e red clay roads which in many parts of Alabama contrast so
beautifully with the variously-shaded green of the woods and the brown
carpet beneath the pines. The old negro driver, "Uncle George,"
sitting upon the box, looked solemnly out from the enormous and stiff
shirt-collar which helped to support his dignity.

I believe the old man always drove his beautiful horses under protest.
It was either too early or too late, too hot or too cold, the roads
either too muddy or too dusty.

This particular morning was so lovely that even the horses seemed to
enjoy it, and for some reason "Uncle George" was less pompous and more
gentle than usual. Perhaps the anxious faces of the ladies touched his
heart, or he may have been softened by the knowledge of the perils his
young masters were being subjected to.

As often as we passed horseman or carriage on the road a stop was
ordered, while the ladies made eager inquiries for news from Richmond.

The battle of Shiloh, and afterwards that of Seven Pines, had
desolated many homes in the vicinity. The fate of some was yet
uncertain. Strong fellow-feeling knit all hearts. _Any_ passer-by,
even if a stranger, asked or answered questions.

A drive of eight miles brought us to the church, a simple, lowly
building, the "Grove Church" I believe it was called. Here beneath the
shade were drawn several carriages, and at the door a few
plantation-wagons waited, some laden with straw, others with articles
to be sent off. In the vestibule, boxes were being rapidly filled. It
was a busy scene, but by no means a gay one. A few unconscious
children "played at party" in the pews, setting out on leaves or bits
of bark their luncheon, broken into fragments, and serving in acorn
cups cold water for tea. Unmolested and unreproved, they ran up and
down the steps of the high, old-fashioned pulpit, half-fearfully
sitting down upon the minister's chair, or standing on tip-toe to peep
over the sacred desk at the busy group below. Young girls moved
silently about "helping." Over their pale lips not a ripple of
laughter broke. The fire of youth seemed to have died out of their sad
eyes, quenched for a time by floods of bitter tears.

To kindly question one of these replied, "Mamma is well, but of course
utterly prostrated, and does not leave her room. Papa is still in
Virginia nursing Buddie Eddie. We have no tidings of brother yet; he
is reported 'missing,' but we hope he may have been taken prisoner."