew that if her mother heard her
Mrs. Delfield would at once want to know why she had not gone to
Sharpsburg with Polly Lawrence, and even in the excitement of seeing the
Confederate soldiers, and of discovering the runaway, Roxy had resolved
not to mention her disagreement with Polly. Already she felt a little
ashamed, since the soldier had said her father would be proud to be
called a Yankee, that she had been so ready to be angry at Polly.
But as she carefully opened the pantry door Roxy was thinking only of
the poor fellow hidden behind the dogwood, and of what she could take
him.
There on the lower shelf of the pantry, covered with a white cloth,
stood a platter heaped with small round cakes that Dulcie had baked that
morning. Roxy carefully lifted the cloth and gazed at them admiringly.
“And there’s citron and currants in every one,” she whispered to
herself, and carefully chose three of the cakes, and replaced the cloth.
“I’ll have to have something to carry things in,” she thought anxiously,
and her glance fell on Dulcie’s egg basket, where only three or four
eggs remained.
“I’ll take that, and the eggs too,” she decided, and in a moment the
three cakes rested beside the eggs, and Roxy’s eyes searched the pantry
shelves for something more.
The meat left from the midday meal would, she knew, be in the cool
cellar closet, and Roxy feared she could not reach the shelf on which it
was kept; but the bread jar was close at hand, and removing the cover
Roxy drew out an entire loaf of freshly baked bread.
“Oh, dear! Just bread and cake and eggs isn’t enough,” she thought. “I
must get him some meat,” and she left the closet and ran across the
kitchen to the door that opened on the cellar stairway.
A cool air came up from the dark cellar as Roxy groped her way down the
broad stone steps, and keeping close to the wall felt her way to the
deep closet where many household supplies were kept.
It was hard work for the little girl to pull open the heavy door, but at
last she succeeded, and stepped in. Dulcie always brought a lighted
candle to the cellar, but Roxy had no light, and could only grope about.
“I’ll take whatever I find,” she resolved, clutching at something
resting in a tin pan. “I’m sure this is the chicken Dulcie roasted this
morning to have sliced up cold for supper,” she thought delightedly,
thrusting it in with the bread and cakes. “That will be splendid; and
maybe it will be enough. I guess I won’t wait to get milk,” and Roxie
left the cellar cupboard, the door swinging to behind her with a sudden
bang that made the little girl jump with the fear that it might bring
someone hurrying down the cellar stairs.
But no other sound was heard in the house; and now Roxie could see a dim
square of light at the far end of the cellar, and remembered that there
was a cellar door leading into the yard.
“I’ll go out that way,” she decided, and made her careful way among
barrels and boxes to where another flight of broad stone steps led
directly up to the back yard, and in a moment she was again in the open
air.
The negro farm-hands were all in the fields attending to their work; the
young colored woman who helped Dulcie in the work of the house had, as
Roxy knew, gone for an afternoon’s visit to a neighboring farm; Dulcie
was taking her usual afternoon nap in her cabin, and Grandma Miller and
Mrs. Delfield were resting in their own rooms. Roxy felt sure that no
one would see her as she now ran across the yard and down the rough
slope.
She slipped through the narrow opening, and now walked more slowly, and
looked anxiously toward the road, fearful that some passer-by might see
her; and as she drew near the thicket behind which she knew the hungry
man lay hidden, she began to listen for some sound. Perhaps he would
call out to her, she thought.
But there was now no movement among the blossoming branches of the
dogwood; and with a little sigh of disappointment Roxy set the basket
down where the man had told her to leave whatever she brought him. But
she stood close beside it until a long brown arm reached through the
underbrush and seized it.
“Bless you, little girl,” came a whispered voice.
And Roxy responded eagerly: “You are welcome.”
“Don’t stand there! Run home. Somebody may see you,” said the voice
again. “And promise me again that you’ll be my friend and keep my
secret, and never tell anyone that you have seen me.”
“I won’t tell; truly I won’t,” Roxy promised. “But what are you running
away from?”
“From a southern prison. I’m a Yankee soldier. I was taken prisoner at
Manassas; and I’m sure those rebs on horseback were after me. Where is
this place, anyway?” and now the young man pushed his head and shoulders
out from behind the bushes, quite forgetting his cautions to his new
friend.
“It’s Antietam,” replied Roxy; “where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere where there are Yankees. I’ve been hiding in the woods and
swamps for days, and I’ve lost my bearings,” he replied, as he pulled a
leg from the chicken and began to eat ravenously.
“I’m a Yankee, and so is my mother, and we are living up in that house,”
said Roxy, pointing toward the farmhouse. “You needn’t hide,” she
continued, “for I have heard my grandma say that Maryland is loyal to
the Union. You come up to our house and Grandma will give you better
things than cold chicken to eat; and—and”—Roxy hesitated a moment—“I
guess she could give you some clothes.”
For a few moments the young man ate steadily; the greater part of the
chicken disappeared, and he had seized on the cakes before he spoke
again.
“A Yankee girl, are you? Tell me your name.”
“My name is Roxana Elizabeth Delfield, and I’m ’most ten,” Roxy replied,
and added quickly: “My father is a Yankee soldier,” and now the young
man fixed his glance upon her, and a little smile crept over his thin
face.
“Seeing you is the first good luck I’ve had for months,” he said slowly,
and Roxy smiled happily.
“Come up to Grandma’s,” she urged. “You can rest, and then you can get
some shoes; and then my mother will help you go wherever you want to. I
know she will.”
But the young man shook his head. “I don’t dare take a chance. Someone
might be on the watch for me. You keep your promise, little Yankee girl.
Don’t speak of me!” and again Roxy promised. “I can’t go on before
to-morrow; I’m used up,” he added. “I’m only resting here. I’ll have to
find a safer place to sleep.”
There was the sound of approaching wheels on the near-by road, and with
a quick word of caution the young man disappeared and Roxy turned to see
Polly driving the brown horse and light wagon coming rapidly down the
highway. Roxy ran toward the road so that Polly would not notice any
movement in the thicket; and as Polly saw her she drew rein, believing
that Roxy had waited to make friends again.
“Oh, Roxy! Have you been waiting for me? Well, you are a dear! And have
you forgiven your Polly-Wolly for being so horrid? I’ll never call you
‘Yankee’ again.” And the smiling Polly leaned down to touch Roxy’s rough
straw hat.
“Oh, Polly, I like to be called ‘Yankee’ now! Two Confederate soldiers
rode over the bridge and spoke to me, and one of them told me about
Yankees, so I don’t care now,” and Roxy, with her flushed face and eager
eyes, endeavored to return Polly’s good-natured smile.
“Those soldiers passed me. They are after a Yankee soldier whom they had
held as a prisoner,” said Polly. “Poor chap! I hope they don’t find
him.”
“They mustn’t! They mustn’t!” Roxy declared so seriously that Polly
wondered to herself why the little girl should look so unhappy over the
possible capture of a man she had never seen.
“I reckon it’s because they are both Yankees,” thought the good-natured
girl, who was well pleased to be on friendly terms again with her small
neighbor.
“Well, they said they were coming back. They might run into Northern
troops if they went beyond Sharpsburg. Here they come now,” and Polly
drew the brown horse well out of the road as the two mounted soldiers,
riding at a good pace, clattered over the bridge and stopped their
horses close beside Polly’s wagon.
The men touched their hats smilingly, and the man who had told Roxy that
her father would be proud to be called a Yankee, said:
“The Yank has fooled us and got well away, unless he’s hiding somewhere
near at hand. You haven’t seen any half-starved runaway soldier about
here, have you?” and he turned his sharp glance on the two girls.
“Oh, no!” Polly answered. “We wouldn’t let any soldier starve in
Maryland. But I haven’t seen anyone since I met you on the road.”
The man nodded and smiled, and was about to ride on when his companion
said gruffly:
“What about that other girl? She’s a Yankee. Maybe she’s hiding the
fellow, or else her folks may be.”
Roxy’s frightened glance convinced both the men that it might be
possible the speaker was right, and when she turned and fled up the
slope toward home they were sure of it, and in an instant both the men
were off their horses and after her.
“If she reaches the house and warns him he’ll get away from us again,”
panted the short man as he found himself obliged to climb the wall.
As Roxy neared home she began to call: “Mother! Mother!” at the top of
her voice, so that when she dashed into the yard with the two men close
behind her not only Mrs. Delfield but Grandma Miller, Dulcie and two
negroes from a near-by field were all hurrying to meet her.
With her mother’s arms about her, and Grandma Miller facing her
pursuers, Roxy began to feel less frightened. She heard the strangers
tell their errand, and explain that Roxy had told them she was a Yankee
girl.
“You are Southern soldiers and you will take the word of a Maryland
woman,” said Mrs. Miller, “and I assure you that neither I or any member
of my household have seen the runaway. Beside that, even if we sheltered
him, you have no authority to demand him at our hands, nor would we
permit such a thing. Gentlemen, Maryland is a loyal state,” and without
waiting for any response Grandma Miller turned toward the house followed
by Mrs. Delfield leading Roxy.
The little group of negroes stood watching the two soldiers.
“If you asks me I’d ’vise you to put off out ob dis paht of de lan’,”
said Dulcie. “Dar’s sojers in blue coats up Hagerstown way dis minute.”
“Come on, Richard,” said the taller of the two men, “I reckon we’d
better take Mammy’s advice and let the Yank go,” and they made their way
down the slope, climbed the wall, and hurried to the highway. As they
ran past the thicket they both shouted in amazement and anger, for the
road was deserted. Not only had Polly and her brown horse disappeared
but the fine saddle-horses were gone.
“That red-headed girl has made off with our horses, and for all we know
may bring a party of Yanks after us,” declared Richard; “we’d better
make for the Virginia line.”
His companion promptly agreed, and they hurried across the bridge,
turned into a path that led by the river and disappeared.