Often." "_How_ often ?" asked the bearded man.
Virgie's fingers twisted themselves deep in her dress.
"I--I don't know, sir.

But heaps of times." "Good again," and the questioner actually smiled.

"When your father came, did he ever wear clothes that--that were not his own ?" Virgie turned a side-long look on her father but, as he could not help, her puzzled eyes went back to the General.
"Well--well, lots of our men don't have hardly _any_ clo's," she said pathetically.
Another smile broke the sternness of the General's face.
"That isn't what I mean," he explained gently.

"Did he ever wear a coat of blue--a _Yankee_ uniform ?" "_General_!" broke in Harris.
"Lieutenant!" Grant frowned.

He turned back to Virgie and coaxed her a little.
"Well?
Tell me!" With one bare big toe twisted under her foot and fingers interlocked in agony the child turned a look of pure anguish on her silent, grave faced father.