nter their lines, and Grant sent back word to stay quietly in the city
as he would be in possession the Fourth of July. And he will, Jeanne.
Mark my words, if Grant says so, he will be here."

"Oh, Dick," and Jeanne clapped her hands for joy.

"Hush! not a word," said Dick. "I am sorry for these people. They are nice
folks, and Bob will never get over it. But of course we just had to win."

"I wonder where Snowball is," mused Jeanne, as she retired.

The morning brought the answer. As the shelling was resumed with more
frequency than ever for the delay, a number of negroes rushed into the
cave.

"We 'longs ter yer now," said Snowball acting as spokesman for the others.
"Hyar's me, an' Jeff, an' Feliciane, lill' missy. Missus Adele's niggas
done gone ter her folks, an' we reckoned we 'longed ter yer an' Massa
Dick."

"To me?" exclaimed Jeanne bewildered. "Why, what in the world will I do
with you all?"

"Dunno. Yer'll hab ter take keer ob us, I reckon," and Snowball seated
herself on the floor in happy unconsciousness of the fact that taking care
of them implied any responsibility. "You won't whip us nohow. Will yer,
lill' missy?"

"I certainly won't do that," answered Jeanne, "but it will be a problem
to feed you."

And so it proved. Supplies were running very low in the city. Starvation
stared the inhabitants in the face. And yet, despite the privations and
the constant play of artillery and musketry through every minute of the
day, when Minie balls were accompanied by Parrott, Canister, solid shot
and shrapnel shells, and projectiles of all kinds, the soldiers became
almost indifferent to them, and frequently sang amid the pattering of the
balls.

One evening as they sat in front of the cave a young officer passed them
singing words to the air of the "Mocking Bird." He seemed more concerned
about the melody than he did about the shots that were flying through the
air, and they watched him admiringly.

"''Twas at the siege of Vicksburg,
Of Vicksburg, of Vicksburg,
'Twas at the siege of Vicksburg,
When the Parrott shells were whistling thro' the air.
Listen to the Parrott shells,
Listen to the Parrott shells;
The Parrott shells are whistling thro' the air.

"'Oh! well will we remember,
Remember, remember,
Tough mule meat June sans November,
And the Minie balls that whistled thro' the air
Listen to the Minie balls,
Listen to the M