He noted her mild evasion, and pushed the point.

"What is in it now?"

"Tin pans."

"Anything else?"

"Er--yes, sir."

He caught his breath and stepped a little nearer, bending till his face
was close to hers.

"What?"

"Colonel Mosby," declared the mite, with a most emphatic nod; "an' you
better look out, too!"

The officer laughed as he turned to his grinning squad.

"Bright little youngster! Still, I think we'll have a look." He dropped
his air of amusement, growing stern again. "Now, men! Ready!"

They swung into line and faced the cupboard, the muzzles of their
carbines trained upon it, while their leader advanced, swung open the
doors, and quickly stepped aside.

On the bottom shelf, as Virgie had declared, were a few disconsolate tin
pans; yet tacked to the door was a picture print of Mosby--that dreaded
guerrilla whose very name was a bugaboo in the Union lines.