I sat beside my mother with my hand clasped in hers, as we slowly moved
away from that quaint old house on its grassy knoll, from the orchard,
the corn land, and the meadow; as we passed through the last pair of
bars, her clasp tightened, and I, glancing up, saw tears in her eyes
and sorrow in her face. I was grieved at her pain, and in sympathy
nestled closer to her side and sat so quiet that I soon fell asleep.
When I awoke, the sun still shone, but we had encamped for the night
on the ground where the State House of Illinois now stands.
Mr. Reed and family, and my uncle Jacob and family, with their
travelling equipments and cattle, were already settled there. Under
father's direction, our own encampment was soon accomplished. By
nightfall, the duties of the day were ended, and the members of our
party gathered around one fire to spend a social hour.
Presently, the clatter of galloping horses was heard, and shortly
thereafter eight horsemen alighted, and with merry greetings joined our
circle. They were part of the reading society, and had come to hold its
last reunion beside our first camp-fire. Mr. Francis was among them,
and took an inventory of the company's outfit for the benefit of the
readers of _The Springfield Journal_.
They piled more wood on the blazing fire, making it a beacon light to
those who were watching from afar; they sang songs, told tales, and for
the time being drove homesickness from our hearts.
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