all, running through the great forests,
long pieces of road from which the
stumps had been only partly extracted,
and where the sunlight barely pene-
trated. Here the soaked earth became
little less than a quagmire.

But father was too well used to hard
journeys to fear them, and I felt that,
in going with him, I was safe from all
possible harm. The journey had all the
allurement of an adventure, for we
would not know from day to day where
we should eat our meals or sleep at
night. So, to provide against trouble,
we carried father's old red-and-blue-
checked army blankets, a bag of feed
for Sheridan, the horse, plenty of bread,
bacon, jam, coffee and prepared cream;
and we hung pails of pure water and
buttermilk from the rear of our buggy.

We had been out two weeks without
failing once to eat at a proper table or
to sleep in a comfortable bed. Some-
times we put up at the stark-looking ho-
tels that loomed, raw and uninviting,
in the larger towns; sometimes we had
the pleasure of being welcomed at a
little inn, where the host showed us a