ut up. Jack Kelso has
nicknamed me 'The man with the iron arms,' and Abe, who is a better man
every way, laughs at my embarrassment and says I ought to feel honored.
For one thing Jack Armstrong has become a good citizen. His wife has
foxed a pair of breeches for Abe. They say McNoll has left the country.
There has been no deviltry here since that day. I guess the gang is
broken up--too much iron in its way."

* * * * *

Sarah enjoyed fixing up the cabin. Jack Kelso had given her some deer and
buffalo skins to lay on the floors. The upper room, reached by a stick
ladder, had its two beds, one of which Harry occupied. The children slept
below in a trundle bed that was pushed under the larger one when it was
made up in the morning.

"Some time I'm going to put in a windletrap and get rid o' that stick
ladder," Samson had said.

Sarah had all the arts of the New England home maker. Under her hand the
cabin, in color, atmosphere and general neatness, would have delighted a
higher taste than was to be found on the prairies, save in the brain of
Kelso who really had some acquaintance with beauty. To be sure the bed
was in one corner, spread with its upper cover knit of gray yarn
harmonizing in color with the bark of the log walls. A handsome dark
brown buffalo robe lay beside it. The rifle and powder horn were hung
above the mantel. The fireplace had its crane of wrought iron.

Every one in the little village came to the house warming.

"There is nothing in America so beautiful as 'this here kind o' thing'
when the firelight shines upon it," said Kelso who often indulged in the
vernacular of the real ladder climbers.

"Well, of course, it isn't like Boston or New York," Sarah answered.

"Thank God!" Kelso exclaimed. "New York hurts my feelings, so many of its
buildings are of grand design and small proportions. Mrs. Traylor, you
are lucky to have this beautiful island in an ocean of music. There is
music in the look and sound of these meadows--bird music, wind music,
the level music of Felician David's Desert. Perhaps you don't know about
that and really it doesn't matter. Traylor, tune up your fiddle."

Samson began to play, stopping often to give the hand of welcome to a
guest. The people of New Salem were in their best clothes. The women wore
dresses of new calico--save Mrs. Dr. Allen, who wore a black silk dress
which had come with her from her late home in Lexington. Bim Kelso came