far to the north were aching hearts.
Hattie's aged mother fell ill when two days out from Panama and the
next day she passed away. Rules required that the body be buried at
sea. It was a solemn group that assembled at the ship's gangway, while
all that was mortal of the aged mother rested on a plank, one end of
which was held by a sailor. Slowly the chaplain read the beautiful
service. The ship was stopped. Not a sound was heard and the midnight
moon was hidden by clouds. "Therefore we commit this body to the
deep," was pronounced. The plank was raised and the body was swallowed
up in the cavernous depths of the ocean.

Hattie leaned upon the arm of Mr. Robinson, who tenderly escorted her
to the cabin when the rites were over. To her the world was gloomy and
desolate, her sister but recently buried in far away Arequipa and the
mother now in the sea. With a fortitude beyond her years the Christian
girl bore bravely her deep sorrows, trusting in Him "who doeth all
things well." When the ship reached the open roadstead of Port
Harford, and she again landed on the shores of her native California,
she went to her former home--a vine-clad cottage in San Louis Obispo.

It was here I found her some weeks after I assumed the role of stoker
on the British mail steamer. Mr. Robinson had gone to his former home
in Missouri, but Hattie was protected by relatives. We talked of our
coming marriage. It was not possible at that time. I had lost so much
money by exchange from the paper currency of Peru to the gold of
California, that I needed time to replenish my almost depleted purse.
We decided that we would wait one year, meanwhile I would go to
Arizona and run an engine on the railroad east of Tuscon.

It made my heart glad to be in a country once more where my own
language was spoken and among people whose customs were like unto that
of my native land. There was no prejudice toward me on account of my
foreign birth, such as I had often encountered in Peru. The hand of
fellowship was extended in this broad free land of the United States,
where the greatness of men is measured almost by merit alone.

What surprised me at first was the absence of soldiers until I came to
understand the peace-loving disposition of the people, and learned
that in the hour of the country's need, all men became her defenders.

It was one of those balmy afternoons, so characteristic of southern
California, when Hattie and I were seated in a park overloo