The gentleman was stroking Evelyn’s hair, and was looking at her very intently, when a voice called to him from the other side: “Hello, Johnny! what’s the matter?” Evelyn looked around, and saw another gentleman coming toward them. He was older than the first one, and had on a blue coat, while the first had on a gray one. She knew one was a Confederate and the other was a Yankee, and for a second she was afraid they might shoot each other, but her first friend called out: “Her kitten is up the tree. Come ahead!” He came on, and looked for a second up at Kittykin, but he looked at Evelyn really hard, and suddenly stooped down, and putting his arm around her, drew her up to him. She got over her fear in a minute. “Kittykin’s up there, and I’m afraid she’ll be kilt.” She waved her hand up over her head, where Kittykin was taking occasion to put a few more limbs between herself and the enemy. “It’s rather a dangerous place when the boys are out hunting, eh, Johnny?” He laughed as he stood up again. “Yes, for as big a fellow as you. You wouldn’t stand the ghost of a show.” “I guess I’d feel small enough up there.” And both men laughed. By this time the men on both sides began to come up, with their guns over their arms. “Hello! what’s up?” some of them called out. “Her kitten’s up,” said the first two; and, to make good their words, Kittykin, not liking so many people below her, shifted her position again, and went up to a fresh limb, from which she again peeped over at them. The men all gathered around Evelyn, and began to talk to her, and both she and Kittykin were surprised to hear them joking and laughing together in the friendliest way. “What are you doing out here?” they asked; and to all she made the same reply: “I want my Kittykin.” Suddenly her mamma came out. She had just gone down-stairs, and had learned where Evelyn was. The two officers went up and spoke to her, but the men still crowded around Evelyn. “She’ll come down,” said one. “All you have to do is to let her alone.” “No, she won’t. She can’t come down. It makes her head swim,” said Evelyn. “That’s true,” thought Kittykin up in the tree, and to let them understand it she gave a little “Mew.” “I don’t see how anything can swim when it’s as dry as it is around here,” said a fellow in gray. A man in blue handed him his canteen, which he at once accepted, and after surprising Evelyn by smelling it--which she knew was dreadfully bad manners--turned it up to his lips. She heard the liquid gurgling. As he handed it back to its owner he said: “Yank, I’m mighty glad I didn’t shoot you. I might have hit that canteen.” At which there was a laugh, and the canteen went around until it was empty. Suddenly Kittykin from her high perch gave a faint “Mew,” which said, as plainly as words could say it, that she wanted to get down and could not. Evelyn’s big brown eyes filled with tears. “I want my Kittykin,” she said, her little lip trembling.