She asked why I looked so hard at her sewing, and I replied,
"My mother always makes little stitches when she sews my dresses."
No amount of pulling down of the sleeves or straightening out of the
skirt could conceal the fact that I was too large for the garment. As I
was leaving her, I heard her say to a companion, "That is just as good
for her, and this will make two for my little girl." Later in the day
Frances and Georgia parted with their silks and looked as forlorn as I
in calico substitutes.
Oh, the balm and beauty of that early morning when Messrs. Eddy,
Thompson, and Miller took us on horseback down the Sacramento Valley.
Under the leafy trees and over the budding blossoms we rode. Not
rapidly, but steadily, we neared our journey's end. Toward night, when
the birds had stopped their singing and were hiding themselves among
bush and bough, we reached the home of Mr. and Mrs. John Sinclair on
the American River, thirty-five miles from Johnson's Ranch and only two
and a half from Sutter's Fort.
That hospitable house was over-crowded with earlier arrivals, but as it
was too late for us to cross the river, sympathetic Mrs. Sinclair said
that she would find a place for us. Having no bed to offer, she
loosened the rag-carpet from one corner of the room, had fresh straw
put on the floor, and after supper, tucked us away on it, drawing the
carpet over us in place of quilts.
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