I
mustered up the courage to present myself at the house, after having
secured permission from the guards. Knocking at the door, with some
misgivings, I was answered by a sad-looking, yet sweet-faced,
middle-aged lady, whose appearance so confused me that I could only
stammer my request.

She, with a calm, gentle demeanor, so mother-like that the tears almost
started from my eyes, invited me to a seat in a neat and tidy, yet
comparatively bare room. This courtesy I acknowledged and declined as
respectfully as I knew how, thinking I would only be there a moment. She
retired at once to an adjoining room.

The minutes kept slipping away, until I feared that our kind guards
would have their patience tried and their suspicions aroused to an
extent which would invite an investigation of my whereabouts, especially
as we were to move before long. Just as I was beginning to think myself
forsaken by the old lady, and was trying to forget the imaginary taste
of that expected milk, she reappeared, when, to my surprise and almost
consternation, she invited me _to breakfast_ with the family in the next
room, where the table was ready and bountifully loaded with a
substantial meal.

Oh, that breakfast! The sight fairly took my breath for a moment, and I
no longer regretted the delay as I feasted my eyes upon the clean and
inviting table, with its plentiful supply of creamy biscuit, golden
yellow butter, ham and eggs, baked potatoes and steaming coffee; but, as
I gazed, even though hungry, worn out and reduced in flesh, a full sense
of the kindness exhibited almost caused me to break down utterly and my
appetite failed me for the moment. However, my kind hostess, in her
gentle, unassuming manner, quietly motioned me to a seat and bade me
make myself at home. With the family of four persons I sat at the table
throughout the meal. Very few words were spoken. My eyes kept filling
with tears and my heart was too full to permit my saying more than
"Thank you, and may heaven bless you."

Even at this late day the remembrance of the unpretentious kindness of
that dear old lady brings the tears to my eyes.

Such acts in this world of selfishness and coldness are the shade and
water in the desert of life, and the longer I live the more I am
convinced that nothing short of love for Him in the heart will produce
such works.

CHAPTER V.

THE STOCKADE.

In about six days we reached our place of abode, which was about four
miles