The woman placed a tin plate on the table, and dished up the contents of the kettle on the fire. She added some cold hoe cake to the dinner, and Tom thought it was a feast fit for a king. He took a seat at the table, and made himself entirely at home. The food was coarse, but it was good, and the hungry soldier boy did ample justice to the viands. The boy and girl who had followed him into the house, stood, one on each side of him, watching him in speechless astonishment.
“Where did yer come from?” asked the woman, when Tom had about half finished his dinner.
“From down below,” replied Tom, rather indefinitely.
“Don’t b’long in these yere parts, I reckon?”
“No, marm.”
“Where are ye gwine?”
“Going to join my regiment.”
“Where is yer rigiment?”
“That’s more than I know, marm.”
“How long yer been travelling?” persisted the woman, who was perhaps afraid that the guest would eat up the whole of the family’s dinner, if she did not make some kind of a feint to attract his attention.