As I was leaving she said, in an
apologetic tone, "Well, I declah, I never knowed you was going to
light, or I wouldn't have done sich a fool-trick."
Stopping at every house, meeting with varied success, we at last, just
at night, arrived at a farm-house more orderly than any we had passed,
where I was glad to discover the familiar face of an old lady who had
sometimes brought buttermilk and eggs to the sick. At once recognizing
me, she appeared delighted, and insisted upon my "lighting" and having
my team put up until morning. This I was glad to do, for it was quite
out of the question to start on my homeward journey that night.
Greatly I enjoyed the hospitality so ungrudgingly given, the
appetizing supper, the state bed in the best room, with its "sunrise"
quilt of patch-work. Here was a Confederate household. The son was a
soldier. His wife and his little children were living "with ma" at the
old homestead. The evening was spent in talking of the late battle.
Here these women were, living in the depths of the woods, consumed
with anxiety, seldom hearing any news, yet quietly performing the
monotonous round of duty with a patience which would have added lustre
to the crown of a saint.
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