All along through the Middle West we have been pleased to see the immense interest taken in the Lincoln Highway. Everywhere one sees the Lincoln Highway signs used in abundance on the streets through which the Highway passes. The telephone poles, the garages, and sometimes the shops, all are marked with the familiar red, white, and blue. They tell us of a Western town whose citizens were so anxious to have their town on the Highway that they of their own responsibility painted red, white, and blue signs on the telephone poles leading into and through the town. Later they were reluctantly obliged to paint out these signs, as the Highway was not taken through their town. The names of the farms in the Middle West are many of them very interesting; as "Rolling Prairie Farm," "Round Prairie Farm," "Burr Oak Valley Farm," "Hickory Grove Farm," and "Hill Brook Farm." At the entrance to a farm in Illinois a farmer has nailed a shelf to a telephone pole near his gate, and on this shelf he has placed a small bust of Lincoln. I fancy this is a prophecy of many monuments that we shall see along the Lincoln Highway in days to come. We come into Ohio through the pleasant town of Van Wert, and drive on through fields of corn and wheat to Lima; and here we leave the Lincoln Highway for the present. We are to make a detour into Logan County, and from there we plan to travel southeast into the Old Dominion. We spend a number of days in Logan County, driving about over the hills and through the valleys. This, too, is rolling country. I know it well, for here I spent my childhood. I know these forests of oak and hickory, and these rich fields of corn and wheat. I know the delicious scent of clover fields in the warm summer twilights. I recall the names that my girlhood friend and I used to give to the farmhouses as we drove about; "The Potato House," "The Dinner Bell House," "The Little Red House," and others. They are all there, and but little changed, although the people who live in them have probably changed. We are told by a friend, who is a motor enthusiast, that she recently killed a turkey on the road. In all my motoring experience I have never seen a turkey, a guinea fowl or a duck, killed by a motor. But my friend tells me that they found it impossible to escape this particular turkey, as he refused to get out of the way. We passed three little girls one day, all astride the same horse, driving the cows home from pasture. We asked them to stand while we took their picture. They were greatly distressed. "We have on our dirty clothes," said they. "Never mind," we said. "But our hair isn't combed!" they exclaimed. "Never mind," we said again. "You will look all right in the picture." And so they do.