"Good-by! good-by!" called the children, in their night-gowns, at the bedroom window; "good-by, papa." "Good-by!" said the Deacon; "reckon your bones'll ache some, before ye get to the Springs, a ridin' that wheeler." Mr. March was riding the rear wheeler, and Long Billy was walking by his side. "Not if he don't walk any faster than this," said Mr. March. "And I shall walk half of the time." "Ye needn't walk a step if ye'd rather ride," said Billy. "I'm all right this mornin'. 'Tain't only about ten miles down to Colorado Springs. I don't think nothin' o' walkin' that fur, especially when I've got company to talk to. Mules is dreadful tiresome critters. Now a hoss's real good company; but a mule ain't no company, 't all." CHAPTER VIII THE MARCHES LEAVE GARLAND'S It was on a Wednesday morning that Mr. March and Long Billy set out for Rosita. The next week, on Thursday evening, just at sunset, Mrs. March heard the sound of wheels, and, looking up, saw a white-topped wagon, drawn by two mules, coming up the road. In the next instant, she saw Rob and Nelly running, jumping, and clapping their hands, and trying to climb up into the wagon. "Why, that must be Mr. March," she exclaimed, and ran out of the door. "Why, that's queer," said the Deacon, following slowly; "he said he'd write the day before he was a-comin'; and we were to go down 'n' meet him at the Springs." "And if he hasn't brought that long-geared fellow back with him, I declare!" continued the Deacon, as he walked on: "I'd like to know what's up now." Mrs. March had already reached the wagon, and was welcoming her husband. Long Billy interrupted her greetings. "Well, mum," he said, "I s'pose you're surprised to see me back again. But me 'n' him"--nodding to Mr. March--"'s struck up a kind o' 'liance, an' I'm to your service now: me 'n' my mules." "I know what that means," thought Mrs. March: "we're going to move down to that valley, post haste." But all she said was:-- "Very well, Billy; I'm glad to see you. Mr. March's friends are always mine." "What are you going to do with that Long Legs, Parson?" said Deacon Plummer, as soon as he found a chance to speak to Mr. March alone; "seems to me we haven't got work for another hand: have we?" "Not on this farm: that's a clear case, Deacon," replied Mr. March; "but it's too long a story to enter on now. After supper I'll tell you my plans." The Deacon took out his red silk handkerchief, and rubbed his forehead. "Oh, Lord!" said he to himself; "what's that blessed man been and done now? He ain't noways fit to go off by himself. I'll bet he's been took in worse 'n ever." After supper Mr. March told his story. He had bought a farm in the Wet Mountain Valley, and he proposed that they should all move down there immediately. The place had more than equalled all Long Billy's descriptions of it; and Mr. March's enthusiasm was unbounded. Deacon Plummer listened to all his statements with a perplexed and incredulous face.