the summer; and that my sister,
being the elder, should begin the course.

It seemed to me that Georgia's month at school would never end. My own
sped faster than I wished. Miss Doty helped me with my lessons during
part of the noon hour, and encouragingly said, "Be patient, keep
trying, and you will gain your reward."

While still her pupil, I wrote my long-planned letter to Aunt
Elizabeth. Georgia helped to compose it, and when finished, we carried
it to our friend, the postmaster. He banteringly held it in his hand,
until we told its contents and begged that it go to Aunt Elizabeth as
fast as possible. He must have seen that it was incorrectly addressed,
yet he readily promised that if an answer should come addressed to
"Miss Georgia Ann Donner," or to "Miss Eliza Poor Donner," he would
carefully save it for us.

After many fruitless trips to the post-office, we were one day handed a
letter for grandma. It was not from our aunt, however, but from our
sister Elitha, and bore the sad news that her husband, while on the
range, had been thrown from his horse, and lived but a few moments
after she reached him. She also stated that her little daughter
Elisabeth and her sister Leanna were with her on the ranch, and that
she was anxious to learn how Georgia and I were getting on.

By advice of short-sighted friends, grandma sent a very formal reply to
the letter, and told us that she did not want Elitha to write again.
Moreover, that we, in gratitude for what she had done for us, should
take her name and call her "mother."

This endeavor to destroy personal identity and family connection, met
with pathetic opposition. Of our own accord, we had called her grandma.
But "mother"--that name was sacred to her who had taught our infant
lips to give it utterance! We would bestow it on no other.

Under no circumstance was there difficulty in finding some one ready to
advise or help to plan our duties. With the best of intentions? Yes,
but often, oh, how trying to us, poor little waifs of misfortune!

One, like a thorn in the flesh, was apportioned to me at the approach
of the Winter of 1849 and 1850. We needed more help in the dairy, but
could get no one except Mr. Marsh, who lived in bachelor quarters half
a mile south on the creek bank. He drove in the bunch of cows found in
the mornings grazing on their homeward way, but was too old to follow
after those on the range. Moreover, he did not know how to milk.
Grandma, there