Rockingham man, and of Uncle Jimmie Woods, as we called him, who made us stop and dine with him on our way towards Brown's Gap, returning to Harrisonburg.
Lieutenant Vance Bell, of near Winchester, a splendid fellow, who had lost an arm in the service, returned that day with me. Mr. Wood's dinner, attended by two negro boy waiters, white-aproned and nimble-footed, was a marvel of variety for those days, and made Bell and me wonder where he kept his good things.
A favorite dessert of the old gentleman was light-roll, butter, apple-butter, and milk!
Kind old man—true southerner—he is dead now, I know; but of such was the kingdom of Old Virginny in the happan appointment at 3 o'clock to preach there, though not a hearer was then visible.
It was mighty lonesome-like in the country districts them days.
And I remember Bell observed to him he didn't think there were enough people about to scare up a congregation.
At any rate, we rode on, and never found out how many hearers he had