“That I cannot say exactly. It may be at Fort Pitt or it may be at some other place. I am going to hunt up your cousin James at Uniontown, and we’ll see then.” With this sort of talk and with long periods of silence the day wore on till, late in the afternoon, they approached Carlisle, and there the first stop was made. It was quite a familiar journey to this point, but from there on the way led through a part of the country unknown to Agnes, and the day’s travels became wilder and wilder as they approached the mountains. It was then that Agnes understood her father’s smile when she first insisted upon the twenty-five miles a day, saying that it could be easily covered, for many a night it was a very weary girl who crept into whatever shelter was afforded her, and slept so soundly that not even the cry of an owl or the distant scream of a wildcat could arouse her. But at last the mountains were passed, and one day they stopped at a small village consisting of a few houses and a store. It was on the line of the emigrant’s road to western Virginia and Ohio, and here stores were laid in by the pioneer who did not want to transport too much stuff across the mountains. Here halted more than one emigrant train, and, as Agnes and her father drew up before the house that with small pretension was denoted an inn, they saw in the muddy street several canvas-covered wagons. “Ho, for the Ohio!” Agnes read upon one of these vehicles. She laughed, and at the same time her eyes met the merry ones of a girl peeping out from the wagon just ahead. With a little cry of pleasure Agnes ran forward. “Ah, Jeanie M’Clean, is it you? Who would have thought it? A year ago you went away and you are still going.” “Indeed, I am then,” returned Jeanie. “Father has the fever as well as many another, and he says we shall have better luck if we be moving on than if we stayed where we were, so we’re bound for the Ohio this time, and it’s glad we’ll be to have you join us, if you go that way.” “We do go that way, and I shall be glad when my father cries, ‘Stop!’ How long do you stay here, and where is your halting-place to be at last?” “We stay till to-morrow, and we are going somewhere this side of Marietta. The oxen are not fast travellers, not half as fast as the pack-horses, but it is an easy way for us women folks. Aren’t you tired of your creel?” “Indeed am I, but it seemed the best way for me to come when there are but two of us. Mother and the children will follow as soon as we are well settled. I think father will maybe get a broadhorn, though maybe not. I hope he will, for it seems to me it would be the most comfortable way of travelling.” “So many think; and it is no loss, for they use the boats after in building their houses. We have our wagon and get along very well. See how comfortable it is. Climb up and look.”