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, who had walked out, with the older boys, the General told Mrs. Stafford the story of the opening of the package by the camp-fire. The tears welled up in 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 anyone 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. But the General nodded again, and, drawing the little boy to his knees, told him of his father's showing him the sword by the camp-fire when he himself was a prisoner. A few days later, Colonel Stafford, in accordance with an understanding, went 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 head-quarters. There had been many tears shed when his wife bade him good-by. About an hour after the Colonel left home, 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. The little girl shrank behind her brother where he stood, stoutly, holding her behind him with one hand while with the other he clutched his small sword, defiantly. "Where are you going, my little people?" inquired the General, reining in and 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." [Illustration: "I'm goin' to get my papa," said the tiny swordsman.] The officers all broke into a murmur of mingled admiration and amusement.