ought Andrew
might visit this part of the country during the season. And one day,
just at sun-setting, our door bell rang, and answering it in person, I
saw a gentleman whom I did not know, who looked at me without
speaking, for a moment, and then said: "Is this my sister Charlotte?"
Like a flash it came to me, and I replied: "Is this my brother
Andrew?" And we kissed each other, we two old people who had parted
when we were little children and had not met for more than sixty
years. He spent some days with us and we learned that he was an
active, earnest Christian, an honored member of the Reformed Dutch
Church in Harlem, New York, Rev. Mr. Smythe, pastor; that he had
married and had one son who grew to manhood, but had been bereft of
all and was alone in the world. He knew so little of his early life,
that the story I could tell him was a revelation to him. He had
preserved, through all his reverses and trials, his sweet, sunny
temper, and soon made friends of the whole household. We rode together
to the old fort and I pointed out to him the very spot on which he
stood on that spring morning long ago when we first saw our "Brother
Andrew."

We visited the graveyard and I showed him the grave of his brother
John, which having no headboard or name, could only be identified by
its being next to the little stone inscribed "E. S.," which I knew
marked the grave of Mrs. Snelling's little daughter. We searched the
records at the quartermaster's office in vain for a description of his
brother's grave, that we might make sure of the spot, as the Tully
family wish to erect a monument to his memory.

We walked about the fort, went to the brow of the bluff where the old
bastion formerly stood, and while strolling around the home of our
childhood were met by General Gibbon, then in command, who, learning
who we were and what was our errand, took us to his quarters and
showed us much kindness. I told him many things of the old fort which
were never recorded, pointed out to him where the stones in the front
wall of headquarters had been riven by lightning when I was a little
girl, and our pleasant visit rounded up with a ride in his carriage to
call on General Terry and other officers, who all seemed interested to
see us; relics, as it were, of the times before their day.

Our courteous escort drove with us to the site of the old Camp
Coldwater, and we drank from a tin cup of the clear spring which now
supplies the garrison with