“Kitty, kitty! Come down, Kittykin!” she called, running up to the tree and holding up her arms to her. Kittykin might, perhaps, have liked to come down now, but she could no longer do so; she was too high up. She looked down, first over one shoulder, and then over the other, but it was too high to jump. She could not turn around, and her head began to swim. She grew so dizzy, she was afraid she might fall, so she dug her little sharp claws into the bark, and began to cry. [Illustration: “I WANT MY KITTYKIN,” SAID EVELYN.] Evelyn would have run back to tell her mamma (who, having sent the baby down-stairs to mammy, was still busy up-stairs trying to hide some things, and so did not know she was out in the yard); but she was so afraid Kittykin might be killed that she could not let her get out of her sight. Indeed, she was so absorbed in Kittykin that she forgot all about everything else. She even forgot all about the soldiers. But though she did not notice the soldiers, it seemed that some of them had observed her. Just as the leader of the Confederate picket line was about to give an order to make a dash for the houses in the yard, to his horror he saw a little girl in a white dress and with flying hair suddenly run out into the clear space right between him and the soldiers on the other side, and stop under a tree just in the line of their fire. His heart jumped into his mouth as he sprang to his feet and waved his hands wildly to call attention to the child. Then shouting to his men to stop firing, he walked out in front of the line, and came at a rapid stride down the slope. The others all stood still and almost held their breaths for fear some one would shoot; but no one did. Evelyn was so busy trying to coax Kittykin down that she did not notice anything until she heard some one call out: “For Heaven’s sake, run into the house, quick!” She looked around and saw the gentleman hurrying toward her. He appeared to be very much excited. “What on earth are you doing out here?” he gasped, as he came running up to her. He was a young man, with just a little light mustache, and with a little gold braid on the sleeves of his gray jacket; and though he seemed very much surprised, he looked very kind. “I want my Kittykin,” said Evelyn, answering him, and looking up the tree, with a little wave of her hand, towards where Kittykin still clung tightly. Somehow she felt at the moment that this gentleman could help her better than any one else. Kittykin, however, apparently thought differently about it; for she suddenly stopped mewing; and as if she felt it unsafe to be so near a stranger, she climbed carefully up until she reached a limb, in the crotch of which she ensconced herself, and peeped curiously over at them with a look of great satisfaction in her face, as much as to say, “Now I’m safe. I’d like to see you get me.”