"Yes, yes, I know," he interrupted hurriedly; "but now--_you must_!" As the child stepped backward and tried to draw away, he clasped her hands more tightly still. "But listen, dear; it's to save _me_! Don't you understand?--and it's _right_! When those men come, they mustn't find me. Say I _was_ here, but I've gone. If they ask which way, tell them I went down past the spring--through the blackberry patch. Do you understand?--and can you remember?" She nodded gravely, and the Southerner folded her tightly in his arms. "Be a brave little rebel, honey--_for me_!" He released her and began to mount the ladder leading to the scuttle in the ceiling; but halfway up he paused, as Virgie checked him with a solemn question: "Daddy--would Gen'ral Lee want me to tell that lie?" "Yes, dear," he answered slowly, thoughtfully; "this once! And, if ever you see him, ask him, and he'll tell you so himself. God help you, darling; it's for General Lee--and _you_!" The littlest rebel sighed, as though a weight had been lifted from her mind, and she cocked her head at the sound of louder hoof-beats on the carriage road. "All right, Daddy-man. I'll tell--a _whopper_!" CHAPTER V The man crawled up through the scuttle hole and disappeared; then drew the ladder after him and closed the trap, while Virgie tiptoed to the table and slipped into a seat. The cabin was now in semi-darkness, except for a shaft of sunlight entering through the jagged wound from the cannon-shot above the door; and it fell on the quaint, brown head of little Miss Virginia Cary, and the placid form of Susan Jemima, perching opposite, in serene contempt of the coming of a conquering host. The jingling clank of sabers grew louder to the listeners' ears, through the rumble of pounding hoofs; a bugle's note came winnowing across the fields, and Virgie leaned forward with a confidential whisper to her doll: "Susan Jemima, I wouldn't tell anybody else--no, not for anything--but I cert'n'y am awful scared!" There came a scurrying rush, a command to halt, and a rustling, scraping noise of dismounting men; a pause, and the sharp, loud rap of a saber hilt against the door. Virgie breathed hard, but made no answer. "Open up!" called a voice outside, but the little rebel closed her lips and sat staring at Susan Jemima across the table. A silence followed, short, yet filled with dread; then came a low-toned order and the crash of carbine butts on the stout oak door. For a time it resisted hopefully, then slowly its top sagged in, with a groaning, grating protest from its rusty hinges; it swayed, collapsed in a cloud of dust--and the enemy swept over it.