they were waiting for me
to pay the promised visit. A great longing often made me rush out
behind a large tree near the river, where no one could see or hear me
feel sorry for myself, and where I would wonder if God was taking care
of the others and did not know where I lived.

I still feel the wondrous thrill, and bid my throbbing heart beat
slower, when I recall the joy that tingled through every part of my
being on that evening when, unexpectedly, Leanna and Georgia came to
the door. Yet, so short-lived was that joy that the event has always
seemed more like a disquieting dream than a reality; for they came at
night and were gone in the morning, and left me sorrowing.

A few months ago, I wrote to Georgia (now Mrs. Babcock), who lives in
the State of Washington, for her recollections of that brief reunion,
and she replied:

Before we went to Sonoma with Grandma Brunner in the Fall of 1847,
Leanna and I paid you a visit. We reached your home at dusk. Mr.
McCoon and Elitha were not there. We were so glad to meet, but our
visit was too short. You and I were given a cup of bread and milk
and sent to bed. Leanna ate with the grown folks, who, upon learning
that we had only come to say good-bye, told her we must for your
sake get away before you awoke next morning. We arose and got
started early, but had only gone a short distance when we heard your
pitiful cry, begging us to take you with us. Leanna hid her face in
her apron, while a man caught you and carried you back. I think she
cried all the way home. It was so hard to part from you.

Mr. Packwood carried me into the house, and both he and his wife felt
sorry for me. My head ached and the tears would come as often as any
one looked at me. Mrs. Packwood wet a piece of brown paper, laid it on
my forehead, and bade me lie on my bed until I should feel better. I
could not eat or play, and even Mr. Choreman's bright stories had lost
their charm.

"Come look, see squaw, papoose! Me go, you go?" exclaimed Billy
excitedly one soft gray morning after I had regained my spirits. I
turned in the direction he pointed and saw quite a number of squaws
trudging across an open flat with babies in bickooses, and larger
children scampering along at various paces, most of them carrying
baskets.

With Mrs. Packwood's permission, Billy and I sped away to join the
line. I had never been granted such a privilege before, and had no idea
what