It was a bright sunny morning that Agnes and her father took for starting out upon their journey, the man on foot, and Agnes established in a sort of basket or creel made of willow and fastened to one side of the packhorse, balancing the burden of provisions and other necessities made in a bundle on the other. It was only when she was tired that Agnes would ride, but she was resolved to start out in this fashion for the benefit of her brothers and sisters, assembled on the doorstep to see the start and vastly interested in the whole proceeding. There was another reason, too, why the girl established herself in her creel, for the parting between herself and her mother had been too much for them both, and the tears were raining down the little emigrant’s cheeks as she quavered out, “Good-by, all.” But the horse had scarcely started before she begged to stop, and, leaping out, she ran back to where her mother stood vainly striving to check the sobs which convulsed her. “Oh, mother, mother!” Agnes flung her arms around her neck and kissed the dear face again and again. “Don’t forget me, mother. Good-by, once more.” “God keep you safe, my lamb,” came the broken words, and Agnes ran back again to where her father, with bent head and lips compressed, waited for her. She climbed up into her creel again, and they started off with no more delay. As far as she could see Agnes watched first the group on the porch, then the white house, and last of all the familiar outline of field, hill, and dale. At last these, too, became but dim distance, and Agnes Kennedy had seen her old home for the last time. The ride was made in silence for some distance, and then Agnes remembered that in the last talk early that morning her mother had said: “You must try and keep a good heart in father, my child, for he is given to being despondent at times and is easily discouraged. It is a great cross for him to be parted from his family and to leave the safe and pleasant ways he has been accustomed to all his life, so try to cheer him all you can.” Therefore Agnes from her creel called out: “I’m going to walk awhile, father; there’ll be plenty of times when I shall have to ride. I might as well walk while I can, and, besides, I shall be nearer you.” Her father stopped, and then the two trudged together toward the town to which they were first going. “I shall not be surprised,” Agnes remarked, “if we have company when we are fairly on our way, for I hear there are trains and trains of wagons besides the packhorse going westward. I’d like a merry company, wouldn’t you, daddy?” Her father shook his head. “I misdoubt it, Nancy. I’m no one for new acquaintances, as ye weel know.”