The guitars and banjos were playing some wailing tune, with a note of sadness in the core of it so keen and penetrating that it made the water come to Harry's eyes.

But it changed suddenly to something that had all the sway and lilt of the rosy South.
Men sprang to their feet and clasping arms about one another began to sway back and forth in the waltz and the polka.
Harry watched with mingled amazement and pleasure.

Most of the South was religious and devout.

The Virginians of the valley were nearly all staunch Presbyterians, and Stonewall Jackson, staunchest of them all, never wanted to fight on Sunday.

The boy himself had been reared in a stern Methodist faith, and the lightness in this French blood of the South was new to him.