ews had reached him through his scouts that such an attack
was probable. Moreover, the General had been working all day answering
despatches from men in Washington, telling him to do things that were
either impossible or had been done long ago. And, to crown it all, the
chimney smoked badly.

At length, however, late in the afternoon, he finished his work, and
having dismissed his Adjutant, he locked the door, and pushing aside
all his business papers, took from his pocket a little letter and began
to read.

As he read, the stern lines of the grim soldier's face relaxed, and
more than once a smile stole into his eyes and stirred the corners of
his grizzled mustache.

The letter was scrawled in a large, childish hand, and many of the
words were interlined. It ran:

"MY DEAREST GRANDPAPA: I want to see you very much. I send you a
Christmas gift. I made it all myself. I hope to get a whole lot of
dolls and other presents. I love you. I send you all these kisses
************. You must kiss them every one. Don't I write well?

"Your loving little granddaughter,
"LILY."

When he had finished reading, the old veteran gravely lifted the letter
to his lips and pressed a kiss on each of the little spaces, so
carefully drawn by the childish hand.

This 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 faintly at the window, sung in a clear, rich, mellow
solo, though for a moment he looked surprised, 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 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. A large
crowd had gathered about a campfire not far from his window, and in the
midst, lifted up on a box, and clearly outlined against the firelight
stood the singer, a tall, straight man with a long beard a