“‘Come,’ said I, ‘my boy, you have mistaken some useless seed for corn. No corn grows in this valley, I am certain.’
“‘It did not grow in this valley. It has travelled all the way from Saint Louis along with us. It is now in the wagon.’
“‘What! corn in the wagon?’ I exclaimed, starting up with such vehemence as to frighten my children. ‘Are you sure of that, Harry?’
“‘I saw it this very morning in one of the old bags,’ replied he.
“‘Come!’ cried I; ‘get a torch, Cudjo. To the wagon!—to the wagon!’
“In a short time we had reached the wagon, which stood close to the door. With a beating heart I climbed into it. There was an old worn-out buffalo robe, with the harness of the ox lying upon the bottom. I flung these aside; and underneath I saw a coarse gunny-bag, such as are used in the Western States for holding Indian corn. I knew that it was one of those we had brought with us from Saint Louis, containing corn for our horse and oxen; but I was under the impression that I had emptied out the last of it long before. I took the bag up, and, to my inexpressible delight, found that it still contained a small quantity of the precious grain; besides, there was still more of it, that had been spilled from time to time, and had got into the corners and cracks of the wagon. These we collected carefully and put with the rest—not leaving a single grain that we did not scrape out from the cracks. Then carrying my bag into the house, I turned out its contents upon the table. To our great joy there was, as Harry had affirmed, nearly a quart of the golden grain!
“‘Now,’ said I, ‘we shall have bread!’
“This was a glad sight to my wife. During the preceding days we had frequently talked upon this subject—the want of bread—which is one of our first necessities. We had lived in hope that we should find some species of cereal in the valley that would supply us with a substitute for bread; but up to that time nothing of the kind had appeared. We had gathered the mast from the beech-tree and roasted it. We had collected quantities of locust-pods and acorns. We had also eaten the pulpy fruit of the pawpaw; but all these together we found to be but poor apologies for real bread. This, then, was a discovery of greater importance to us than either the salt or the sugar.
“The winter, in the latitude of our valley, would be a short one. We could then plant the corn—there was enough of it to plant a whole acre. It would come to maturity in six or eight weeks; and we knew that in such a climate we could easily raise two crops in the year—so that before the next winter came round we should have enough and to spare.
“While we stood by the table talking over these pleasant prospects, one of the boys—Frank it was—suddenly shouted out, ‘Wheat! wheat!’