me about ten days ago, and I
would have responded to the same right away, but waited a few days,
so that I could give you some good news, over which you, my dear
little girls, will surely rejoice, as you take so much interest in
everything which myself concerns. This news is that I am free again.

Last Tuesday I received, through the influence of friends, from the
Governor of the State of California, a full pardon, and am again in
Sonoma; and as soon as I have my business affairs in such a way
settled that I can leave for a week or two, I will come up and see
you. I have much to tell you which you will better understand
through a personal interview than by writing.

Yours friendly,

C. BRUNNER

Georgia and I felt this news was almost too good to be true. We
wondered how soon he would come to see us; wondered also, if he and
grandma had met, and were glad that we had not taken the side of either
against the other.

"What next?" was the pertinent question uppermost in our minds. We
found the answer in _The Sacramento Daily Union_, early in April, under
title of "Romance in Real Life." After a brief review of the troubles
of the Brunners, and reference to their divorcement, the article
announced their recent remarriage.

This gratifying circumstance made our long intended trip to Sonoma
unnecessary, especially since the reunited couple seemed to have
retained the sympathy and loyalty of those who had known them in their
days of prosperity and usefulness.

CHAPTER XXXVII

ARRIVAL OF THE FIRST PONY EXPRESS.

I happened to be in Sacramento on the thirteenth day of April, 1861,
and found the city full of irrepressible excitement. Men on gayly
caparisoned horses galloping hither and thither, unfurled flags, and a
general air of expectancy on eager faces everywhere betokened an
occasion of rare moment. At times hats were swung aloft and cheers rang
out tumultuously, only to be hushed by the disappointing murmur, "Not
yet." But an instant's quiet, and there was a mad rush of the populace
toward Sutter's Fort; then again enthusiasm died, and the crowds ebbed
back up J Street, which, some eight or ten feet higher than any other
street in the city, extended straight as an arrow from the fort to
where the bay steamer lightly hugged the water front, puffing and
impatient to be off to San Francisco.

So the anxious waiting continued until the day was well on to its