"This is the home of wealthy people," he said at last to Dick, "and we
may obtain some information here. At least we should try it."
Dick had his doubts, but he said nothing.
"You, Mr. Pennington, Mr. Warner and Sergeant Whitley, dismount with me,"
continued the colonel, "and we'll try the house."
He bade his troop remain in the road under the command of the officer
next in rank, and he, with those whom he had chosen, opened the lawn
gate. A brick walk led to the portico and they strolled along it,
their spurs jingling. Although the smoke still rose from the chimneys
no door opened to them as they stepped into the portico. All the green
shutters were closed tightly.
"I think they saw us in the road," said Dick, "and this is a house of
staunch Southern sympathizers. That is why they don't open to us."
"Beat on the door with the hilt of your sword, sergeant," said the
colonel to Whitley. "They're bound to answer in time."
The sergeant beat steadily and insistently. Yet he was forced to
continue it five or six minutes before it was thrown open. Then a tall
old woman with a dignified, stern face and white hair, drawn back from
high brows, stood before them. But Dick's quick eyes saw in the dusk
of the room behind her a girl of seventeen or eighteen.
"What do you want?" asked the woman in a tone of ice. "I see that you
are Yankee soldiers, and if you intend to rob the house there is no one
here to oppose you.
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