The Littlest Rebel | Page 2

and put her chubby arms around her neck. "This is his blue beard, Mother. Hold still, Sally Ann--_My lord_, I mean--till I get it tied in the right place."
"Be keerful, Miss Virgie," advised the colored girl. "You's a-ticklin' my nose. I'se gwine to sneeze ef yo' don't, and jes blow my beard all away."
"Oh, don't be such a baby," remonstrated the earnest Miss Virginia, with a correcting slap. "S'pose you were a man an' had to wear one all the time. Now! Stand up! Look, Mother!"
"I'm afraid of him already. He's so ferocious."
"Isn't he? Oh, won't you play with us, Mother? I'll--I'll let you be Mrs. Fatima." And then, as her mother's face showed signs of doubt as to her histrionic ability, "If you were my little girl, I'd do it in a minute."
"All right, dear, of course I will; but I've just remembered a bit of lace in your grandmother's trunk in the attic. I believe it will be exactly enough for the neck and sleeves of your new dress." She smiled courageously as she folded a piece of old silk she was remaking. "You and--" she cast a glance at Sally Ann--"your respected brother-in-law can wait a few moments, can't you? You might rehearse a little more. With all this important audience of solemn oaks you wouldn't want to make the slightest slip in your parts."
"That's so," agreed Virgie, raising her hands and clasping her tiny fingers thoughtfully. "And I'll tell you what--we'll mark off the castle walls around the bench where the window's going to be. We ought to have a stage. Come on Sal--I mean Blue Beard, pick up some sticks quick."
Mrs. Cary started, but turned back an instant: "By the way, have either of you seen Uncle Billy. I' must find him, too, and plan something for our lunch."
"I seen 'im early dis mawnin'," piped Blue Beard, "makin' for de woods. I reckon he be back pres'n'y."
"Very well," answered Virgie's mother, a shadow creeping into her face as she went on toward the house. Could Uncle Billy possibly be leaving! The most trusted negro of all! No--_never_! She would almost as soon doubt the cause itself!
Three long years ago war had seemed a thrilling, daring necessity. Caught in the dreadful net of circumstance she had vowed proudly in her own heart never to be less brave than the bravest. In her ears still rang the echo of that first ...
* * * * *
_Tara-tara!_
From far away a faint fanfare of trumpets, borne on brazen wings from the distant clamor of the city's streets.
_Tara-tara!_
"What's that--a bugle?"
_R-r-r-r-rum-dum!_
"And that--a drum?"
_Tramp--tramp--tramp_--the rolling thunder of ten thousand feet.
_War has been declared!_
From North to South, the marching lines fill the land--a sea of men whose flashing bayonets glisten and glitter in the morning light. With steady step and even rank, with thrill of brass lunged band and screaming fife the regiments sweep by--in front, the officers on their dancing steeds--behind them, line after line of youthful faces, chins in, chests out, the light of victory already shining in their eyes.
In just this way the Nation's sons went forth to fight in those first brave days of '61. Just so they marched out, defiant, from South and North alike, each side eager for the cause he thought was right, with bright pennons snapping in the breeze and bugles blowing gayly and never a thought in any man's mind but that his side would win and his own life be spared.
And every woman, too, waving cheerful farewell to valiant lines of marching gray or sturdy ranks of blue, had hoped the same for her side.
But in war there is always a reckoning to pay. Always one contender driven to the wall, his cities turned to ashes, his lands laid waste. Always one depleted side which takes one last desperate stand in the sight of blackened homes and outraged fields and fights on through ever darkening days until the inevitable end is come.
And the end of the Confederacy was now almost in sight. Three years of fighting and the Seceding States had been cut in twain, their armies widely separated by the Union hosts. Advancing and retreating but always fighting, month after month, year after year the men in gray had come at last to the bitterest period of it all--when the weakened South was slowly breaking under the weight of her brother foes--when the two greatest of the armies battled on Virginia soil--battled and passed to their final muster roll.
Of little need to tell of the privations which the pivotal state of the Confederacy went through. If it were true that Virginia had been simply one vast arsenal where every inhabitant had unfailingly done his part in making war, it was also true that she had furnished many of its greatest battlefields--and at