"It's my babby," she screamed. "Kum hyar ter yer mammy, yer bressed chile! Kum dis bery minnit!"
Laughing and crying she caught the girl to her capacious bosom.
"It's the lill' missy dat bringed me," cried Snowball. "Oh, mammy, dey says we's free!"
"'Course we is, honey chile. Whar you been dat you didn't know dat? Massa Linkum done say dat long ago. Whar you been?"
"Hyar in Vicksburg. Whar you bin, mammy?"
"Eberywhar, chile. Ef I hadn't er cooked fer de sojers dey couldn't a tuk de city. Cap'n Leathers say so. But hyar we is. Not mindin' our manners an' a thankin' de lill' missy fer brungin' yer ter me."
But with the first word of thanks Jeanne darted away. She stopped for a moment to talk to the Captain and explain her presence in the city, and then went back to the cave where Dick awaited her.
"Come," said the boy. "General Grant is expected in the city soon. The Confederates are coming from the camp to be registered and paroled."
"When can we go home, Dick?" asked the girl as they passed into the streets again.
"Any time now, Jeanne. I want to see the General about sending a message to father. How quiet it seems after the bombardment! Restful, isn't it?"
"It's heavenly," sighed Jeanne contentedly. "I am so happy, Dick, and the silence enfolds me like a garment. To think that I will really see father and mother once more! It has been a year lacking a few days since I saw them. How little I thought that so much would happen before I should see them again. How anxious they must be! But now! a few more days and I shall be with them."
"There comes General Grant," said Dick suddenly.
A glittering cavalcade of Federals and rebel officers at full gallop came down the Jackson road from the camp without. In the midst of the throng there appeared a man, small in stature, heavily set, a broad face covered with sandy beard, habited in a plain blue uniform of flannel with two stars of a major-general upon his shoulders. His face was impassive but there was the faintest gleam of satisfaction in his cold gray eyes.
"'Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on!'"