She related many pleasing incidents connected
with those days, and spoke feelingly, yet guardedly, of our experiences
in the mountains. Like Elitha, she hoped we would forget them, and as
she watched me cheerfully adapting myself to new surroundings, she
imagined that time and circumstances were dimming the past from my
memory.
She did not understand me. I was light-hearted because I was old enough
to appreciate the blessings that had come to me; old enough to look
ahead and see the pure, intelligent womanhood opening to me; and
trustful enough to believe that my expectations in life would be
realized. So I gathered counsel and comfort from the lips of that
sympathetic cousin, and loved her word pictures of the home where I was
born.
Nor could change of circumstances wean my grateful thoughts from
Grandpa and Grandma Brunner. At times, I seemed to listen for the sound
of his voice, and to hear hers so near and clear that in the night, I
often started up out of sleep in answer to her dream calls. Finally I
determined to disregard her parting words, and write her. Georgia was
sure that I would get a severe answer, but Elitha's ready permission
made the letter easier to write. Weeks elapsed without a reply, and I
had about given up looking for it, when late in August, William, the
youngest Wilder brother, saddled his horse, and upon mounting, called
out,
"I'm off to Sacramento, Eliza, to bring you that long-expected letter.
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