and the batteries of welcome of the East were not
to be compared to those to be turned loose in York's home state."

The people of Tennessee filled depots, streets and tabernacles to
welcome him. Gifts awaited him, which ranged from a four-hundred acre
farm raised by public subscriptions by the Rotary Clubs and newspapers,
to blooded stock for it, and almost every form of household furnishings
that could add to man's comfort. It took a ware-room at Nashville and
the courtesies of the barns of the State Fair Association to hold the
gifts.

He was made a Colonel by the Governor of Tennessee, and appointed a
member of his staff. He was elected to honorary membership in many
organizations. As far away as Spokane the "Red Headed Club" thought him
worthy of their membership "by virtue of the color of his hair and in
recognition of his services to this, our glorious country."

The nations of Europe for whom he fought had not forgotten nor had they
ceased to honor him. After he had returned to the mountains of
Tennessee, another citation came from the French Government for a
military award that had been made him, and in a ceremony at the capital
of Tennessee the Italian Government conferred upon him the Italian Cross
of War.

The "Valley of the Three Forks o' the Wolf," where Alvin York was born
and lives, which has been the home of his ancestors for more than a
hundred years, is a level fertile valley that is almost a rectangle in
form. Three mountains rising on the north and south and west enclose it,
while to the east four mountains jumble together, forming the fourth
side. It seems that each of these is striving for a place by the valley.

It is down the passes of these mountains on the east that the three
branches of the Wolf River run, and it is their meeting and commingling
that gave the quaint name to the valley.

The forks of the Wolf rush down the passes, but the river runs lazily
through the valley. It flows beside a cornfield, then wanders over to a
meadow of clover or into a patch of sugar-cane, turning the while from
side to side as the varying mountain vistas come into view. At the far
end where it is pushed over the mill dam and out of the valley, the Wolf
roars protestingly; then rushes on to the Cumberland River a silver line
between the mountains.

Pall Mall, the village, is co-extensive with the "Valley of the Three
Forks o' the Wolf." As a stranger first sees Pall Mall it is but a
half-mile of the