They picked out this land that everybody else was passing over--the very best in the country--and they are making money hand over fist.

Mighty poor spenders, though.

They won't buy nothing; eat what they can't sell off the farm." "Aha," ejaculated the stranger, with a smile.
"Yes, they sell everything, grain, hogs, eggs, butter, and live on cabbages, cheese, bread." "Aha," repeated the stranger, again with evident approval.
"They are honest, though," continued his neighbour judicially; "we sell them implements." "Ah, implements ?" enquired the stranger.
"Yes, ploughs, drills, binders, you know." "Ah, so, implements," said the stranger, evidently making a mental note of the word.

"And they pay you ?" "Yes, they are good pay, mighty good pay.
They are good settlers, too." "Not good for soldiers, eh ?" laughed the stranger.
"Soldiers?
No, I guess not.

But we don't want soldiers." "What?
You have no soldiers?
No garrisons ?" "No, what do we want soldiers for in this country?
We want farmers and lots of them." The stranger was apparently much struck with this remark.
He pursued the subject with keen interest.