My mother and I took supper with the officers in their mess room one evening. I came to their door just at their supper hour. They invited me to remain. With the sublime confidence of childhood I took a seat at the table with them. There were a number of them and they had a man cook. My mother coming to look after me, was invited to partake of the evening meal in such a cordial manner that she could not but accept. I remember that there was no fork at my plate and I was too timid to make it known, but one of the officers soon noticed my dilemma and the omission was promptly supplied. I do not know the names of any of these men, but I know they were gentlemen and soldiers, and I have never forgotten their gallant and courteous treatment of my mother and myself. SUNDAY IN CAMP THERE is of necessity in a large camp more or less stir and activity on the Sabbath day, even when no battle is on, but even here there seemed to be a difference between it and other days. There was a hush and stillness in the air that seemed to proclaim, “It is the holy Sabbath day.” Religious services were held by chaplains and pious soldiers. There were several lady nurses, and they occupied a tent near the college building. Their names were: Miss Adaline Williams, Miss Babcock, Mrs. Cunningham and Mrs. Yates. Mrs. Penfield did not remain long, as there seemed to be some friction between her and the other ladies. Always a welcome visitor to this tent, I was in and out all day Sunday, but with one restraint. I was told that I must not talk or ask questions, as that was their day for writing letters to friends in the North. They had leather portfolios, which they used as writing desks on their laps. Miss Williams and my mother became great friends, and I was very fond of her. I made many visits with her and for years the little red-backed books she gave me from the Christian Commission supplies were counted among my treasures. My life on Sundays was about the same as on other days. I visited the big “shebang” three times a day, wandered around from tent to tent, and sat for hours on the steps of the portico wishing for companionship of my own age, myself and sister being the only children in the hospital and entire encampment. THE TISHOMINGO HOTEL. MY SCHOOL AND OTHER INCIDENTS THE scene changes. We were now ordered to turn. We “moved” in an ambulance, my father being taken on a cot, and were given quarters in the Tishomingo Hotel. The old Tishomingo House! Can I ever forget it? The historic, dilapidated old hotel through which a cannon ball passed during the progress of battle. We were given a large, cheerless room in the second story; the floor was bare, the four large windows were each guiltless of blind or curtain.