ed. "We must see all we can. We'll never be here
again."

Once more we slept (among the negroes in a bare little lodging house),
and on the third day, brimming with impressions, boarded the Chicago
express and began our glorious, our exultant return over the
Alleghanies, toward the west.

It was with a feeling of joy, of distinct relief that we set our faces
toward the sunset. Every mile brought us nearer home. I knew the West. I
knew the people, and I had no fear of making a living beyond the
Alleghanies. Every mile added courage and hope to our hearts, and
increased the value of the splendid, if sometimes severe experiences
through which we had passed. Frank was especially gay for he was
definitely on his way home, back to Dakota.

And when next day on the heights of the Alleghany mountains, the train
dipped to the west, and swinging around a curve, disclosed to us the
tumbled spread of mountain-land descending to the valley of the Ohio, we
sang "O'er the hills in legions, boys" as our forefathers did of old. We
were about to re-enter the land of the teeming furrow.

Late that night as we were riding through the darkness in the smoking
car, I rose and, placing in my brother's hands all the money I had, said
good-bye, and at Mansfield, Ohio, swung off the train, leaving him to
proceed on his homeward way alone.

It was about one o'clock of an autumn night, sharp and clear, and I
spent the remainder of the morning on a bench in the railway station,
waiting for the dawn. I could not sleep, and so spent the time in
pondering on my former experiences in seeking work. "Have I been wrong?"
I asked myself. "Is the workman in America, as in the old world, coming
to be a man despised?"

Having been raised in the splendid patriotism, perhaps one might say
flamboyant patriotism, of the West during and following our Civil War, I
had been brought up to believe that labor was honorable, that idlers
were to be despised, but now as I sat with bowed head, cold, hungry and
penniless, knowing that I must go forth at daylight--seeking work, the
world seemed a very hostile place to me. Of course I did not consider
myself a workman in the ordinary hopeless sense. My need of a job was
merely temporary, for it was my intention to return to the Middle West
in time to secure a position as teacher in some country school.
Nevertheless a lively imagination gave me all the sensations of the
homeless man.

The sun rose warm and golden, and