Near the close of this most trying day, Hiram M. Miller put me down,
saying wearily, "I am tired of carrying you. If you will walk to that
dark thing on the mountain-side ahead of us, you shall have a nice lump
of loaf sugar with your supper."
My position in the blanket had been so cramped that my limbs were stiff
and the jostling of the march had made my body ache. I looked toward
the object to which he pointed. It seemed a long way off; yet I wanted
the sugar so much that I agreed to walk. The wind was sharp. I
shivered, and at times could hardly lift my feet; often I stumbled and
would have fallen had he not held my hand tightly, as he half led,
half drew me onward. I did my part, however, in glad expectation of the
promised bit of sweetness. The sun had set before we reached our
landmark, which was a felled and blackened tree, selected to furnish
fuel for our night fire. When we children were given our evening
allowance of food, I asked for my lump of sugar, and cried bitterly on
being harshly told there was none for me. Too disappointed and fretted
to care for anything else, I sobbed myself to sleep.
Nor did I waken happy next morning. I had not forgotten the broken
promise, and was lonesome for mother. When Mr. Miller told me that I
should walk that day as far as Frances and Georgia did, I refused to go
forward, and cried to go back. The result was that he used rough means
before I promised to be good and do as he commanded.
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