“Christmas gift! It’s a real one--real gold!” cried Bob, holding up a small gold watch, whilst Ran was shouting over a silver one of the same size. 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, told Mrs. Stafford the story of the opening of the package by the camp-fire. The tears welled up into 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 any one 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. A few days later, Colonel Stafford, in accordance with an understanding, came 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 headquarters. There had been many tears shed when his wife bade him good-by. About an hour after the Colonel arrived, 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. “Where are you going, my little people?” inquired the General, 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.” The officers all broke into a murmur of mingled admiration and amusement. “No, we ain’ goin’ let the Yankees have our papa,” chimed in Evelyn, pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes, and keeping fast hold of Charlie’s hand for fear of the horses around her. The General dismounted. “How are you going to help, my little Semiramis?” he asked, stooping over her with smiling eyes.