"Grandma Padgett won't care for weather," observed the neighbor with
the key. "She moved out from Virginia in the dead o' winter."

"Yes; I was but a child," said grandma Padgett, "and this country
one unbroken wilderness. We came down the Ohio River by flatboat, and
moved into this section when the snow was so deep you could ride
across stake-and-rider fences on the drifts."

"Folks can get around easier now, though," said the squinting
neighbor, "since they got to going on these railroads."

"I shipped part of my goods on the railroad," remarked grandma
Padgett with--a laugh. "But I don't know; I ain't used to the things,
and I don't know whether I'd resk my bones for a long distance or
not. Son Tip went out on the cars."

"The railroads charge so high," murmured a woman near the back
wheels. "But they do say you can ride as far West as you're a goin'
on the cars."

"How long will you be gettin' through?" inquired another.

"Not more than two or three weeks," replied grandma Padgett
resolutely. "It's a little better than three hundred and fifty miles,
I believe."

"That's a long distance," sighed the neighbor at the wheels.

But aunt Corinne and her nephew, untroubled by the length of