little
Johnnie came home wearing a hat that grandpa had bought him. Then I
turned upon her saying, "Mrs. Stein, you forget that Georgia has not
seen that hat. You know that grandma bought it after Georgia went
away."

She sprang toward me, then turned to grandma, and asked if she was
going to let an underling insult a guest in her house.

I did not wait for the reply. I fled out into the dark and made my way
to the weird old tree-trunk in the back yard. Thence, I could see the
lights from the windows, and at times hear the sound of voices. There,
I could stand in the starlight and look up to the heavens. I had been
there before, but never in such a heartsick and forlorn condition. I
was too overwrought to think, yet had to do something to ease the
tension. I moved around and looked toward Jakie's grave, then returned
to the side of the tree-trunk which had escaped the ravages of fire,
and ran my finger up and down, feeling the holes which the red-headed
woodpecker had bored and filled with acorns.

A flutter in the air aroused me. It was the old white-faced owl leaving
the hollow in the live oak for the night's hunt. I faced about and saw
her mate fly after her. Then in the stillness that followed, I
stretched both arms toward heaven and cried aloud, "O God, I'm all
alone; take care of me!"

The spell was broken. I grew calmer and began to think and to plan. I
pictured Georgia asleep in a pretty house two miles away, wondered how
I could get word to her and what she would say when told that we would
go away together from Sonoma, and not take anything that grandpa or
grandma had given us.

I remembered that of the fund which we had started by hemming new, and
washing soiled handkerchiefs for the miners, there still remained in
her trunk seven dollars and eighty-five cents, and in mine seven
dollars and fifty cents. If this was not enough to take us to
Sacramento, we might get a chance as Sister Leanna had, to work our
way.

I was still leaning against the tree-trunk when the moon began to peep
over the eastern mountains, and I vowed by its rising that before it
came up in its full, Georgia and I should be in Sacramento.

I heard grandma's call from the door, which she opened and quickly
closed, and I knew by experience that I should find a lighted candle on
the table, and that no one would be in the room to say good-night. I
slept little, but when I arose in the morning I was no longer trouble
tossed. I knew w