They had a dinner of prairie thickens and roast venison, flavored with wild grape jelly, and creamed potatoes and cookies and doughnuts and raisin pie.  It was a well cooked dinner, served on white linen, in a clean room, and while they were eating, the sympathetic landlady stood by the table, eager to learn of their travels and to make them feel at home.  The good food and their kindly welcome and the beauty of the rolling, wooded prairies softened the regret which had been growing in their hearts, and which only the children had dared to express.

“Perhaps we haven’t made a mistake after all,” Sarah whispered when the dinner was over.  “I like these people and the prairies are beautiful.”

“It is the land of plenty at last,” said Samson, as they came out-of-doors.  “It is even better than I thought.”

“As Douglas Jerrold said of Australia:  ’Tickle it with a hoe and it laughs with a harvest,’” said Dr. Allen, who still sat in the shaded dooryard, smoking his pipe.  “I have an extra horse and saddle.  Suppose you leave the family with Mrs. Rutledge and ride around with me a little this afternoon.  I can show you how the land lies off to the west of us, and to-morrow we’ll look at the other side.”

“Thank you—­I want to look around here a little,” said Samson.  “What’s the name of this place?”

“New Salem.  We call it a village.  It has a mill, a carding machine, a tavern, a schoolhouse, five stores, fourteen houses, two or three men of genius, and a noisy dam.  You will hear other damns, if you stay here long enough, but they don’t amount to much.  It’s a crude but growing place and soon it will have all the embellishments of civilized life.”

That evening many of the inhabitants of the little village came to the tavern to see the travelers and were introduced by Dr. Allen.  Most of them had come from Kentucky, although there were two Yankee families who had moved on from Ohio.

“These are good folks,” said the Doctor.  “There are others who are not so good.  I could show you some pretty rough customers at Clary’s Grove, not far from here.  We have to take things as they are and do our best to make ’em better.”

“Any Indians?” Sarah asked.

“You see one now and then, but they’re peaceable.  Most of ’em have gone with the buffalos—­farther west.  We have make-believe Indians—­some reckless white boys who come whooping into the village, half crazy with drink, once in a while.  They’re not so bad as they seem to be.  We’ll have to do a little missionary work with them.  The Indians have left their imitators all over the West, but they only make a loud noise.  That will pass away soon.  It’s a noisy land.  Now and then a circuit rider gets here and preaches to us.  You’ll hear the Reverend Stephen Nuckles if you settle in these parts.  He can holler louder than any man in the state.”

“You bet he can holler some when he gits fixed for it,” said Abe, who sat near the open door.