She also stated that her little daughter
Elisabeth and her sister Leanna were with her on the ranch, and that
she was anxious to learn how Georgia and I were getting on.
By advice of short-sighted friends, grandma sent a very formal reply to
the letter, and told us that she did not want Elitha to write again.
Moreover, that we, in gratitude for what she had done for us, should
take her name and call her "mother."
This endeavor to destroy personal identity and family connection, met
with pathetic opposition. Of our own accord, we had called her grandma.
But "mother"--that name was sacred to her who had taught our infant
lips to give it utterance! We would bestow it on no other.
Under no circumstance was there difficulty in finding some one ready to
advise or help to plan our duties. With the best of intentions? Yes,
but often, oh, how trying to us, poor little waifs of misfortune!
One, like a thorn in the flesh, was apportioned to me at the approach
of the Winter of 1849 and 1850. We needed more help in the dairy, but
could get no one except Mr. Marsh, who lived in bachelor quarters half
a mile south on the creek bank. He drove in the bunch of cows found in
the mornings grazing on their homeward way, but was too old to follow
after those on the range. Moreover, he did not know how to milk.
Grandma, therefore, was obliged to give up going after the cows
herself. She hesitated about sending us alone, for of late many
stragglers had been seen crossing the valley, and also Indians
loitering about.
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