The woman was standing at the door; one of the men shaded his eyes with his hand and looked toward the west, where a dazzling cloud-edge barely hid the sun from view.  He was looking directly over my head; dropping his hand he said, “An hour high, yit.”  This man was nearer to me than the others were.  I could less distinctly hear the words of the others, but when this one got near their horses a conversation was held with the woman standing in the doorway, and the voices on both sides were raised.

“Yes,” said one of the men, preparing to mount the gray horse, “yes, I reckin this is the last time we’ll trouble you any more.”

“Your room’s better’n your company,” said the woman, whose words, by reason of her shrill voice, as well as because she was talking toward me, were more distinctly heard than the man’s.

“Now don’t be ungrateful,” said the man, who by this time was astride his horse; “you’ve not lost anything by me.  If the Yanks treat you as well as us, you may thank your God.”

“Self-praise is half scandal,” said the woman; “I’m willin’ to risk ’em if God sends ’em.”

The man, turning his horse and riding after his two companions, shouted back:  “Hit’s not God as is a sendin’ ’em; hit’s somebody else!”

“You seem to be mighty well acquainted!” fired the woman, as a parting shot.

When the man had overtaken his comrades at the turning of the road, I had but little reluctance in going into the house.  The woman stared at me.  My gray civilian clothes caught her eye; evidently she did not know what to think of me.  She said nothing, and stood her ground in the middle of the floor.

I first asked for a drink of water; she point to the bucket, in which there was a common gourd for a dipper.  I quenched my thirst; then I said; “Madam, I will pay you well if you will let me have what cold food you have in the house.”

“Did you see them men a-ridin’ away from here jest now?” she asked.

“I heard some voices,” said I; “who were they?”

“They was some of our men; three of ’em; they et up most ev’ything I had, so I hain’t got much.”

“See what there is,” said I, “and please be as quick as you can.”

She went into another room, and speedily returned with a “pone” of corn-bread.

“This is all they is,” she said.

“Have you no potatoes? no bacon?”

“I’ve got some bacon,” she said; “but it ain’t cooked.”

“Let me have a pound or two, anyway,” said I.

She brought out a large piece of bacon.  “My ole man’s gone down to Worrick to-day,” she said, “an’ won’t be back tell night; an’ you soldiers, a-leavin’ the country all at oncet, hit makes me feel kinder skittish.”

“Yes,” said I; “I don’t wonder at your alarm, for they say the Yankees are coming.  I don’t suppose they will be here before to-morrow, though—­maybe not till the day after.”

“Them other men said they was the last to go,” she replied; “but I reckin they didn’t know you was a-comin’ on behind ’em.”