"I was so wet when I got back to Mitchell's toward evening, that I had
simply to divest myself of my shoes, socks and trousers, and leave them
behind for the benefit of New York City. No fire could have dried them
ere I had to start; and to pack them in their present condition was to
spread ruin among my other possessions. With a heavy heart I said
farewell to them as they lay a pulp in the middle of a pool upon the
floor of Mitchell's kitchen. I wonder if they are dry by now."

That night he joined a party of emigrants bound for the West, the weight
of his baggage much increased by the result of his day's
purchases--Bancroft's "History of the United States" in six fat volumes.
So in less than twenty-four hours after landing on one coast he was on
his way to the other.

If at times he had been uncomfortable on the steamer he was ten times
more so on the train. It is hard to realize in these days of easy
travelling what the discomforts of riding in the emigrant trains were;
crowded together in badly lighted, badly ventilated cars, with stiff
wooden benches on either side, which were most uncomfortable to sit on
and next to impossible to lie down upon. Meals were taken as best they
might when they stopped at way stations while some bought milk and eggs
and made a shift to cook themselves a meal or brew a cup of tea on the
stove at the end of the car.

Over a week of this sort of slow travelling through the heat of the
plains was enough to tax the strength and courage of the most robust
man, let alone one in as delicate health as Stevenson at that time, and
it is a wonder he ever lived through it. Indeed, he was ill but kept
cheerful in spite of all, and was interested in the country and the