er of natural difficulties, from Natty Bumpo of imagination to Kit
Carson of reality? John Appleman as a soldier did not drink. As a half
idler in Guaymas he tried, casually, _mescal_ and _aguardiente_ and all
Mexican intoxicants, but cast them aside as things unnecessary. More
years passed, and finally fear of Mrs. Appleman became to an extent
attenuated, while the scent of the clover-blossoms gained intensity. And
one morning in April, of the good year of our Lord one thousand eight
hundred and ninety-four, John Appleman said to himself: "I am going home
to take the consequences. The old lady"--thus honestly he spoke to
himself--"can't be any worse than this hunger in me. I am going to
Michigan."

So he started from Guaymas. He had very little money. The straightening
up of affairs showed him to possess only about four hundred dollars to
the good, but he started gallantly, shirking in his mind the meeting,
but overpowered by the homing instinct, the instinct which leads the
carrier-pigeon to its cot.

Meanwhile there had been living and change upon the farm. Mother and
daughter, left together, existed comfortably for some years, with the
aid of the one hired man. The war over, the wife waited patiently the
return of the husband from whom no letter had come for a long time, but
who she knew was still alive, learning this from returning members of
his company, who had told of his good services. She had learned later of
his companionship with the Confederate group under Shelby; but as time
passed and no word came, doubt grew upon her. She wrote to some of the
leaders of that wild campaign, and learned from their kindly answers
that her husband had been lost from them somewhere in Mexico. Both she
and her daughter finally decided that he must have met death. In 1867
Mrs. Appleman put on mourning, and she and Jane, the daughter, settled
down into the management of their own affairs.

As heretofore indicated, the farm had not been a bonanza, even when its
master was in charge, though its soil was rich and it was a most
desirable inheritance. Even less profitable did it become under the
management of the supposed widow and her daughter. They struggled
courageously and faithfully, but they were at a disadvantage. The
mowing-machine and the reaper had taken the place of the scythe and
cradle. The singing of the whetstone upon steel was heard no longer in
the meadows nor among the ripened grain. The harrow had cast out the
h