“Oh!” said Betsy, beginning to cry; “I’m sorry we ever left owd England.  But thou would come, Samiul, thou knows, and this is the end on it.  Here we are in this wild country without house or home, and wi’ nothin’ to eat.  I allus thowt tha wor a fool, Samiul, and now I’m sure and sartin on it.”

Samiul could not deny it.  His spirit was completely broken; he hung down his head, and tears began to trickle down his eyes.  The three children—­two sturdy little boys and a fair-haired little girl—­ seeing their dad and ma shedding tears, thought the whole world must be coming to an end, and they began howling out aloud without any reserve.  It was the best thing they could have done, as it called public attention to their misery, and drew a crowd around them.  A tall stranger came near looked at the group, and said: 

“My good man, what in thunder are you crying for?”

“I was told Peoria was a good place for farmin’,” Samuel said, “and now I don’t know where to go, and I have got no money.”

“Well, you are a soft ’un,” replied the stranger.  “Just dry up and wait here till I come back.”

He walked away with long strides.  Peoria was then a dreary-looking city, of which we could see nothing but the end of a broad road, a few frame buildings, two or three waggons, and some horses hitched to the posts of the piazzas.

The stranger soon returned with a farmer in a waggon drawn by two fine upstanding horses, fit for a royal carriage.  The farmer at once hired the immigrant at ten dollars a month with board for himself and family.  He put the luggage into his waggon, patted the boys on the head and told them to be men; kissed the little girl as he lifted her into the waggon, and said: 

“Now, Sissy, you are a nice little lady, and you are to come along with me, and we’ll be good friends.”

Never was sorrow so quickly turned into joy.  The man, his wife, and children, actually began smiling before the tears on their cheeks were dry.

Men on every western prairie were preparing their waggons for the great rush to California; new hands were wanted on the lands, and the immigrants who were then arriving in thousands, took the place of the other thousands who went westward across the plains.  There was employment for everybody, and during my three years’ residence on the prairies I only saw one beggar.  He was an Italian patriot, who said he had fought for Italy; he was now begging for it in English, badly-broken, so I said: 

“You are a strong, healthy man; why don’t you go to work?  You could earn eight or ten dollars a month, with board, anywhere in these parts.”

But the Italian patriot was a high-class beggar; he was collecting funds, and had no idea of wasting his time in hard work.  He gave me to understand that I had insulted him.

Besides this patriot, there were a few horse-thieves and hog duffers on the prairies, but these, when identified, were either stretched under a tree or sent to Texas.