and they at once lost interest in me.

We camped down by the river among the trees, and it was late before we
were free to sleep, on account of the visits we received from movers and
land men; but finally the camp-fires died down, the songs ceased, the
music of accordions and fiddles was heard no more, and the camp of
emigrants became silent.

Virginia bade me good night, and I rolled up in my blankets under the
wagon. I began wondering, after the questions which had been asked as
to our relationship, just what was to be the end of this strange journey
of the big boy and the friendless girl. We were under some queer sort of
suspicion--that was clear. Two or three wives among the emigrants had
tried to get a word with Virginia in private; and some of the men had
grinned and winked at me in a way that I should have been glad to notice
according to my old canal habits; but I had sense enough to see that
that would never do.

Virginia was now as free from care as if she had been traveling with her
brother; and what could I say? What did I want to say? By morning I had
made up my mind that I would take her to my farm and care for her there,
regardless of consequences--and I admit that I was not clear as to the
proprieties. Every one was a stranger to every one else in this country.
Whose business was it anyhow? Doctor Bliven and his companion--I had
worked out a pretty clear understanding of their case by this time--were
settling in the new West and leaving their past behind them. Who could
have anything to say against it if I took this girl with me to my farm,
cared for her, protected her; and gave her the home that nobody else
seemed ready to give?

"Do you ever go to church?" asked Virginia. "It's Sunday."

"Is there preaching here to-day?" I asked.

"Don't you hear the bell?" she inquired.

"Let's go!" said I.

We were late; and the heads of the people were bowed in prayer as we
went in; so we stood by the door until the prayer was over. The preacher
was Elder Thorndyke. I was surprised at seeing him because he had told
me that he and his wife were going to Monterey Centre; but there he was,
laboring with his text, speaking in a halting manner, and once in a
while bogging down in a dead stop out of which he could not pull himself
without giving a sort of honk like a wild goose. It was his way. I never
sat under a preacher who had better reasoning powers or a worse way of
reasoning. Down in front of him sat Grand