"Yes, indeed, marm," responded Zene, grimacing piteously.

"Still," said Grandma Padgett, "we have much to be thankful for, in
that our lives and health have been spared."

"Oh, yes, marm! yes, marm!" responded Zene.

The wagon-maker hung by one careless leg to his horse before
cantering off, and inquired with neighborly interest:

"How far West you folks goin'?"

"We're goin' to Illinois," replied Grandma Padgett.

"Oh, pshaw, now!" said the wagon-maker. "Goin' to the Eeleenoy!
that's a good ways. Ain't you 'fraid you'll never git back?"

"We ain't expectin' to come back," said Grandma Padgett. "My son's
settled there."

"He has!" said the wagon-maker with an accent of surprise. "Well,
well! they say that's an awful country."

"My son writes back it's as fine land as he ever saw," said Grandma
Padgett with dignity and proper local pride.

"But the chills is so bad," urged the wagon-maker, who looked as if
he had experienced them at their worst. "And the milk-sick, they say
the milk-sick is all over the Eeleenoy."