When he had finished reading the letter the old veteran gravely lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss on each of the little spaces so carefully drawn by the childish hand. When he had done he took out his handkerchief and blew his nose violently as he walked up and down the room. He even muttered something about the fire smoking. Then he sat down once more at his table, and placing the little letter before him, began to write. As he wrote, the fire smoked more than ever, and the sounds of revelry outside reached him in a perfect uproar; but he no longer frowned, and when the strains of “Dixie” came in at the window, sung in a clear, rich, mellow solo, he sat back in his chair and listened: “I wish I were in Dixie, away, away; In Dixie’s land I’ll take my stand, To live and die for Dixie land, Away, away, away down South in Dixie!” sang the beautiful voice, full and sonorous. When the song ended, there was an outburst of applause, and shouts apparently demanding some other song, which was refused, for the noise grew to a tumult. The General rose and walked to the window. Suddenly the uproar hushed, for the voice began again, but this time it was a hymn: “While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground, The angel of the Lord came down, And glory shone around.” Verse after verse was sung, the men pouring out of their tents and huts to listen to the music. “All glory be to God on high, And to the earth be peace; Good will henceforth from Heaven to men Begin and never cease!” sang the singer to the end. When the strain died away there was dead silence. The General finished his letter and sealed it. Carefully folding up the little one which lay before him, he replaced it in his pocket, and going to the door, summoned the orderly who was just without. “Mail that at once,” he said. “Yes, sir.” “By the way,” as the soldier turned to leave, “who was that singing out there just now? I mean that last one, who sang ‘Dixie,’ and the hymn.” “Only a peddler, sir, I believe.” The General’s eyes fixed themselves on the soldier. “Where did he come from?” “I don’t know, sir. Some of the boys had him singing.” “Tell Major Dayle to come here immediately,” said the General, frowning. In a moment the officer summoned entered. He appeared somewhat embarrassed. “Who was this peddler?” asked the commander, sternly. “I--I don’t know--” began the other. “You don’t know! Where did he come from?” “From Colonel Watchly’s camp directly,” said he, relieved to shift a part of the responsibility. “How was he dressed?” “In citizen’s clothes.” “What did he have?” “A few toys and trinkets.” “What was his name?” “I did not hear it.” “And you let him go!” The General stamped his foot. “Yes, sir; I don’t think--” he began. “No, I know you don’t,” said the General. “He was a spy. Where has he gone?” “I--I don’t know. He cannot have gone far.”