but with a kindly heart and generous hand he helped the
soldiers to do their duty by caring for their "loved ones at home."

Meanwhile the noble wife proved a helpmate indeed. A true type of
Southern women. Not a duty was neglected. She looked well to the ways
of her household and the well-being of the negroes committed to her
care. The spinning and weaving of cloth for the almost naked soldiers
in the field went on; the quarters were visited, the sick were cared
for. The calm, steady voice read to the old, precious promises, or
instructed the young negroes as to the way of truth. So day after day
passed, the same anxious dread chilling all hearts, added fear always
recurring as the darkness came with its terrible possibilities.

April had come, bringing a greater profusion of flowers, painting the
face of nature with lovelier hues. No one knew why the neighborhood
had thus far escaped being "raided." One evening the scouts (not one
alone, but several) reported, "Not a Yankee on this side the river.
Gone off on a raid miles on the other side." Colonel ---- came in
later confirming the report. He was persuaded to remain for one night's
rest, and immediately retired to his room. About dusk two men in the
disguise (it is _now_ believed) of Confederate soldiers--ragged, worn,
_barefooted_, and hungry--came stealing in, apparently fearful of being
discovered and taken prisoners. No one suspected them. They were warmly
welcomed. A supper of broiled ham, milk, eggs, corn-muffins, and real
coffee was set before them. They were afterwards shown to a comfortable
cabin in the yard,--"the boys' room,"--provided with every comfort, a
servant to wait on them, and left to repose. These also having assured
the ladies that "the Yanks" had gone off on a raid on the other side,
it was deemed safe to take advantage of such an opportunity to go
regularly to bed and rest, in preparation for whatever might befall
afterwards. By ten o'clock everybody was sound asleep. About midnight
one of the ladies, hearing a slight noise, arose and looked out the
window. Old Whitey was walking about the yard, nibbling the grass.
Knowing he was never allowed in the yard, she simply supposed that one
of the servants had left open the quarter-gate. Not another sound save
the mule's step broke the stillness of the night. Strange to say, the
dogs were nowhere to be seen, nor did they bark at the mule. Wondering
a little at this circumstance, the lady was about t