The young people complain about my taking so much time to write, but since I have commenced I cannot stop. I am thinking all the time about what things are worth recording. (A call to dinner.) BEAUTIFUL APPLES. After dinner mother washes the dishes and makes all the arrangements she can for an early breakfast. She thinks I am another “Harriet Beecher Stowe,” so she is perfectly willing to do the work in the evening and let me write. Oh, the unselfishness of mothers. I do my share, of course, mornings, and at noon, but evenings I only make the beds in both wagons. We have white sheets and pillow-cases, with a pair of blankets, and light comforts on both beds, just the same as at home, and they do not soil any more or any quicker, as we have them carefully protected from dust. I had been writing a little while after dinner, when Frank stepped up with a basket of beautiful red-cheeked apples in his hand, not a wilted one among them. “Where shall I put them?” “Oh, Frank, how lovely they are. Where did you get them? Thank you so much; they are not _all_ for me?”--as he emptied the last one into the pan. “Are all the others supplied? This seems more than my share.” “Yes; they are for you, we bought the farmer’s entire stock; the others are supplied, or will be without you giving them yours.” He had just gone, when Sim Buford came and threw half a dozen especially beautiful ones into my lap. “Thank you, Sim, but I am bountifully supplied, don’t you see?” “So you are, but keep mine, too; I can guess who it was that forestalled me.” Laughing as he walked off. So we are feasting on luscious apples this evening, thanks to the generosity of our young gentlemen. * * * * * Friday, May 5. We came through Unionville and Moravia to-day. Have traveled farther and later than any day yet. It was almost dark when we stopped, and raining, too; to make a bad matter worse, we are camping in a disagreeable muddy place, and have to use lanterns to cook by. We were obliged to come so far to get a lot large enough to hold the stock. We will be glad to sleep in the house to-night. Mrs. Kerfoot is homesick, blue and despondent this evening; she has always had such an easy life that anything disagreeable discourages her. Perhaps when the sun shines again she will feel all right. * * * * * Saturday, May 6. This morning dawned clear and bright; all nature seemed refreshed by yesterday’s rain, and we started joyfully on our journey once more. We came through Iconium early in the day, are camping in Lucas County, near a beautiful farmhouse. We expect to stay here until Monday, as we do not intend to travel on Sundays.