“They never went for love of humanity. It was mere love of wandering and migratory instinct,” said his father, grimly.
Peter Junior laughed merrily. “What did old grandfather Craigmile pull up and come over to this country for? They had to cross in sailing vessels then and take weeks for the journey.”
“Progress, my son, progress. Your grandfather had the idea of establishing his family in honorable business over here, and he did it.”
“Well, I say these people who have been crossing the plains and crawling over the desert behind ox teams in ‘prairie schooners’ for the last twenty or thirty years, braving all the dangers of the unknown, have really paved the way for progress and civilization. The railroad is being laid along the trail they made. Do you know Richard’s out there at the end of the line––nearly?”
“He would be likely to be. Roving boy! What’s he doing there?”
“Poor boy! He almost died in that terrible southern prison. He was the mere shadow of himself when he came home,” said Hester.
“The young men of the present day have little use for beaten paths and safe ways. I offered him a position in the bank, but no––he must go to Scotland first to make the acquaintance of our aunts. If he had been satisfied with that! But no, again, he must go to Ireland on a 104 fool’s errand to learn something of his father.” The Elder paused and bit his lip, and a vein stood out on his forehead. “He’s never seen fit to write me of late.”
“Of course such a big scheme as this road across the plains would appeal to a man like Richard. He’s doing very well, father. I wouldn’t be disturbed about him.”
“Humph! I might as well be disturbed about the course of the Wisconsin River. I might as well worry over the rush of a cataract. The lad has no stability.”
“He never fails to write to me, and I must say that he was considered the most dependable man in the regiment.”