We stopped at a long, low log house with a porch the entire length, and called for bread and milk, which was soon set before us.

The lady was washing and the man was playing with a child on the porch.

The little thing was trying to walk, the man would swear terribly at it--not in an angry way, but in a sort of careless, blasphemous style that was terribly shocking.
I thought of the child being reared in the midst of such bad language and reflected on the kind of people we were meeting in this far away place.

They seemed more wicked and profane the farther west we walked.

I had always lived in a more moral and temperate atmosphere, and I was learning more of some things in the world than I had ever known before.
I had little to say and much to see and listen to and my early precepts were not forgotten.