CHAPTER VIII.
"Halt!" At the sound of that piping, childish treble calling his name in so unexpected a place the officer at the head of the troop threw up his gauntleted hand and brought the detachment to a standstill in a cloud of dust.
"Hello, there," he said, turning curiously around in his saddle.

"Who is it wants me ?" "It's _me_, Virgie!" the child cried, leaping up and down on the wall, all forgetful of her sore foot.

"Come help Daddy and me--come quick!" "Well--what on earth--" Morrison threw out a command to his men and, wheeling his horse, spurred vigorously up to the wall where he dismounted and came up to take a closer view of the tangle haired little person dancing on one foot.
"Why--bless my soul if it isn't Virgie!" His arms opened to take her in when, suddenly, his eye fell on O'Connell, standing at attention on the other side of the wall.
"O'Connell," he said, sternly, "what is the meaning of this?
Why aren't you with your detachment ?" "It isn't _his_ fault," Virgie interposed in stout defense of the nice Yankee who carried biscuits in his knapsack.

"He's under orders." The glib use of the military term made a smile flicker across Morrison's face, but his eyes did not leave the troubled trooper.
"_Whose_ orders ?" he demanded.
"Corporal Dudley, sir," was the stammering answer.
At this moment Cary stepped forward and the two officers exchanged nods of recognition.
"Let me explain," the Confederate said.

"Virgie and I were making for Richmond as rapidly as we could.