al. Then--

"Take the child out of here," he ordered.

"I won't _go_!" answered Virgie, tossing her curls back and standing her
ground with' angry eyes.

"Orderly!" called the General.

With a whirl Virgie dashed away from the desk, eluded the orderly and
threw herself into her father's arms.

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy! You won't let him shoot the Colonel. Daddy, you
won't! You won't!" She burst into a passionate flood of tears.

Cary lifted his hand to the General in a plea for a moment's respite
from force.

"General--please. She'll go."

He turned to the sobbing child and shook her gently. "Virgie! Virgie!
Listen, honey! _Remember General Lee!_" The bowed head rose from her
father's shoulder; the little shoulders stiffened, and eye to eye she
looked into the face of Cary as his pleading voice went on: "_He_
wouldn't want you to cry like this. He said--'She's a brave little
soldier to stay there all alone. Dixie and I are _proud_ of her.'"

The Littlest Rebel's chin went up, and she bravely choked back her sobs.
If this was what her General wanted, this her General would have, though
childhood's sobs are hard to check when a little heart is aching for the
pain of those she loves.

"Go now, darling," her father pleaded. "Go."

She kissed him, and turned in silent, slow obedience, casting a scowl at
the grim and silent General Grant, then moved toward the guarded door.

"Wait!" said a quiet voice.

"Harris! They say that fools and children speak the truth." He paused
and then said gently: "Come here, little girl. Come here and talk to
me."

Somewhat in fear now that the kind voice robbed her of her anger the
little pale faced child choked down her sobs and came slowly forward to
the desk. But, as she stood there, her courage returned and, marvel of
marvels, her tiny hand went up in imitation of a salute.

Grant dropped his chin in his hand so that their heads were nearly on a
level across his desk and looked at her with gentle kindness in his
eyes.

"The Littlest Rebel, eh?" he said in low tones. "How old are you?"

"S-s-s-even. Goin' on eight," responded Virgie, gulping down a sob and
nervously fingering her tattered dress.

"Ah, yes," he nodded. "And do you know the uniform of a Union
officer--when you see it?"

Virgie's small mouth dropped open at the absurdity of the question and
she almost laughed.

"A Yankee?" she queried with scorn. "Well, I reckon I _ought_ to--by
_this_ time."

"Very good,"