A mile or two and we'll be at home." Again they plodded on, past fields of shriveled corn whose stalks stood silently in parched and wilted lines--lines that were like the ranks of the doomed Confederacy--its stalks erect, yet sapped of the juice of life.

Where orchards once had flourished their rotted branches now hid mouths of rifle pits, and low, red clay entrenchments stretched across the fields.
"Daddy," broke out a piping voice, "don't you think we'd better make this Yankee horse get up a little?
'Cause--'cause somethin' _else_ might happen before we get there." "It's all right, Virgie," her father answered, with a pat on her small, brown knee.

"These lines are ours, and I reckon we are safe at last." They were.

Two Rebels on a Yankee horse soon made their triumphant entry into Richmond.

They passed through Rockets, by the half-deserted wharves on the river bank where a crippled gunboat lay, then clattered over the cobble stones up Main Street till they reached the Square.