When in bed I could not keep my thoughts back from the old home I had left, where good water and a bountiful spread were always ready at the proper hour.

I know I dreamed of taking a draft of cool, sweet water from a full pitcher and then woke up with my mouth and throat as dry as dust.

The good home I left behind was a favorite theme about the campfire, and many a one told of the dream pictures, natural as life, that came to him of the happy Eastern home with comfort and happiness surrounding it, even if wealth was lacking.

The home of the poorest man on earth was preferable to this place.

Wealth was of no value here.