ect to be believed if he
should tell the quantity eaten at that meal. The good lady of the house
enjoyed the sight. She relished every mouthful, and no doubt realized
then and there the blessing which is conferred on hospitality, and the
truth of that saying of old: "It is more blessed to give than to
receive."

The wayfarers were finally shown to a neat little chamber. The bed was
soft and glistening white. Too white and clean to be soiled by the
occupancy of two Confederate soldiers who had not had a change of
underclothing for many weeks. They looked at it, felt of it, spread
their old blankets on the neat carpet, and slept there till near the
break of day.

While it was yet dark the travelers, unwilling to lose time waiting for
breakfast, crept out of the house, leaving their thanks for their kind
hostess, and pressed rapidly on to Manikin Town, on the James River and
Kanawha Canal, half a day's march from Richmond, where they arrived
while it was yet early morning. The green sward between the canal and
river was inviting, and the survivors laid there awhile to rest and
determine whether or not they would push on to the city. They decided to
do so as soon as they could find a breakfast to fit them for the day's
march.

A short walk placed them at the yard gate of a house prominent by reason
of its size and finish. Everything indicated comfort, plenty, and
freedom from the ravages of war. The proprietor, a well-fed, hearty man,
of not more than forty-two or three, who, as a soldier could tell at a
glance, had never seen a day's service, stood behind the tall gate, and,
without a motion towards opening it, replied to the cheery "Good
morning, sir," of the soldiers with a sullen "morn; what do you want
here?" "We are from Richmond, sir, members of the --------. We are on
our way home from Appomattox, where the army was surrendered, and called
to ask if you could spare us something to eat before we start on the
day's march." "Oh, yes! _I_ know about the surrender, _I_ do. Some
scoundrels were here last night and stole my best mare, d--- 'em! No, I
don't want any more of such cattle here," replied the patriot. (A
_large_ reward for _his_ name.) The foragers, having worked for a meal
before and being less sensitive than "penniless gentlemen" sometimes
are, replied, "_We_ are not horse-thieves or beggars. If you do not feel
that it would be a pleasure and a privilege to feed us, _don't do it_.
We don't propose to press