Part 5

It was not, however, long after this that Nancy Pansy had quite an adventure. She and Harry had been with the old doctor, and the old doctor had to go and see some children with the measles, so, as Harry had never had measles, he sent her and Nancy Pansy back; but Nancy Pansy had found an old cigar-box, which was a treasure, and would have made a splendid cradle for Harry, except that it was so short that when Harry’s legs were put into it, her head and shoulders stuck up, and when her body was in it, her legs hung out. Still, if it would not do for a cradle, she had got a piece of string, and it would do for a carriage. So she was coming home very cheerfully, thinking of the way Harry would enjoy her ride down the walk.

It was just at this time that Tom Adams, feeling thoroughly bored with his surroundings, left camp and sauntered up the street alone, planning how he could get his company ordered once more to the front. He could not stand this life any longer. As he strolled along the walk the sound of the cheerful voices of girls behind the magnolias and rose bowers came to him, and a wave of homesickness swept over him as he thought of his sisters and little nieces away up North.

Suddenly, as he turned a corner, he saw a small figure walking slowly along before him; the great straw hat on the back of her head almost concealed the little body, but her sunny hair was peeping down below the broad brim, and Adams knew the child.

She carried under her arm an old cigar-box, out of one end of which peeped the head and shoulders of an old doll, the feet of which stuck out of the other end. A string hung from the box, and trailed behind her on the pathway. She appeared to be very busy about something, and to be perfectly happy, for as she walked along she was singing out of her content a wordless little song of her heart, “Tra-la-la, tra-la-la.”

The young officer fell into the same gait with the child, and instinctively trod softly to keep from disturbing her. Just then, however, a burly fellow named Griff O’Meara, who had belonged to one of the companies which preceded them, and had been transferred to Adams’s company, came down a side street, and turned into the walkway just behind the little maid. He seemed to be tipsy. The trailing string caught his eye, and he tipped forward and tried to step on it. Adams did not take in what the fellow was trying to do until he attempted it the second time. Then he called to him, but it was too late; he had stepped on the cord, and jerked the box, doll and all, from the child’s arm. The doll fell, face down, on a stone and broke to pieces. The man gave a great laugh, as the little girl turned, with a cry of anguish, and stooping, began to pick up the fragments, weeping in a low, pitiful way. In a second Adams sprang forward, and struck the fellow a blow between the eyes which sent him staggering off the sidewalk, down in the road, flat on his back. He rose with an oath, but Adams struck him a second blow which laid him out again, and the fellow, finding him to be an officer, was glad to slink off. Adams then turned to the child, whose tears, which had dried for a moment in her alarm at the fight, now began to flow again over her doll.

“Her pretty head’s all broke! Oh--oh--oh!” she sobbed, trying vainly to get the pieces to fit into something like a face.

The young officer sat down on the ground by her. “Never mind, sissy,” he said, soothingly, “let me see if I can help you.”

She confidingly handed him the fragments, whilst she tried to stifle her sobs, and wiped her eyes with her little pinafore.

“Can you do it?” she asked, dolefully, behind her pinafore.

“I hope so. What’s your name?”

“Nancy Pansy, and my dolly’s named Harry.”

“Harry!” Tom looked at the doll’s dress and the fragments of face, which certainly were not masculine.

“Yes, Harry Hunter. He’s my sweetheart,” she looked at him to see that he understood her.

“Ah!”

“And sister’s,” she nodded, confidently.

“Yes, I see. Where is he?”

“He’s a captain now. He’s gone away--away.” She waved her hand in a wide sweep to give an idea of the great distance it was. “He’s in the army.”

“Come along with me,” said Tom; “let’s see what we can do.” He gathered up all the broken pieces in his handkerchief, and set out in the direction from which he had come, Nancy Pansy at his side. She slipped her little hand confidingly into his.

“You knocked that bad man down for me, didn’t you?” she said, looking up into his face. Tom had not felt until then what a hero he had been.

“Yes,” he said, quite graciously. The little warm fingers worked themselves yet further into his palm.

At the corner they turned up the street toward the Court-house Square, and in a few minutes were in camp. At the sight of the child with Adams the whole camp turned out pell-mell, as if the “long-roll” had beat.

At first Nancy Pansy was a little shy, there was so much excitement, and she clung tightly to Tom Adams’s hand. She soon found, however, that they were all friendly.

Tom conducted her to his tent, where she was placed in a great chair, with a horse-cover over it, as a sort of throne. The story of O’Meara’s act excited so much indignation that Tom felt it necessary to explain fully the punishment he had given him.

Nancy Pansy, feeling that she had an interest in the matter, suddenly took up the narrative.

“Yes, he jus’ knocked him down,” she said, with the most charming confidence, to her admiring audience, her pink cheeks glowing and her great eyes lighting up at the recital, as she illustrated Tom’s act with a most expressive gesture of her by no means clean little fist.

The soldiers about her burst into a roar of delighted laughter, and made her tell them again and again how it was done, each time renewing their applause over the ’cute way in which she imitated Tom’s act. Then they all insisted on being formally introduced, so Nancy Pansy was stood upon the table, and the men came by in line, one by one, and were presented to her. It was a regular levee.

Presently she said she must go home, so she was taken down; but before she was allowed to leave, she was invited to go through the camp, each man insisting that she should visit his tent. She made, therefore, a complete tour, and in every tent some souvenir was pressed upon her, or she was begged to take her choice of its contents. Thus, before she had gone far, she had her arms full of things, and a string of men were following her bearing the articles she had honored them by accepting. There were little looking-glasses, pin-cushions, pairs of scissors, pictures, razors, bits of gold-lace, cigar-holders, scarf-pins, and many other things.

When she left camp she was quite piled up with things, whilst Tom Adams, who acted as her escort, marched behind her with a large basketful besides. She did not have room to take Harry, so she left her behind, on the assurance of Tom that she should be mended, and on the engagement of the entire company to take care of her. The soldiers followed her to the edge of the camp, and exacted from her a promise to come again next day, which she agreed to do if her mother would let her. And when she was out of sight, the whole command held a council of war over the fragments of Harry.

When Adams reached the Judge’s gate he made a negro who was passing take the basket in, thinking it better not to go himself up to the house. He said good-by, and Nancy Pansy started up the walk, whilst he waited at the gate. Suddenly she turned and came back.

“Good-by!” she said, standing on tiptoe, and putting up her little face to be kissed.

The young officer stooped over the gate and kissed her.

“Good-by! Come again to-morrow.”

“Yes, if mamma will let me.” And she tripped away with her armful of presents.

Tom Adams remained leaning on the gate. He was thinking of his home far away. Suddenly he was aroused by hearing the astonished exclamations in the house as Nancy Pansy entered. He felt sure that they were insisting that the things should be sent back, and fearing that he might be seen, he left the spot and went slowly back to camp, where he found the soldiers still in a state of pleasurable excitement over Nancy Pansy’s visit. A collection was taken up for a purpose which appeared to interest everybody, and a cap nearly full of money was delivered to Tom Adams, with as many directions as to what he was to do with it as though it were to get a memorial for the Commander-in-chief. Tom said he had already determined to do the very same thing himself; still, if the company wished to “go in” with him, they could do it; so he agreed to take the money.

V.

On the day following Nancy Pansy’s visit to the camp of the Baby Veterans, Adams took to the post-office a bundle addressed to “Nancy Pansy,” and a letter addressed to a friend of his who was in Washington. The bundle contained “Harry,” as fully restored as her shattered state would admit of; the letter contained a draft and a commission, the importance of which latter Captain Adams had put in the very strongest light.

He held his head very high as he dropped his letter into the box, for over the table bent the slender figure of the little dark-eyed postmistress, who had wiped her dainty fingers so carefully after handling his letter. Perched near her on the table, just as she had been that day, with her tangled hair all over her face, was Nancy Pansy. She was, as usual, very busy over something; but, hearing a step, she glanced up.

“Oh, there’s Tom Adams!” she exclaimed; and, turning over on her face, she slipped down from the table and ran up to him, putting up her face to be kissed, just as she always did to the old doctor.

Adams stooped over and kissed her, though, as he did so, he heard her sister turn around, and he felt as if she might be going to shoot him in the back. He straightened up with defiance in his heart. She was facing him; but what was his astonishment when she advanced, and with a little smile on her lovely face, said:

“Captain Adams, I am Miss Seddon. My mother has desired me to thank you in her name, and in all our names, for your act of protection to my little sister on yesterday.”

“Yes,” said Nancy Pansy; “he jus’ knocked that bad man down,” and she gave her little head a nod of satisfaction to one side.

The young officer blushed to his eyes. He was prepared for an attack, but not for such a flank movement. He stammered something about not having done anything at all worthy of thanks, and fell back behind Harry, whom he suddenly pulled out and placed in Nancy Pansy’s hands. It all ended in an invitation from Mrs. Seddon, through Nancy Pansy and her pretty sister, to come up to the house and be thanked, which he accepted.

After this the Baby Veterans and Middleburgh came to understand each other a good deal better than before. Instead of remaining in their camp or marching up and down the streets, with arrogance or defiance stamped on every face and speaking from every figure, the Baby Veterans took to loafing about town in off-duty hours, hanging over the gates, or sauntering in the autumn twilight up and down the quiet walks. They and Middleburgh still recognized that there was a broad ground, on which neither could trespass. The Baby Veterans still sang “The Star-spangled Banner” in the Court-house Grove, and Middleburgh still sang “Dixie” and the “Bonnie Blue Flag” behind her rose trellises; but there was no more gathering up of skirts, and disdainful wiping of hands after handling letters; and the old doctor was allowed to go jogging about on his rounds, with Nancy Pansy and the scarred Harry at his side, as unmolested as if the Baby Veterans had never pitched their tents on the Court-house Square. It is barely possible that even the rigid investment of the town relaxed a little as the autumn changed into winter, for once or twice old Limpid disappeared for several days, as he used to do before his arrest, and Nancy Pansy’s pretty sister used to get letters from Harry, who was now a major. Nancy Pansy heard whispers of Harry’s coming before long, and even of the whole army’s coming. Somehow a rumor of this must have reached the authorities, though Nancy Pansy never breathed a word of it; for an officer was sent down to investigate the matter and report immediately.

Just as he arrived he received secret word from some one that a rebel officer was actually in Middleburgh.

That afternoon Nancy Pansy was playing in the bottom of the yard when a lot of soldiers came along the street, and before them rode a strange, cross-looking man with a beard. Tom Adams was marching with the soldiers, and he did not look at all pleased. They stopped at the old doctor’s gate, and the strange man trotted up to her place and asked Nancy Pansy if she knew Captain Harry Hunter.

“Yes, indeed,” said Nancy Pansy, going up to the fence and poking her little rosy face over it; “Harry’s a major now.”

“Ah! Harry’s a major now, is he?” said the strange man.

Nancy Pansy went on to tell him how her Harry was named after the other Harry, and how she was all broken now; but the officer was intent on something else.

“Where is Harry now?” he asked her.

“In the house,” and she waved her hand toward the old doctor’s house behind her.

“So, so,” said the officer, and went back to Tom Adams, who looked annoyed, and said:

“I don’t believe it; there’s some mistake.”

At this the strange man got angry and said: “Lieutenant Adams, if you don’t want the rebel caught, you can go back to camp.”

My! how angry Tom was! His face got perfectly white, and he said: “Major Black, you are my superior, or you wouldn’t dare to speak so to me. I have nothing to say now, but some day I’ll out-rank you.”

Nancy Pansy did not know what they were talking about, but she did not like the strange man at all; so when he asked her: “Won’t you show me where Harry is?” at first she said “No,” and then “Yes, if you won’t hurt him.”

“No, indeed,” said the man. As Tom Adams was there she was not afraid; so she went outside the gate and on into the old doctor’s yard, followed by the soldiers and Tom Adams, who still looked angry, and told her she’d better run home. Some of the soldiers went around behind the house.

“Where is he?” the strange gentleman asked.

“Asleep up-stairs in the company-room,” said Nancy Pansy in a whisper. “You mustn’t make any noise.”

She opened the door and they entered the house, Nancy Pansy on tiptoe and the others stepping softly. She was surprised to see the strange man draw a pistol; but she was used to seeing pistols, so, though Tom Adams told her again to run home, she stayed there.

“Which is the company-room?” asked the strange man.

She pointed to the door at the head of the steps. “That’s it.”

He turned to the soldiers.

“Come ahead, men,” he said, in a low voice, and ran lightly up the stairs, looking very fierce. When he reached the door he seized the knob and dashed into the room.

Then Nancy Pansy heard him say some naughty words, and she ran up the stairs to see what was the matter.

They were all standing around the big bed on which she had laid Harry an hour before, with her head on a pillow; but a jerk of the counterpane had thrown Harry over on her face, and her broken neck and ear looked very bad.

“Oh, you’ve waked her up!” cried Nancy Pansy, rushing forward, and turning the doll over.

The strange man stamped out of the room, looking perfectly furious, and the soldiers all laughed. Tom Adams looked pleased.

VI.

When Tom Adams next called at the Judge’s, he found the atmosphere much cooler within the house than it was outside. He had been waiting alone in the drawing-room for some time when Nancy Pansy entered. She came in very slowly, and instead of running immediately up to him and greeting him as she usually did, she seated herself on the edge of a chair and looked at him with manifest suspicion. He stretched out his hand to her.

“Come over, Nancy Pansy, and sit on my knee.”

Nancy Pansy shook her head.

“My sister don’t like you,” she said slowly, eying him askance.

“Ah!” He let his hand fall on the arm of the chair.

“No; and I don’t, either,” said Nancy Pansy, more confidently.

“Why doesn’t she like me?” asked Tom Adams.

“Because you are so mean. She says you are just like all the rest of ’em;” and, pleased at her visitor’s interest, Nancy Pansy wriggled herself higher up on her chair, prepared to give him further details.

“We don’t like you at all,” said the child, half confidentially and half defiantly. “We like our side; we like _Confederates_.” Tom Adams smiled. “We like Harry; we don’t like you.”

She looked as defiant as possible, and just then a step was heard in the hall, approaching very slowly, and Nancy Pansy’s sister appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in white, and she carried her head even higher than usual.

The visitor rose. He thought he had never seen her look so pretty.

“Good-evening,” he said.

She bowed “Good-evening,” very slowly, and took a seat on a straight-backed chair in a corner of the room, ignoring the chair which Adams offered her.

“I have not seen you for some time,” he began.

“No; I suppose you have been busy searching people’s houses,” she said.

Tom Adams flushed a little.

“I carry out my orders,” he said. “These I must enforce.”

“Ah!”

Nancy Pansy did not just understand it all, but she saw there was a battle going on, and she at once aligned herself with her side, and going over, stood by her sister’s chair, and looked defiance at the enemy.

“Well, we shall hardly agree about this, so we won’t discuss it,” said Tom Adams. “I did not come to talk about this, but to see you, and to get you to sing for me.” Refusal spoke so plainly in her face that he added: “Or, if you won’t sing, to get Nancy Pansy to sing for me.”

“_I_ won’t sing for you,” declared Nancy Pansy, promptly and decisively.

“What incorrigible rebels all of you are!” said Tom Adams, smiling. He was once more at his ease, and he pulled his chair up nearer Nancy Pansy’s sister, and caught Nancy Pansy by the hand. She was just trying to pull away, when there were steps on the walk outside--the regular tramp, tramp of soldiers marching in some numbers. They came up to the house, and some order was given in a low tone. Both Adams and Nancy Pansy’s sister sprang to their feet.

“What can it mean?” asked Nancy Pansy’s sister, more to herself than to Adams.

He went into the hall just as there was a loud rap at the front door.

“What is it?” he asked the lieutenant who stood there.

“Some one has slipped through the lines, and is in this house,” he said.

Nancy Pansy’s sister stepped out into the hall.

“There is no one here,” she said. She looked at Tom Adams. “I give my word there is no one in the house except my mother, ourselves, and the servants.” She met Tom Adams’s gaze frankly as he looked into her eyes.

“There is no one here, Hector,” he said, turning to the officer.

“This is a serious matter,” began the other, hesitatingly. “We have good grounds to believe----”

“I will be responsible,” said Tom Adams, firmly. “I have been here some time, and there is no one here.” He took the officer aside and talked to him a moment.

“All right,” said he, as he went down the steps, “as you are so positive.”

“I am,” said Tom.

The soldiers marched down the walk, out of the gate, and around the corner. Just as the sound of their footsteps died away on the soft road, Tom Adams turned and faced Nancy Pansy’s sister. She was leaning against a pillar, looking down, and a little moonlight sifted through the rose-bushes and fell on her neck. Nancy Pansy had gone into the house. “I am sorry I said what I did in the parlor just now.” She looked up at him.

“Oh!” said Tom Adams, and moved his hand a little. “I--” he began; but just then there was a sudden scamper in the hall, and Nancy Pansy, with flying hair and dancing eyes, came rushing out on the portico.

“Oh, sister!” she panted. “Harry’s come; he’s in mamma’s room!”

Nancy Pansy’s sister turned deadly white. “Oh, Nancy Pansy!” she gasped, placing her hand over her mouth.

Nancy Pansy burst into tears, and buried her face in her sister’s dress. She had not seen Tom Adams; she thought he had gone.

“I did not know it,” said Nancy Pansy’s sister, turning and facing Tom Adams’s stern gaze.

“I believe you,” he said, slowly. He felt at his side; but he was in a fatigue suit, and had no arms. Without finishing his sentence he sprang over the railing, and with a long, swift stride went down the yard. She dimly saw him as he sprang over the fence, and heard him call, “Oh, Hector!”

As he did so, she rushed into the house. “Fly! they are coming!” she cried, bursting into her mother’s room. “Oh, Harry, they are coming!” she cried, rushing up to a handsome young fellow, who sprang to his feet as she entered, and went forward to meet her.

The young man took her hand and drew her to him. “Well,” he said, looking down into her eyes, and drawing a long breath.

Nancy Pansy’s sister put her face on his shoulder and began to cry, and Nancy Pansy rushed into her mother’s arms and cried too.

Ten minutes later soldiers came in both at the front and back doors. Mrs. Seddon met her visitors in the hall. Nancy Pansy’s sister was on one side, and Nancy Pansy on the other.

Tom Adams was in command. He removed his hat, but said, gravely: “I must arrest the young rebel officer who is here.”

Nancy Pansy made a movement; but her mother tightened her clasp of her hand.

“Yes,” she said, bowing. That was all.

Guards were left at the doors, and soldiers went through the house. The search was thorough, but the game had escaped. They were coming down the steps when some one said:

“We must search the shrubbery; he will be there.”

“No; he is at his father’s--the old doctor’s,” said Adams.

It was said in an undertone, but Mrs. Seddon’s face whitened; Nancy Pansy caught it, too. She clutched her mother’s gown.

“Oh, mamma! you hear what he says?”

Her mother stooped and whispered to her.

“Yes, yes,” nodded Nancy Pansy. She ran to the door, and poking her little head out, looked up and down the portico, calling, “Kitty, kitty!”

The sentry who was standing there holding his gun moved a little, and, leaning out, peered into the dusk.

“’Tain’t out here,” he said, in a friendly tone.

Nancy Pansy slipped past him, and went down the steps and around the portico, still calling, “Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!”

“Who goes there?” called a soldier, as he saw something move over near the old doctor’s fence; but when he heard a childish voice call, “Kitty! Kitty!” he dropped his gun again with a laugh. “’Tain’t nobody but that little gal, Nancy Pansy; blest if I wa’n’t about to shoot her!”

The next instant Nancy Pansy had slipped through her little hole in the fence, through which she had so often gone, and was in the old doctor’s yard; and when, five minutes afterward, Tom Adams marched his men up the walk and surrounded and entered the house, Nancy Pansy, her broken doll in her arms, was sitting demurely on the edge of a large chair, looking at him with great, wide-open, dancing eyes. A little princess could not have been grander, and if she had hidden Harry Hunter behind her chair, she could not have shown more plainly that she had given him warning.

VII.