grateful recollection of those whose name we bore.

Once a tall, freckle-faced boy, with very red hair, edged up to where I
was watching others at play, and whispered:

"See here, little gal, you run get that little tin cup of yourn, and
when you see me come out of Mrs. Wimmer's house with the milk pail on
my arm, you go round yonder to the tother side of the cow-pen, where
you'll find a hole big enough to put the cup through. Then you can
watch me milk it full of the nicest milk you ever tasted. You needn't
say nothing to nobody about it. I give your little sister some last
time, and I want to do the same for you. I hain't got no mother
neither, and I know how it is."

When I got there he took the cup and, as he sat down under old Bossy,
smilingly asked if I liked lots of foam. I told him I did. He milked a
faster, stronger stream, then handed me the cup, full as he could carry
it, and a white cap of foam stood above its rim. I tasted it and told
him it was too good to drink fast, but he watched me until it was all
gone. Then, saying he didn't want thanks, he hurried me back to the
children. I never saw that boy again, but have ever been grateful for
his act of pure kindness.

Every day or two a horse all white with lather and dripping with sweat
would rush by, and the Indian or white man on his back would guide him
straight to Captain Kerns' quarters, where he would hand out papers and
letters. The women and children would flock thither to see if it meant
news for them. Often they were disappointed and talked a great deal
about the tediousness of the Mexican War and the delays of Captain
Fremont's company. They wanted the war to end, and their men folk back
so that they could move and get to farming before it should be too late
to grow garden truck for family use.

While they thus anxiously awaited the return of their soldiers, we kept
watch of the cow-path by which we had reached the Fort; for Elitha had
told us that we might "pretty soon see the relief coming." She did not
say, "with father and mother"; but we did, and she replied, "I hope
so."

We were very proud of the new clothes she had made us; but the first
time she washed and hung them out to dry, they were stolen, and we were
again destitute. Sister Elitha thought perhaps strange Indians took
them.

In May, the Fallon party arrived with horses laden with many packs of
goods, but their only refugee was Lewis Keseberg, from the cabin near
the lake.