Barbara looked up at the stars and at the soft depth of the night sky. She thought there was something eerie and yet wonderful about sleeping in the open with her whole family around her. Tonight we are God's children, she thought. We are closer to God here, with no roof between us and Him. How fragrant was the night air! How mysterious and beautiful was the soft rustling of grass and brush, stirring in the gentle summer breeze! The scratching of a field mouse, the chirp of a cricket--everything was full of life and promise for the future. She stretched luxuriously, thinking of great mountains and wide, wild rivers, and of vast western plains where they would meet strapping farmers and ranchers, some of them, perhaps, with tall handsome sons, sons with strong arms and laughing eyes. She grinned at herself then, and curled into a ball and dropped off to sleep, wondering whether the grass would be as fragrant in Oregon. Emma lay staring into blackness. Without a familiar tree or rooftop silhouetted against it, the sky was a vast and awesome thing. It was limitless, remote and indifferent. Her family was a few scattered scraps of humanity, fallen down here to rest on the unfriendly ground under the distant, disinterested sky. She twitched when a cricket chirped and, shivering, drew the blanket closer around her. She wanted to go to Joe, and to lie close to him, but she dared not show him that she was afraid. From this point on, for the children's sake, she must be the woman they thought her to be--endlessly resourceful and forever serene. Her eyes ached with staring, and she hungered for the familiar walls of their little room, or failing that, at least a familiar fence, a familiar tree, a familiar anything. Then she thought of the babies, of their dear familiar faces now placid in slumber. She thought of Barbara's familiar grace as she walked beside the wagon, of Tad's familiar bounding and leaping as he led his dog a merry chase. And she thought of Joe, of his familiar voice as he talked to the children, of the strength of his arms as he helped her down from the wagon, and of his willing, unstinting devotion to all of them. She knew then that all the dearest and most familiar parts of her life were right here, all around her. Tears welled into her eyes, and she let them run down over her cheeks, and she prayed that she would be strong enough and brave enough, and that they would reach Oregon alive and well and that, on the new land, they would all be happy and at peace.