He seemed to have been looking upon such white walls only yesterday, white walls that stood out in a fiery haze, white walls that he could never forget though he lived to be a hundred.
Then he remembered.

The white walls were those of the Dunkard church at Antietam, around which the blue and the gray had piled their bodies in masses.

The vast battlefield ranged past him like a moving panorama, and then he was merely looking at Pendleton lying there below, so still.
Dick was sensitive and his affections were strong.

He loved his mother with a remarkable devotion, and his friends were for all time.

Highly imaginative, he felt a powerful stirring of the heart, at his second return to Pendleton since his departure for the war.