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“Oh, Polly, I like to be called ‘Yankee’ now! Two Confederate soldiers rode over the bridge and spoke to me, and one of them told me about Yankees, so I don’t care now,” and Roxy, with her flushed face and eager eyes, endeavored to return Polly’s good-natured smile.

“Those soldiers passed me. They are after a Yankee soldier whom they had held as a prisoner,” said Polly. “Poor chap! I hope they don’t find him.”

“They mustn’t! They mustn’t!” Roxy declared so seriously that Polly wondered to herself why the little girl should look so unhappy over the possible capture of a man she had never seen.

“I reckon it’s because they are both Yankees,” thought the good-natured girl, who was well pleased to be on friendly terms again with her small neighbor.

“Well, they said they were coming back. They might run into Northern troops if they went beyond Sharpsburg. Here they come now,” and Polly drew the brown horse well out of the road as the two mounted soldiers, riding at a good pace, clattered over the bridge and stopped their horses close beside Polly’s wagon.