s children being amongst them--how they had at length reached the
Salt Lake city, so gloriously depicted by Brother Jarrum. And what did
they find? Instead of an abode of peace and plenty, of luxury, of
immunity from work, they found misery and discomfort. Things were
strange to them, and they were strange in turn. He'd describe it all
another time, he said; but it was quite enough to tell them what it was,
by saying that he resolved to come away if possible, and face again the
hardships of the way, though it was only to die in the old land, than
he'd stop in it. Brother Jarrum was a awful impostor, so to have led 'em
away!

"Wasn't there no saints?" breathlessly asked Susan Peckaby, who had
elbowed herself to the front.

"Saints!" echoed Grind. "Yes, they be saints! A iniketous, bad-doing,
sensitive lot. I'd starve on a crust here, sooner nor I'd stop among
'em. Villains!"

Poor Grind probably substituted the word "sensitive" for another, in his
narrow acquaintance with the English language. Susan Peckaby seemed to
resent this new view of things. She was habited in the very
plum-coloured gown which had been prepared for the start, the white
paint having been got out of it by some mysterious process, perhaps by
the turpentine suggested by Chuff. It looked tumbled and crinkled, the
beauty altogether gone out of it. Her husband, Peckaby, stood behind,
grinning.

"Villains, them saints was, was they?" said he.

"They was villains," emphatically answered Grind.

"And the saintesses?" continued Peckaby--"What of them?"

"The less said about 'em the better, them saintesses," responded Grind.
"We should give 'em another name over here, we should. I had to leave my
eldest girl behind me," he added, lifting his face in a pitying appeal
to Mr. Verner's. "She warn't but fifteen, and one of them men took her,
and she's his thirteenth wife."

"I say, Grind," put in the sharp voice of Mrs. Duff, "what's become of
Nancy, as lived up here?"

"She died on the road," he answered. "She married Brother Jarrum in New
York--"

"Married Brother Jarrum in New York!" interrupted Polly Dawson tartly.
"You are asleep, Grind. It was Mary Green as married him. Leastways,
news, that she did, come back to us here."

"He married 'em both," answered Grind. "The consekence of which was,
that the two took to quarrelling perpetual. It was nothing but snarling
and fighting everlasting. Nancy again Mary, and Mary again her. We
hadn't nothing