By this time the worthy man would be out of hearing and soon out of sight, giving his jerky discourse to the winds that blew softly round his little gig.
Lydia's food lasted very well, she sometimes making a little mush or johnny-cake; the cows giving milk night and morning. When there was no fire she would turn the warm milk out on some parched meal, let it soak awhile, and then eat it with thankfulness.
For butter, the "strippins" were taken at night and in the morning, put into the churn which was in the wagon, and at night she would find a little pat of butter sufficient for breakfast, churned by the day's riding.
Days, weeks and months thus passed by, and at last, about the first of October, the train entered Emigration canyon.
Long camping times were now a thing of the past, and all anxiously watched for the first sight of the valley of the Great Salt Lake, where all their hopes were centered, and their feet were bound.
What a joyful cry ascended from the weary travelers as the mouth of the canyon was reached, and they were almost at their journey's end! Oh, what a glorious time was that! Lydia's bosom swelled with unspeakable joy as her eye beheld the scene before her, and she realized that her journey's end was reached.
A general halt was called, and a universal prayer of praise and thanksgiving ascended to that Father who had established the Saints in the tops of the mountains.
After feasting their eyes until somewhat satisfied, every one anxiously hurried to reach this blessed spot, and very soon the long serpentine train was in motion.
Down the declivity cumberously hastened the tired oxen, urged by the loud and oft-repeated "whoa-ha, whoa," of their lusty drivers.
On the third of October, 1850, the company reached the city, then called Great Salt Lake City. Wagons went here and there, friends rushed out from every hut and tent to greet and welcome the travelers.