It would be a poor weapon at best, but Cary had grown desperate and if the trooper once turned his back and gave him opportunity poor Harry O'Connell would wake up with a very bad headache and Virgie would be in Richmond.
But Virgie's eyes were on neither the hidden stone nor her father's watchful, relentless face.

All that Virgie could see was a knapsack open on the ground and food--real food displayed round about with a prodigality which made her mouth water and her eyes as big as saucers.
"Daddy," she murmured, clutching at his sleeve, "while we are waitin' do you reckon we could take just a _little_ bit of that ?" "No, dear--not now," her father answered, with a touch of impatience.

It would be too much, even in those bitter times, to accept a man's food and then break his head for it.
"Well," said Virgie, completely mystified at the restraint, "I don't see why they shouldn't be polite to us.

We were just as polite as could be when the Yankees took our corn." Just then the young Irishman with the carbine turned around and caught the wan look on Virgie's face and the hunger appeal in her big dark eyes.

At once a broad smile broke over his freckled countenance and he gestured hospitably with his gun.
"Have somethin' to eat, little wan." Cary's knee loosened.