WAR
But me—where, what shall I be? And Dave—will he hate me?
"Keep on loving me, oh, please! Make them all love me—always! Don't tell Dave. Say I was drowned—or something like that. If you knew how hard it is! If you knew the sacrifice! I must go. The signals are getting violent—Good-by! Forever, good-by!"
Something brought to mind the bundle of papers the officer had dropped that day when he got Betsy's pies. I went and got them.
They were mostly letters from a wife and a little girl—with their photographs. But there was one which wasn't.
"Order No. 249," it read. "All persons in the guise of pretended loyal citizens, acting under false names or other false pretenses, within our lines, and giving aid, arms, ammunition or supplies of any kind whatsoever, or furnishing information to, or communicating with, the enemy, are spies, and are to be taken, condemned, and shot as such.
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