t Manhattan; and
they charge two prices for things out here; they have to, for it costs
money to haul stuff all the way from the river."

"That's so," said Younkins, resignedly. He was thinking of making a
trip to "the river," as the settlers around there always called the
Missouri, one hundred and fifty miles distant. But Younkins assured
his friends that they were welcome to live in his cabin where they
still were at home, for another year, if they liked, and he would haul
from the river any purchases that they might make. He was expecting to
be ready to start for Leavenworth in a few days, as they knew, and one
of them could go down with him and lay in a few supplies. His team
could haul enough for all hands. If not, they could double up the two
teams and bring back half of Leavenworth, if they had the money to buy
so much. He "hated dreadfully" to hear them talking about going back
to Illinois.

But when the settlers reached home and found amusement and some little
excitement in the digging up of their household treasures and putting
things in place once more, the thought of leaving this home in the Far
West obtruded itself rather unpleasantly on the minds of all of them,
although nobody spoke of what each thought. Oscar had hidden his
precious violin high up among the rafters of the cabin, being willing
to lose it only if the cabin were burned. There was absolutely no
other place where it would be safe to leave it. He climbed to the loft
overhead and brought it forth with great glee, laid his cheek lovingly
on its body and played a familiar air. Engrossed in his music, he
played on and on until he ran into the melody of "Home, Sweet Home,"
to which he had added many curious and artistic variations.

"Don't play that, Oscar; you make me homesick!" cried Charlie, with a
suspicious moisture in his eyes. "It was all very well for us to hear
that when this was the only home we had or expected to have; but daddy
and Uncle Charlie have set us to thinking about the home in Illinois,
and that will make us all homesick, I really believe."

"Here is all my 'funny business' wasted," cried Sandy. "No Indian came
to read my comic letter, after all. I suppose the mice and crickets
must have found some amusement in it; I saw any number of them
scampering away when I opened the door; but I guess they are the only
living things that have been here since we went away."

"Isn't it queer that we should be gone like this for nearly