Connecticut western news., 1922-03-09

Tor, with their two children, Josiah and Betsey, travel by wagon from their home of plenty. Their destination is the Coun- try of the Sangamon, in Illinois.
 Ire nau not been happy Tn his home after that and his father had given him pony and hundred dollars and sent him away to seek his own fortune. Homesick and lonely and i'll, and just going west with sublime faith that the West would somehow provide for him, he might even have perished on the way if he had not fall en in with friendly people. His story had touched the heart of Sarah and Samson. He was big, green, gentle hearted country boy who had set out filled with hope and the love of ad- venture. Sarah found pleasure in mothering the poor lad, and so it happened that he became one of their little party. He was helpful and good natured and had sundry arts that pleased the children. The man and the woman liked the big, honest lad.
 One day he said to Samson q hope you won't mind if I go along with you, sir.'
 "Glad to have you with us" said Samson, "We've talked 1t over. If you want to, you can come along with us and our home shall be yours and I'll do what's right by you" ' They fared along through Indiana and over the wide savannas of Illi- nois, and on the ninety day of their journey they drove through rolling, grassy, Towering prairies and up long, hard hill to the small log cabin selsley ert of New Salem, Illi- nois, on the shore of the. Sangamon. They halted about noon in the middle of this little prairie village, opposite small clapboard house. A sign hung over it's door which bore the rudely lettered words: "Rutledge's Tavern"
 A long, slim, stoop-shouldered young man sat in the shade of an oak tree that stood near a corner of the tavern, with a number of children playing around him. He sat leaning against the tree trunk reading book. He had risen as they came near and stood looking at them, with the book under his arm. Samson says in his diary that he looked like "an, untrimmed yearling colt about sixteen hands high. He got up slow and kept rising till his bush of black tousled hair was six feet four above the ground. Then he put on an old straw hat without ua Rn1 1ol oq Philemon Bakers fish rod, he was that narrer. For humliness I'd match him against the world. His hide was kind O yaller and leathery. could see he was still in the gristle-a little over twenty-but his face was marked up by worry and weather like mans. I never saw anybody so long between joints. Don't hardly see how he could tell when his feet got cold"
 He wore a hickory shirt without a collar or coat or jacket. One suspen- der held up his coarse, linsey trousers. the legs of which fitted closely and came only to blue yarn zone above his heavy cowMde shoes. Samson writes that he fetched a sneeze and wiped his big nose with a red hand kerchier' as he stood surveying them in silence, while Dr. John Allen, who had sat on the doorstep reading a paper-a kindly faced man of middle age with a short white beard under his chin-greeted them cheerfully.
 "Where do you hail fromT the Doctor asked. E, , gVermont," said Samson.
 "All the way In that wagonP"
 f"Yes, sir.'' k r'@ : tI guess you're made O the right stuff," said the Doctor. "Where ye bound?" &
 Don't know exactly. Going to take a claim somewhere
 "There's no better country tkan right here. This is the Canaan of America. We need people like you Unhitch your team and have some dinner and we'll talk things over after you're rested. I'm the doctor here and ride all over this part O the country reckon I know it pretty we'll" ..
 A woman in neat calico dress came out Of the door-a SCrong-Dullt and rather well-favered woman with blonde hair and dark eyes.
 Mrs. Rutledge, these are travellers from the East" said the Doctor "Give lem some dinner, and If they can't pay for 1t. can. They've came all the way from Vermont"
 M "Good land! Come right in an res
 yerselves, Abe, you show the gentle
 man where to put his horses an len'
 him a hand"
 Abe extended his long arm towar'
 Samson and said "Howdy" as the, shook hands.
 When his big hand got hold o
 mine, kind of felt his timber" Sam son writes. 'T says to myself, There
 a man it would be hard to tip over il a rassle'"
 "What's yer name? How long y
 been travelin'? My conscienceI Ain
 ye wore out?" hospitable Mrs E F.