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“I see! A little Yankee girl!” And at this Roxy’s smile vanished.

“‘Yankee girl!’ ‘Yankee girl!’ I wish I knew why you say that?” she exclaimed, her gray eyes looking steadily at the tall, gray-clad soldier.

“Oh, only because your home is in the North! I reckon your father is proud to be called a Yankee,” he replied kindly, and at this Roxy’s face brightened.

“Oh, thank you! Polly calls me ‘Yankee girl’ and I didn’t know why. But I shan’t care now,” she said, with a friendly nod at the tall man.

“We might take a road that leads through the hills here,” suggested the second soldier, and for a few moments the two soldiers bent their heads over a small map and seemed to forget the little girl, who stood watching them wonderingly.

“Good-bye,” said the good-natured soldier as he swung himself into the saddle. “You will see more soldiers in gray clothes here before the end of your visit, or I miss my guess; eh, Richard?” and he turned to his companion.

“True enough!” responded the man; “the stars and bars will cross this bridge before many months!”