of his sister still had some weight with him, she being
a year and a half older than he, but babies invariably disappointed him,
their capabilities being so restricted. To be sure, they could make quite
a noise, and the painter was said to imitate it, but since Joe had
learned that they couldn't bite he had begun to lose respect for them.
Still, not knowing what might happen, he always took a look at every
baby.

The children were lifted out of the wagon to stretch their legs at
sloughs and houses. They were sure to be close behind the legs of their
father when he stood at a stranger's door. Then, the night being near,
they were always invited to put their horses in the barn and tarry until
next morning. This was due in part to the kindly look and voice of
Samson, but mostly to the wistful faces of the little children--a fact
unsuspected by their parents. What motherly heart could resist the silent
appeal of children's faces or fail to understand it? Those were memorable
nights for Sarah and Joe and Betsey. In a letter to her brother the woman
said:

"You don't know how good it seemed to see a woman and talk to her, and we
talked and talked until midnight, after all the rest were asleep. She let
me hold the baby in my lap until it was put to bed. How good it felt to
have a little warm body in my arms again and feel it breathing! In all my
life I never saw a prettier baby. It felt good to be in a real house and
sleep in a soft, warm bed and to eat jelly and cookies and fresh meat and
potatoes and bread and butter. Samson played for them and kept them
laughing with his stories until bedtime. They wouldn't take a cent and
gave us a dozen eggs in a basket and a piece of venison when we went
away. Their name is Sanford and I have promised to write to them. They
are good Christian folks and they say that maybe they will join us in the
land of plenty if we find it all we expect."

They had two rainy, cold days, with a northeast wind blowing and deep mud
in the roads. The children complained of the cold. After a few miles'
travel they stopped at an old hunter's camp facing a great mossy rock
near the road.

"Guess we'll stop here for a visit," said Samson.

"Who we goin' to visit?" Joe asked.

"The trees and the fairies," said his father. "Don't ye hear 'em askin'
us to stop? They say the wind is blowin' bad an' that we'd better stop
an' make some good weather. They offer us a house and a roof to cover it
and some wood t