“Drive on there, Patrick,” called out Mr. Santon, who was riding his own horse by their side; “drive on, we must get to the settlement by another night.”

“Yes, sir, I am afther urging on the bastes for the last piece or two; but the crathurs have come so far, they don’t know, sure, if they be jist laying home, or afther a raching there.”

Mr. Santon had formerly been a merchant in the city of Boston; he had been doing a heavy business, and had accumulated a handsome fortune, but being one of those easy sort of persons, who think everybody as honest as themselves, he had, in an evil hour, endorsed largely for those who were worse than swindlers, who had not even as much as thanked him for his name; and he had lost nearly all in that one act.  Many friends he had, who knowing his worth, had kindly offered their assistance, and would willingly have set him on his feet again, for they disliked to lose so valuable a citizen from their midst; but he, declining all assistance from those, whom he knew gave not grudgingly, thanked them with a grateful heart, and taking what little was left to him after paying his debts, had started with his wife and only child, and two servants whom he had retained, for the far West, intent upon leading a quiet, unmolested life, in the bosom of his family.  Haying supplied himself with all requisite tools, etc., for tilling the ground, for which occupation he had always a great desire, they had now, after a fatiguing journey of fourteen days, arrived at the little log-house, in the western part of the state of Ohio, which was to be their future home.  This was a great change for Mrs. Santon, who had spent the most of her days in the city, and had always servants to call upon for her least wish, never being obliged to lift a finger against her desire.  She was one of the best of women, with a kind word for every one, and greatly did the poor, upon whom she had bestowed so many gifts of charity, lament her departure.  In the church, the sewing-society, by the bedside of the suffering, and in the home of poverty, had she a place; her worth was known to all.  Cheerfully did she resign all to go with her husband, to follow him, wherever it might be; with him would she be happy in their home, though it might be ever so humble.  Their daughter of ten years was a sprightly, pretty child, with dark hair, and bright, black, tell-tale eyes, which looked as if they might make sad havoc, when a few more years should have added to their brilliancy.  Resembling her mother in features, her disposition was like her father; free and easy in her ways, she was happy so long as every thing bent to her wishes; but her mother could not but notice with regret that her child had acquired a hasty, impatient manner, which the indulgence of her father in no way served to improve; yet she was a warm-hearted little creature, and it was with great difficulty that Mrs. Santon could bring herself to censure her.  Still the mother must do her duty toward her child, and many a prayer had been offered, that she might have strength to act aright.