Annabel’s sister Jane who had clung to the wagon in No Santa Claus Land was a bright-eyed, merry-hearted girl of twelve.  The boy Robert was a shy, good-looking lad a little younger than Josiah.

“Well, what’s the news?” Samson asked.

“Nothin’ has happened since we saw you but the fall of El Dorado,” Brimstead answered.

“There was the robbery of the mail stage last summer a few miles north of here,” said Mrs. Brimstead.  “Every smitch of the mail was stolen.  I guess that’s the reason we haven’t had no letter from Vermont in a year.”

“Maybe that’s why we haven’t heard from home,” Samson echoed.

“Why don’t you leave Joe here while you’re gone to Chicago?” Annabel asked.

“It would help his education to rassle around with Robert an’ the girls,” said Brimstead.

“Would you like to stay?” Samson asked.

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Josiah who, on the lonely prairie, had had few companions of his own age.  So it happened that Samson went on alone.  As he was leaving, Brimstead came close to his side and whispered: 

“Don’t you ever let a city move into you and settle down an’ make itself to home.  If you do you want to keep your eye on its leading citizens.”

“Nobody can tell what’ll happen when he’s dreamin’,” Samson remarked with a laugh as he rode away, waving his hand to the boy Josiah who stood looking up the road with a growing sense of loneliness.

Near the sycamore woods Samson came upon a gray-haired man lying by the roadside with a horse tethered near him.  The stranger was sick with a fever.  Samson got down from his horse.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“The will of God,” the stranger feebly answered.  “I prayed for help and you have come.  I am Peter Cartwright, the preacher.  I was so sick and weak I had to get off my horse and lie down.  If you had not come I think that I should have died here.”

Samson gave him some of the medicine for chills and fever which he always carried in his pocket, and water from his canteen.  The sun shone warm but the ground was damp and cold and there was a chilly breeze.  He wrapped the stricken man in his coat and sat down beside him and rubbed his aching head.

“Is there any house where I could find help and shelter for you?” he asked presently.

“No, but I feel better—­glory to God!” said the preacher.  “If you can help me to the back of my horse I will try to ride on with you.  There is to be a quarterly meeting ten miles up the road to-night.  With the help of God I must get there and tell the people of His goodness and mercy to the children of men.  Nothing shall keep me from my duty.  I may save a dozen souls from hell—­who knows?”

Samson was astonished at the iron will and holy zeal of this lion-hearted, strong-armed, fighting preacher of the prairies of whom he had heard much.  He looked at the rugged head covered with thick, bushy, gray hair, at the deep-lined face, smooth-shaven, save for a lock in front of each ear, with its keen, dark eyes and large, firm mouth and jaw.  Samson lifted the preacher and set him on the back of his horse.