Part 29 (2/2)
”I see,” whispered Jeanne. ”Let's get closer, Bob.”
Cautiously they approached nearer to the men. Presently Jeanne uttered an exclamation and stopped stock still.
”What is it?” asked Bob quickly. ”Did you hurt yourself?”
”Bob,” whispered Jeanne in great agitation, ”do you see that young fellow just beyond Frank? The one with the yellow hair, I mean.”
”Yes, Jeanne. Why?”
”That is my brother d.i.c.k. They shan't have d.i.c.k, Bob. Not if I had to face the whole Confederate army myself.”
”Jeanne, is it truly d.i.c.k? Aren't you mistaken? Maybe it's only some one who looks like him.”
”It's d.i.c.k,” said Jeanne positively. ”Watch him. He will know my voice.”
Regardless of caution she began singing softly the then popular melody:
”'Will you come with me, my Phillis dear, To yon blue mountain free, Where the blossoms smell the sweetest, Come rove along with me.
It's every Sunday morning, When I am by your side, We'll jump into the wagon, And all take a ride.'”
Bob watched the young fellow as Jeanne's voice floated out upon the night air. The boy, he was scarcely more than that, raised himself to a sitting posture instantly, a blank look of amazement upon his face.
”Miss Bob,” came from the guard, ”it's against orders for either you or the 'Little Yank' to be about the prisoners. I'm mighty sorry, but you'll have to go.”
”Johnson,” said Bob coaxingly, ”haven't I always been good to you?”
”Yes, Miss Bob.”
”Who looked after you when you were wounded, and cooked for you, and wrote your letters to your wife?”
”Miss Bob, for goodness sake don't tell me any of those things now. The Colonel's away, and there are just a few of us left to guard the prisoners and the camp. 'Tain't right, Miss Bob.”
”You said that there was nothing that you would not do for me,” went on Bob inexorably.
”And I meant it,” said the poor fellow. ”I know what you mean. I know that's your brother. But you must not ask it of me. Please, Miss Bob.”
”I'm only going to ask you to turn your back for ten minutes,” said Bob.
”And his knife,” whispered Jeanne tremblingly. ”Get his knife, Bob.”
”Turn your back for ten minutes,” repeated Bob, ”and lend me your knife.”
”For the love of mercy, Miss Bob,” pleaded Johnson, ”don't ask this of me. It means worse than death to me. It is a betrayal of trust.”
”Your knife, Johnson,” and Bob held out her hand. ”What would your wife think of your refusing me anything?”
”Take it,” said the man with the resignation of despair. ”The Colonel will have me shot like a dog, but take it. I cannot refuse.”
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