backward and forward.  Every once in a while the faces of children, either black or white, would peer at me round the corner of the house, then the sound of scampering bare feet would betray their sudden flight.  Suddenly I caught sight of a pair of bare, black feet protruding from under the bed.  Presently an unmistakable squawk arose, instantly smothered, but followed by a fluttering of wings and a chorus of squawks.  So upset was the lady of the house that she involuntarily called out, “You Isrul!” “Ma’am,” came in a frightened voice from under the bed, then in whining tones, “I dun try to mek ’em hush up, but ’pears like Mass Debbel be on dey side, anyhow.”

Further concealment being impossible, I said, “Come, you have the chickens ready caught, I’ll give you your own price for them.”  She hesitated—­and was lost, for producing from my pocket a small package of snuff, to which temptation she at once succumbed, I obtained in exchange six fine, fat chickens.  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.

I talked until (wonderful to relate) my tongue was tired:  my audience being the old, white-haired father, the mother, the wife, and the eager children, who were shy at first, but by degrees nestled closer, with bright eyes from which sleep seemed banished forever.

The next morning when, after a substantial breakfast, I was once more ready to start, every member of the family made some addition to my stores, notably, a few pounds of really good country butter.  This was always highly prized by the soldiers.  As a general thing, when the cows were fed upon cotton-seed the butter was white and “waxy,” this was yellow and firm.  The oldest girl brought me a pair of socks she had herself knitted; one of the little boys, six eggs laid by his own “dominiker,” which he pointed out to me as she stalked about the yard proud of her mottled feathers and rosy comb.