door that I escaped. She was
never again allowed on the reservation. Later in the year, before the
massacre, I went home to Pennsylvania.

When we built on the corner of Fourth Avenue and Tenth Street, we could
plainly hear the roar of St. Anthony Falls. I used to follow an Indian
trail part of the way down town.

Mrs. Helen Horton--1856, Minneapolis.

When I came, things were pretty lonesome looking here. I found the young
people just as gay as they could be anywhere, however. The first party I
attended was a cotillion. I wore a black silk skirt, eighteen feet
around the bottom, with three flounces, over hoops too. A black velvet
basque pointed front and back, and cut very short on the sides gave a
great deal of style to the costume. My hair was brought low in front and
puffed over horsehair cushions at the sides. It stuck out five inches
from the sides of my head. We danced square dances mostly. We took ten
regular dancing steps forward and ten back and floated along just like a
thistledown--no clumping around like they do now. Just at this time, I
had a plaid silk too. It was green and brown broken plaid. The blocks
were nine inches across.

One evening we were to have a sociable. It was great fun playing games
and singing. They wanted me to make a cake. It was in the spring months
before the boats began to run and after the teams that brought supplies
had stopped. It was always a scarce time. I wanted some white sugar to
make a white cake as I knew a friend who was to make a pork and dried
apple cake, a dark cake, so I wanted the opposite kind. We went
everywhere but could find no sugar. I was so disappointed. Finally a
friend took his horse and cutter and in one of the houses we were able
to find a little. My cake was delicious. Did you ever make a pork apple
pie? You cut the pork so thin you can almost see through it. Cover the
bottom of a pie tin with it, then cut the apples up on top of this. Put
two thin crusts one on top of the other over this, then when cooked,
turn upside down in a dish and serve with hard sauce. This recipe is
over a hundred years old but nothing can beat it.

The first home we owned ourselves was at the corner of Ninth Street and
Nicollet Avenue. There was only one house in sight, that of Mr. Welles.
Our whole house was built from the proceeds of land warrants that my
husband had bought.

My father had a store at the corner of Helen St., and Washington Avenue.
To reach it from our