“Not land the way farmers own it, I’m no farmer, I’ll tell you that,” said Armor. “There’s other ways to own land. You see, Reverend Thrower, I give them credit now because I believe in this country. When they come to trade with me, I make them tell me the names of all their neighbors, and make rough maps of the farms and streams where they live, and the roads and rivers along their way here. I make them carry letters that other folks writ, and I write their letters for them and ship them on back east to folks they left behind. I know where everything and everybody in the whole upper Wobbish and Noisy River country is and how to get there.”

Reverend Thrower squinted and smiled. “In other words, Brother Armor, you’re the government.”

“Let’s just say that if there comes a time when a government would come in handy, I’ll be ready to serve,” said Armor. “And in two years, three years, when more folks come through, and some more start making things, like bricks and pots and blackware, cabinets and kegs, beer and cheese and fodder, well, where do you think they’ll come to sell it or to buy? To the store that gave them credit when their wives were longing for the cloth to make a bright-colored dress, or they needed an iron pot or a stove to keep out the winter cold.”

Philadelphia Thrower chose not to mention that he had somewhat less confidence in the likelihood of grateful people staying loyal to Armor-of-God Weaver. Besides, thought Thrower, I might be wrong. Didn’t the Savior say that we should cast our bread upon the waters? And even if Armor doesn’t achieve all he dreams of, he will have done a good work, and helped to open this land to civilization.

The food was ready. Eleanor dished out the stew. When she set a fine white bowl in front of him, Reverend Thrower had to smile. “You must be right proud of your husband, and all that’s he’s doing.”

Instead of smiling demurely, as Thrower expected that she would, Eleanor almost laughed aloud. Armor-of-God wasn’t half so delicate. He just plain guffawed. “Reverend Thrower, you’re a caution,” said Armor. “When I’m up to my elbows in candle tallow, Eleanor’s up to hers in soap. When I’m writing up folks’ letters and having them delivered, Eleanoes drawing up maps and taking down names for our little census book. There ain’t a thing I do that Eleanor isn’t beside me, and not a thing she does that I’m not beside her. Except maybe her herb garden, which she cares for more than me. And Bible reading, which I care for more than her.”

“Well, it’s good she’s a righteous helpmeet for her husband,” said Reverend Thrower.