Ten minutes later Colonel Stafford, with a steady step and a proud
carriage, and with his hand resting on Bob’s shoulder, walked out into
the hall. He was dressed in the uniform of a Confederate major, which
fitted admirably his tall, erect figure.
“General Denby, I believe,” he said, as the Union officer rose and
faced him. “We have met before under somewhat different circumstances,”
he said, with a bow, “for I now find myself your prisoner.”
“I have the honor to request your parole,” said the General, with great
politeness, “and to express the hope that I may be able in some way
to return the courtesy which I formerly received at your hands.” He
extended his hand and Colonel Stafford took it.
“You have my parole,” said he.
“I was not aware,” said the General, with a bow toward Mrs. Stafford,
“until I entered the room where your children were sleeping, that I had
the honor of your husband’s acquaintance. I will now take my leave and
return to camp, that I may not by my presence interfere with the joy of
this season.”
“I desire to introduce to you my son,” said Colonel Stafford, proudly
presenting Bob. “He is a hero.”
The General bowed as he shook hands with him. Perhaps he had some
suspicion how true a hero he was, for he rested his hand kindly on the
boy’s head, but he said nothing.
Both Colonel and Mrs. Stafford invited the old soldier to spend the
night there, but he declined. He, however, accepted an invitation to
dine with them next day.
Before leaving, he requested permission to take one more look at the
sleeping children. Over Evelyn he bent silently. Suddenly stooping, he
kissed her little pink cheek, and with a scarcely audible “Good-night,”
passed out of the room and left the house.
The next morning, by light, there was great rejoicing. Charlie and
Evelyn were up betimes, and were laughing and chattering over their
presents like two little magpies.
“Here’s my sword and here’s my breeches,” cried Charlie, “two pair; but
I’m goin’ to put on my gray ones. I ain’t goin’ to wear a blue uniform.”
“Here’s my dolly!” screamed Evelyn, in an ecstasy over her beautiful
present. And presently Bob and Ran burst in, their eyes fairly dancing.
“Christmas gift! It’s a real one--real gold!” cried Bob, holding up a
small gold watch, whilst Ran was shouting over a silver one of the same
size.
That evening, after dinner, General Denby was sitting by the fire
in the Holly Hill parlor, with Evelyn nestled in his lap, her dolly
clasped close to her bosom, and in the absence of Colonel Stafford,
told Mrs. Stafford the story of the opening of the package by the
camp-fire. The tears welled up into Mrs. Stafford’s eyes and ran down
her cheeks.
Charlie suddenly entered, in all the majesty of his new breeches,
and sword buckled on hip. He saw his mother’s tears. His little face
flushed. In a second his sword was out, and he struck a hostile
attitude.
“You sha’n’t make my mamma cry!” he shouted.
“Charlie! Charlie!” cried Mrs. Stafford, hastening to stop him.
“My papa said I was not to let any one make you cry,” insisted the boy,
stepping before his mother, and still keeping his angry eyes on the
General.
“Oh, Charlie!” Mrs. Stafford took hold of him. “I am ashamed of
you!--to be so rude!”
“Let him alone, madam,” said the General. “It is not rudeness; it is
spirit--the spirit of our race. He has the soldier’s blood, and some
day he will be a soldier himself, and a brave one. I shall count on him
for the Union,” he said, with a smile.
Mrs. Stafford shook her head.
A few days later, Colonel Stafford, in accordance with an
understanding, came over to General Denby’s camp, and reported to be
sent on to Washington as a prisoner of war. The General was absent on
the lines at the time, but was expected soon, and the Colonel waited
for him at his headquarters. There had been many tears shed when his
wife bade him good-by.
About an hour after the Colonel arrived, the General and his staff were
riding back to camp along the road which ran by the Holly Hill gate.
Just before they reached it, two little figures came out of the gate
and started down the road. One was a boy of five, who carried a toy
sword, drawn, in one hand, whilst with the other he led his companion,
a little girl of three, who clasped a large yellow-haired doll to her
breast.
The soldiers cantered forward and overtook them.
“Where are you going, my little people?” inquired the General, gazing
down at them affectionately.
“I’m goin’ to get my papa,” said the tiny swordsman firmly, turning a
sturdy and determined little face up to him. “My mamma’s cryin’, an’
I’m goin’ to take my papa home. I ain’ goin’ to let the Yankees have
him.”
The officers all broke into a murmur of mingled admiration and
amusement.
“No, we ain’ goin’ let the Yankees have our papa,” chimed in Evelyn,
pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes, and keeping fast hold of
Charlie’s hand for fear of the horses around her.
The General dismounted.
“How are you going to help, my little Semiramis?” he asked, stooping
over her with smiling eyes.
“I’m goin’ to give my dolly if they will give me my papa,” she said,
gravely, as if she understood the equality of the exchange.
“Suppose you give a kiss instead?” There was a second of hesitation,
and then she put up her little face, and the old General dropped on one
knee in the road and lifted her in his arms, doll and all.
“Gentlemen,” he said to his staff, “you behold the future defenders of
the Union.”
The little ones were coaxed home, and that afternoon, as Colonel
Stafford was expecting to leave the camp for Washington with a lot of
prisoners, a despatch was brought in to General Denby, who read it.
“Colonel,” he said, addressing him, “I think I shall have to continue
your parole a few days longer. I have just received information that,
by a special cartel which I have arranged, you are to be exchanged
for Colonel McDowell as soon as he can reach the lines at this point
from Richmond; and meantime, as we have but indifferent accommodations
here, I shall have to request you to consider Holly Hill as your
place of confinement. Will you be so kind as to convey my respects to
Mrs. Stafford, and to your young hero Bob, and make good my word to
those two little commissioners of exchange, to whom I feel somewhat
committed? I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.”
[Illustration: “WHAT YOU CHILDREN GWINE DO WID DAT LITTLE CAT?” ASKED
MAMMY, SEVERELY.]