A KNOT OF RIBBON BLUE

“I am so glad to see you, Major Goddard,” said his hostess, stepping into the hall to greet the young officer, as the black butler admitted him. “It is a shame you could not get here in time to take supper with us.”

“You are not half as disappointed as I, Mrs. Warren,” replied Goddard, shaking hands warmly. “I was unavoidably detained at the War Department. Do please accept my sincere apologies for my unintentional rudeness.”

“Why, of course; I was sure you could not help the delay. But I must not keep you standing in the hall.” And she reentered the parlor, closely followed by Goddard, who glanced about the room with well-bred curiosity.

It was the first time he had been entertained while in Washington. Senator Warren, to whom he had brought letters from mutual friends in the North, had insisted upon his waiving the formality of a first call. The invitation to supper had been seconded by a cordial note from Mrs. Warren, whom he had met two nights before at the Capitol, and he had accepted the invitation, not counting on the exigencies of the War Department.

The large rooms were comfortably filled with men and women, who sat or stood talking together in little groups. In the further corner a girl was seated at the grand piano; as she raised her head, Goddard recognized Nancy Newton. Mrs. Warren was on the point of introducing him to several of her guests when Nancy struck a few opening chords. Instantly the low hum of conversation ceased, and her clear mezzo-soprano voice filled the room:

He stole from its nest in my golden hair,
A knot of ribbon blue;
He placed on my hand a jewel rare,
And whispered soft, as he held it there,
“Tender and true,
Adieu, adieu!”

Drawn by the charm of her voice, Goddard edged nearer and nearer the piano until he leaned against its side facing the singer. He scanned intently the downcast face, the soft, rippling hair, the broad brow, and sensitive red lips. Attracted by the steadiness of his gaze, she raised her eyes to his. For one brief second soul gazed into soul; then the hazel eyes fell before the gray ones, and a rich wave of color mantled Nancy’s cheeks as her voice rose in birdlike notes:

They brought my soldier home to me,
And my knot of ribbon blue;
But the cruel wound on his brow was hid
By the flag draped over the coffin lid!
Tender and true,
Adieu, adieu!

Silence followed the last note as it died away, for the song struck home. Northern and Southern sympathizers alike swallowed a suspicious lump as they thought of their loved ones far away on a field of strife, and the applause was late in coming.

“Upon my soul, Nancy, that is a doleful song.” Doctor Boyd strode over to the piano. “Give us something cheerful. Play ‘Dixie.’”

“Indeed, you will do nothing of the sort,” declared Mrs. Warren, as Nancy’s fingers strayed over the keys. “Do you suppose I want the provost marshal’s men camping on my doorstep? Play ‘Yankee Doodle’ if you wish; but first, Nancy, I want you to meet Major Goddard Miss Newton. Doctor Boyd, this is our friend Major Goddard, who is here on leave.”

Nancy simply bowed in acknowledgment of the introduction, but Doctor Boyd held out his hand in hearty greeting.

“Glad to meet you, Major.” Seeing Goddard’s face more clearly as a guest moved from before one of the lamps, he added: “Why, you are the officer who wished to arrest us this morning, eh, Nancy?”

“Oh, no, sir,” protested Goddard hastily. “Captain Lloyd and I simply wanted to to ”

“Don’t apologize,” retorted the doctor. “Stanton would like nothing better than to send me to Old Capitol Prison; but they can’t spare my services, so I am left free to practice my profession.”

“What are you growling about now?” asked Senator Warren, reaching around the doctor to shake hands with Goddard. “Has my wife left you to the tender mercies of Doctor John, Major? Come on, and I will introduce you to Mrs. Bennett.”

“From bad to worse,” chuckled the doctor. “She will be claiming your scalp, Major. Come to me when you want a hair restorer.”

Mrs. Bennett, a very pretty woman with mincing manners, received Goddard graciously, and made room for him on the sofa by her.

“Your name is already familiar to us,” she said, “for your gallant conduct at Cedar Creek was mentioned in all despatches. Mrs. Arnold,” touching a stout woman who sat next her on the shoulder to attract her attention, “may I present Major Robert Goddard?”

“How do you do.” Mrs. Arnold held out a fat, jeweled hand in welcome. Her good-natured face was creased in smiles. “My nephew, John Gurley, has spoken of you so often that I feel as if we were old friends.”

“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Arnold,” said Goddard gratefully. “John gave me a letter of introduction, but I have been so busy since my arrival here I have had no chance to call on you.”

“How is John?”

“Very well, and very busy since he has been given his troop.”

“Is that the handsome boy who was with you on sick leave last November, Mrs. Arnold?” asked Mrs. Bennett, raising her eyes languidly to look more closely at Goddard. “My husband was quite jealous of his attentions. So absurd, you know. Ah!” She purred as Doctor Boyd drew up a chair and sat down by her. “My old antagonist! How are you this evening?”

“Still unreconstructed,” retorted the doctor. He turned and surveyed the room, brilliant with the glitter of uniforms and handsome toilets, and his penetrating old eyes grew moist as he read the sorrow and anxiety which both men and women hid beneath feverish excitement and forced gayety.

Until the breaking out of the war, Washington was almost entirely a Southern city. After the firing on Sumter, it became a house divided, and brother fought brother, while Washington women stifled their moans of anguish, and faced the world with a bravery which equaled that shown on the battlefield.

“How lovely Nancy Newton looks to-night,” went on the doctor, suddenly realizing that Mrs. Bennett was waiting for him to speak.

“I cannot agree with you.” Mrs. Bennett’s sleepy eyes opened, and the soft purr left her voice. “Those pink roses in her red hair are quite too daring for good taste.”

“Daring,” echoed Mrs. Arnold, but half catching Mrs. Bennett’s remark. “Daring, did you say? Nancy is downright bold. The idea of that young girl going to parties given by the officers in the camps about here. Such conduct would not have been tolerated in my day.” And she squared her ponderous shoulders.

“There were no camps in your day, Mrs. Arnold,” retorted the doctor dryly. “Nancy was chaperoned there by Mrs. Warren. Do you question our hostess’ conduct?”

Alarmed at the very suggestion of such a thing, Mrs. Arnold instantly backed water.

“I I was not informed Mrs. Warren went with her. But, Doctor, take a kindly word from me, and warn Nancy that she must be more circumspect in her conduct. She is already being talked about.”

“By a lot of scandal mongers, whose word I would not take on oath,” exclaimed the doctor hotly.

“One moment, Doctor John,” cooed Mrs. Bennett. “It has been whispered that Nancy is suspected of aiding and abetting the enemy, although,” spitefully, “she does sing our songs so well.”

“And what of that? Half Washington suspects the other half of sending contraband goods through the lines. I don’t doubt some of our unimpeachable friends carry quinine concealed in their bustles.”

“Well, really, Doctor!” Mrs. Arnold’s face rivaled her cherry gown in color. “Such things were not mentioned in my day,” she ended feebly.

“Civil war brings strange usages,” the doctor smiled grimly, “and to-day’s conduct cannot be judged by the standards of the past. I am sorry to shock your sensibilities, but you ladies must not believe all you hear.”

“What scandal are you discussing so vigorously?” called Nancy from a near-by window seat.

Mrs. Bennett jumped perceptibly as Nancy’s soft voice reached her. “Dear child, how you startle one! Have you been there long?” Her voice rose to a sharper key.

“Miss Nancy and I have just returned from the back parlor,” volunteered her escort, a tall officer, wearing the red stripes of the artillery on his well-worn uniform. As he walked toward Mrs. Bennett, she detained him for a moment.

Goddard, who had been an interested listener to the doctor’s defense of Nancy, rose from his seat on the sofa, and, seizing his opportunity, stepped over to the alcove and joined the young girl.

“How is my friend, Misery?” he asked.

“Very miserable, indeed, when I left him this afternoon. He does not enjoy being away from me.”

“I dare swear he is not alone in that,” laughed Goddard. “Won’t you sing again, Miss Newton?”

“Not to-night. Are you, by chance, the Major Goddard whom my friend, John Gurley, is always talking and writing about?”

“Yes; John is in my regiment. We are chums, you know.”

“I saw a great deal of Captain Gurley when he was with his aunt, Mrs. Arnold, in November. We had great fun together.” Nancy laughed at a passing recollection. “In his last letter he urged me to come to Winchester and make a long-promised visit at my cousins, the Pages.”

“Why don’t you?” asked Goddard eagerly. “We can give you a very good time there. The officers’ mess has organized a weekly hop, although girls are scarce, and I am sure we can arrange some other amusements for you.”

“I hesitate to make any definite plans,” replied Nancy thoughtfully, “for General Sheridan is likely to skedaddle out of the Valley at any moment, and I would not enjoy being captured by Early.”

“We are billed to stay there some time longer,” replied Goddard confidently. “The roads are in no condition to move cavalry and artillery. There really is no prospect of our leaving winter quarters until later on.”

“In that case I will ask Aunt Metoaca’s permission to go.”

“I expect to return day after to-morrow, Miss Newton; it would give me great pleasure to escort you to Winchester if you can arrange to go as soon as that.”

“I will talk it over with Aunt Metoaca,” was Nancy’s non-committal reply, and Goddard’s face fell.

“May I call and see your aunt?” he pleaded eagerly. “I am sure I can convince her that it is safe for you to make the trip.”

“Under your escort,” laughed Nancy. In the soft lamplight Goddard caught the witchery of her eyes, and his heart gave a most unaccustomed thump against his ribs. “Take care, sir; you don’t know what a grave responsibility you may be assuming.”

“I am willing to assume all risks,” he answered, a trifle unsteadily. “When can I know that you will go to Winchester?”

Nancy hesitated, and her fingers strayed to a knot of blue ribbon pinned to her gown. Abstractedly she unfastened it, and Goddard’s hand closed over the ribbon as she murmured: “Come and see my aunt to-morrow. Our address is 306 C Street.”

“I am sorry to interrupt” Goddard wheeled around as Senator Warren joined them “but a friend has called for you, Major; he says that you are needed at the War Department.”

Goddard slipped the knot of ribbon inside his coat as his eyes traveled past the senator’s spare figure to a man standing directly under the hall light. It was Lloyd.

Bidding his host and Mrs. Warren a hasty good-bye, Goddard joined his friend, and they departed at once; so absorbed in conversation neither noticed the sudden hubbub that arose in the room they had just left.

“Quick, Doctor; she has fainted!” gasped Mrs. Warren, and Boyd stepped forward to offer first aid to the silent figure on the floor.