All your cows are
doing well.
I am inclined to think that the last letter we wrote you, you did
not get. We mention this to show you that we always write to you.
Your mother desires to know if you have forgotten the time when she
used to have you sleep with her, each in one arm, showing the great
love and care she had for you; she remembers, and can't forget.
Your grandfather informs you that he still keeps the butcher shop,
and bar-room, and that scarcely a day passes without his thinking of
you. He still feels very bad that you did not, before going away,
come to him and say "Good-bye grandfather." He forgives you,
however, and hopes you will come and see him. When you get this
letter you must write.
Yours affectionately,
CHRISTIAN BRUNNER,
MARY BRUNNER.
Letters following the foregoing assured us that grandma had become
fully satisfied that the stories told her by Mrs. Stein were untrue.
She freely acknowledged that she was miserable and forlorn without us,
and begged us to return to the love and trust which awaited us at our
old home. This, however, we could not do.
Before the close of the Winter, Frances and Georgia began preparations
for boarding school in Sacramento, and I being promised like
opportunities for myself later, wrote all about them to grandma,
trusting that this course would convince her that we were permanently
separated from her, and that Elitha and her husband had definite plans
for our future.
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