"I like it. Mr. Huntsworth, just listen to those negroes sing. Isn't it musical?" "They call them niggers here," said Mr. Huntsworth smiling. "Yes; their singing is melodious. I have always liked to listen to it. Sometime in the future, I fancy, more will be made of those melodies than we dream of now. When you go down the river you will hear more of it. Some of their songs are very quaint. Do you know that we will have to see General Wallace to obtain a permit to go into the enemy's country?" "General Wallace?" repeated Jeanne. "Why?" "The town is under martial law with General Wallace in command. I have been wondering what will be the best for you to do. To come with me to Corinth, for we can go there without difficulty, or for you to stick to the river route as you had intended. I have learned that Vicksburg is not in our hands after all. Its capitulation was a false report. Farragut is waiting for Halleck to send troops to occupy it and is still keeping up the bombardment." "But a boat could get through, could it not?" "Yes; I think so. Davis guards the stream above Vicksburg while the Commodore holds the lower part. I'll talk with General Wallace about it. Meantime after we have had breakfast you can walk along this esplanade, and see something of the place. You will not get lost, will you?" "No, indeed," laughed Jeanne. "I came from New York, you know. I should be able to get around a little place like this." "Very well, then." Jeanne donned her hat and wandered along the wide esplanade viewing the city, the river and the surrounding country. She walked on and on until finally she had wandered some distance from the hotel and the buildings were growing farther and farther apart when she was startled by a groan. Looking about her she beheld a young fellow of about twenty-one years clad in the blue uniform of the United States lying upon the ground. Without a thought but that one of the soldiers was suffering Jeanne sprang to his side and knelt beside him. "What is it?" she cried. "Are you hurt?" "Just faint," murmured the young man in a weak voice, and the girl noted with surprise the Southern accent. "I'll be all right in a moment." "Smell this." Jeanne thrust her bottle of smelling salts under his nose, and began to chafe his forehead vigorously. "There! You're better now, aren't you?" "Much better." The young fellow struggled to a sitting posture and smiled wanly. "What a good little thing you are!" "Well, I like soldiers," said Jeanne. "My brother, Dick, is one, and whenever I see a soldier suffering I always want to do something for him. You are fighting for us, you know. Are you sick?" "No; but I have been. I just came out of the hospital a few days ago, and I am not so strong as I thought." "You should go home and stay until you get well," said the girl with a quaint assumption of maternal authority.