CHAPTER XXVIII

LOOSE ENDS

Mrs. Charles Stewart had prophesied many times that when the Union soldiers came to little Washington they would subject the people of the town to all sorts of humiliation and suffering. And there were many who shared this belief. But when these dreaded Yankees appeared they took good care not to molest the citizens, and Mrs. Stewart decided finally that for the time being there was no need of her going to Brazil or Mexico.

With the Northern forces came a tall Union officer who very shortly after his arrival went to call at the Mays’. His visits were frequent, and in spite of the fact that he was an enemy, all of the May family came to have a respect for the quiet, gray-haired man who looked so earnestly and with such a longing gaze at Cousin Imogene. Dorothea had met him early one afternoon, coming up the drive, and bowed in acknowledgment of his salute as he reached her.

“I am looking for Miss Imogene Ivory,” he said, with a note of eagerness in his voice. “Will you tell her please that General Stanchfield would be very glad to see her.”

Dorothea made no effort to hide her surprise as she looked up at the big soldier and he, looking down, saw the question in her eyes.

“Are you wondering what has become of Larry?” he asked with a smile. “I think you must be the young lady who helped him to escape.”

“I did what I could,” Dorothea answered. “I hope your son is safe.”

The General laughed.

“He isn’t my son, you know,” he replied. “Larry’s my nephew, named after me, to be sure, and some say he looks like me. What do you think?”

“I think he does,” Dorothea replied, a little embarrassed, and then she took him to Miss Imogene, with all sorts of romantic thoughts flying through her mind.

Some time after this Dorothea and Miss Imogene were sitting on the porch alone, talking of this or that, but usually coming back to the happy topic of the war’s ending.

“I’m so glad it’s over,” Miss Imogene said thankfully. “Now the poor soldiers on both sides can go home and lead peaceful lives and stop hating each other. You know, honey,” she went on, “I could never quite bring myself to hate the North. Perhaps the General had something to do with that,” she added, with the daintiest of blushes.

“He’s nice!” Dorothea declared. “But, Cousin Imogene, there’s a mystery that I’ve never solved. You know that Mr. Stanchfield, the General’s nephew, I mean, thought there was a Red String in this house. He was sure of it, in fact,—and so was I.” She ended with a meaning look at her cousin.

“Do you really think so still, Dorothea?” Miss Imogene asked, looking up with a smile.

“Yes, I do,” Dorothea answered. “I’m sure of it. At first I thought it was April, then I guessed it was Val Tracy, then I suspected even Lucy,—but now that the war’s over and it won’t make any difference I think you’d better confess.”

“I, child! What do you mean?” demanded Miss Imogene.

“Why, aren’t you a Red String?” Dorothea questioned.

“No, my dear, of course I’m not,” Miss Imogene replied positively and Dorothea looked blankly at her for a moment or two, hardly able to believe her ears. “How could I be? I am a Southern gentlewoman.”

“Well!” the girl exclaimed finally, “if it wasn’t you, who could it have been?”

At that instant Harriot came out of the house and stopped a moment beside them.

“I’m so hungry. Field peas and hominy and bacon may fill you, but they aren’t food!” she sighed, pushing back her hair, and Miss Imogene’s sharp eyes saw a thin red string tied around one of her young niece’s fingers.

“What’s that for, honey?” she asked, and Dorothea, seeing the string, waited eagerly for the answer.

“Oh, that’s just a string,” Harriot answered. “Aunt Decent wears one to keep the misery out of her hands, and I thought I would see if it worked. I never had any misery and I don’t want any. But don’t you mention it to Aunt Decent. She’s mighty touchy about it and doesn’t like any one to notice it.” With that Harriot ran off again and left the two gazing at each in surprised perplexity.

“Could it be Aunt Decent?” Dorothea whispered.

“It might be,” Miss Imogene replied. “That old colored woman is a great power among the servants and she could be of a great deal of help to any one who needed it. I don’t know what to think, and after all, honey, these Red Strings are very secret and we’ll probably never know for sure. Perhaps there wasn’t one about here at all.”

“Mr. Stanchfield was so sure,” Dorothea began, but here they were interrupted, and the subject was dropped.

That evening after Dorothea had gone to her room for the night there came a gentle knock at the door and she admitted Miss Imogene, who wore so radiant a smile that Dorothea gave her a hug before anything was said.

“I don’t deserve it,” Miss Imogene whispered, “but I shall be very happy. The General has asked me to marry him.”

“I’m so glad!” exclaimed Dorothea, nestling close to the dear little lady. “And you do deserve to be happy. You try to make every one happy around you.”

“That’s sweet of you, honey,” Miss Imogene murmured. “I can only think of one more thing to wish for. You remember young Larry Stanchfield, don’t you?”

“To be sure,” Dorothea answered, drawing back in her surprise. “I couldn’t forget him.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Miss Imogene said quickly, “because, my dear, it would be so nice if—” she hesitated an instant, “if some day you were my niece instead of my cousin.”

Dorothea blushed.

“I’m afraid, Cousin Imogene, I can’t be that, unless—unless you adopt Val Tracy for a nephew. You see,” Dorothea went on hurriedly, “Val and I were both mixed up. He thought I was in love with Larry Stanchfield, and that’s the reason he saved him that time, though an Irishman, of course, hates an informer above anything. And I thought he was in love with April; but he wasn’t, and—well, it all came out that day we rescued Lee Hendon, and—and I’m all mixed up, too, about what I’ll be when I marry Val; because now I’m half English and half American, and then I’ll be Irish too, I suppose.”

“No, my dear,” Miss Imogene replied as she took the girl in her arms. “You’ll be all American, both of you. Now that our country is to be united again we can take in all the nationalities, and the Irish, honey, make very good Americans! I think we’ll have to arrange for a double wedding? What do think?”

“I think it would be lovely!” replied Dorothea.

THE END

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