She has often told me of a little cottage of
two rooms and a gallery which she occupied
somewhere in Tennessee, where the army was
encamped. I never heard her say that it was
inconveniently small, but always that "the roses
about the porch were lovely," and that "there
was a fine well of water," which she shared with
the soldiers who would come and ask for it. My
Father warned her that they wourd cause her
great annoyance if she let them form the habit
of coming into the yard for water, but she con-
tinued to do so, and in telling of it, would add
that not one of them ever abused the privilege.
  Sitting on the little gallery, she would greet
them as they passed in and out of the yard t
where the roses grew so beautifully, and I can
imagine what a picture of peace and home she
must have made in the midst of War.
  The account of that episode in her life would
be incomplete if I left out the ending she added
to it, which was, "And I took such care of the
place that the lady to whom it belonged would
take no rent for it "-a beautiful, but not unusual
act of kindness in those days.
  Perfect strangers would receive her into their
homes as she travelled about, following the army,
and treat her with the utmost kindness. On one
occasion only, and that in a time of great stress,
when falling back from the army, she, with my
brother Clifton, and a sick soldier, were refused
shelter one stormy night, and had to drive away
in the darkness till they reached a house where
doors and hearts were both flung wide to them,
despite the danger of receiving such travellers.
  On another occasion she took the carriage,
horses, and driver of Mrs. Johnson to save them