broke upon us. We were not
exposed to its fury as were those who had just gone from us, but we
knew when it came, for snow drifted down upon our bed and had to be
scraped off before we could rise. We were not allowed near the fire and
spent most of our time on our bed of branches.

Dear, kind Mrs. Murphy, who for months had taken care of her own son
Simon, and her grandson George Foster, and little James Eddy, gave us a
share of her motherly attention, and tried to feed and comfort us.
Affliction and famine, however, had well nigh sapped her strength and
by the time those plaintive voices ceased to cry for bread and meat,
her willing hands were too weakened to do much for us.

I remember being awakened while there by two little arms clasped
suddenly and tightly about me, and I heard Frances say,

"No, she shall not go with you. You want to kill her!"

Near us stood Keseberg, the man with the bushy hair. In limping past
our sleeping place, he had stopped and said something about taking me
away with him, which so frightened my sisters that they believed my
life in danger, and would not let me move beyond their reach while we
remained in that dungeon. We spoke in whispers, suffered as much as the
starving children in Joseph's time, and were more afraid than Daniel in
the den of lions.

How long the storm had lasted, we did not know, nor how many days we
had been there. We were forlorn as children can possibly be, when Simon
Murphy, who was older than Frances, climbed to his usual "look out" on
the snow above the cabin to see if any help were coming. He returned to
us, stammering in his eagerness:

"I seen--a woman--on snow shoes--coming from the other camp! She's a
little woman--like Mrs. Donner. She is not looking this way--and may
pass!"

Hardly had he spoken her name, before we had gathered around him and
were imploring him to hurry back and call our mother. We were too
excited to follow him up the steps.

She came to us quickly, with all the tenderness and courage needed to
lessen our troubles and soften our fears. Oh, how glad we were to see
her, and how thankful she appeared to be with us once more! We heard it
in her voice and saw it in her face; and when we begged her not to
leave us, she could not answer, but clasped us closer to her bosom,
kissed us anew for father's sake, then told how the storm had
distressed them. Often had they hoped that we had reached the cabins
too late to join the Relief--then i