I was too happy to talk until after we crossed the Sonoma River, shaded
by grand old oak, sycamore, and laurel trees, and then onward, I was
too happy to remain silent. Before us lay the valley which brought back
memories of my childhood, and I was in a mood to recall only the
brightest, as we sped on to our destination. My companion shared my
delight and gave heed to each scene I called to his attention.
The coach stopped in front of the hotel, and we alighted upon almost
the same spot from which I had climbed into the carriage to leave
Sonoma six years earlier. But, oh, how changed was everything! One
sweeping glance at the little town revealed the fact that it had passed
its romantic age and lost its quickening spirit. Closed were the homes
of the old Spanish families; gone were the _caballeros_ and the
bright-eyed _senoritas_; grass-grown was the highway to the mines; the
flagstaff alone remained flushed with its old-time dignity and
importance. In subdued mood, I stepped into the parlor until our names
should be registered. When my husband returned, I said,
"The carpet on this floor, the chairs in this room, and the pictures on
these walls were in place in grandma's home when I left her--perhaps
she is no longer living."
He left me again to make inquiry concerning those whom we had come to
see, and ascertained that the Brunners had remarried for the purpose of
facilitating the readjustment of their property rights, and of rescuing
them from the hands of a scheming manager, who, with his family, was
now living on the estate, and caring for grandma, but would not permit
grandpa to enter the house.
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