April 7th, 1864.—Today I have no shoes to put on. All my life I have never wanted to go bare-footed, as most Southern children do. The very touch of my naked foot to the bare ground made be shiver. Lulu my Mammy, scolds me about this—even yet she claims the privilege of taking me to task when she thinks I need it.
“Look here, chile,” she says, “don’t you know you is made outen the dus’ er de earth? Don’t you understand dat when you is dead you is gwine back ter dat dus’?”
“Yes, Lulu,” I answer meekly.
“Well, den, what is you so foolish fur? Better folks dan you is gone bare-footed.”
I listen to all she has to say but a thought has come to me and I have no time to argue the point. Until the shoes for the army are finished, Mr. McDearnmid will not have time to make any shoes for any one else, this is right, for our dear soldiers must come first in everything, but I will stop writing now and get to work.
