emember what your
father said just now. When was it?"

Again the fearless eyes of the child, the Littlest Rebel of them all,
rose to the gaze of the man whose iron heel was crushing them into the
ground and she made her answer--as crystal clear and truthful as if she
stood before the Throne on the last great day.

"When--when Daddy came through the woods an'--an' put my mamma in the
ground."

There was a silence. No one moved. Outside in the trees and bushes the
song the summer insects were singing suddenly burst upon, their ears and
the myriad noises of the camp, hitherto unnoticed, became a veritable
clamor, so complete was the stillness in the room. Everyone except,
perhaps, the child herself realized the vital importance of her answer
and now that it had been given the crisis had passed. The Littlest Rebel
had put an end to questioning. An audible sigh went up from everyone
except the man behind the desk.

This one turned his head slowly towards the Confederate prisoner.

"Captain Cary, is this true?"

"Yes, General," came the straightforward answer. "I went to your nearest
post with a flag of truce and asked permission to go to my dead wife. I
was refused. I went _without_ permission."

General Grant rose to his feet. Centering the other's eyes with his own
he spoke to him as one officer speaks to another when he expects the
truth and nothing but the truth.

"And you give me your word, as a soldier and a gentleman, that
once--once _only_--you wore a Federal uniform and that because of the
burial of your wife?"

"I do," answered Herbert Cary, a rebel to the last. "And that was the
only cause in heaven or hell that could have _induced_ me to wear it!"

For a moment the Commander of the Army of the Potomac surveyed the still
defiant prisoner, then turned his back and walked to the window where he
tossed away a much chewed cigar, meantime thinking out his last
analysis.

Here was a man who had been hunted tirelessly month after month as a
rebel spy. It was true that he was a spy and true that he had worn a
uniform of blue. Yet the fact had been established--by the spotless
honesty of a little child--that he had worn the uniform only so that he
might reach his home and bury his dead. And--went on the cool, quiet
mind--since the man was _not_ a spy how could a Union officer be
executed for assisting a _spy_ to escape?

Coming back to his desk again the General picked out another smoke, felt
of it thoughtf