“From Out The Past”

                                      by

                           Margaret Cowley Eby

                               years 1866-1940

Transcript of memoirs written by Margaret (Cowley)Eby-1866-1940

Transcribed July 2005 through October 2005 by Bonnie K. Gorman, great-granddaughter of Margaret Cowley Eby

   The original document was typed by the author, except for cover page and additions made after 1940, which were hand-written by author.

         Back in the year of 1866 on St. Patrick’s Eve, March 16^th, a daughter, the third child of Guy Patrick Cowley and wife, Emily Elizabeth, was born. She weighed six and one half pounds and was delivered by Dr. Gates, the old family physician. She just missed being called Bridget by a few hours. However, the good Irish name of Margaret was chosen, and later shortened to Maggie.

     As you may have guessed, this youngster was I, Margaret Cowley Eby, who in the present year of 1937 is nearing the end of the trail. A record of my life, year by year, can be of little interest except to my children, and it is only at the earnest request of my daughter, Helen, that I have been induced to look backward and chronicle the events that stand out in my memory.

     A noted educator has said, “Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.” No victory is mine, but I hope I have done my best.

     My birthplace was Corning, Steuben County, New York, a small city of railroad junctions and spring floods, noted principally for its glass factory, the largest factory of its kind in the world. The Chemung River runs through the city, and, when behaving, is a pretty stream of water, with the low mountains reflected, the scenery is very pretty and desirable. The main street was known as Market Street, and it was on this street in the second story of a brick business block, built and owned by my grandfather Cowley, that I entered the scene.

     My father was Irish, with forefathers from Cork, Ireland, and my mother was of Scotch-Irish descent, very proud of her Scotch, but not caring to be called Irish, a nationality held in more or less contempt by her. Both parents came from pioneer stock, who helped colonize and settle the southern part of New York State late in the eighteenth century, clearing timber lands for agriculture, and handling a large lumber mill business, which took care of the shorn timber and produced the building material for a growing country. Cattle raising and breeding fine horses were also one of their means of developing the country and added considerably to their wealth. Ancestral names of my mother’s family as far back as I know were Erwin, Mulholland and McHenry. My father’s mother was a Kinney, and I have no record of names on his side farther back than that. My parents were born on adjoining farms near an Indian trading post, called Painted Post, presumably from the post erected in the early years by the Indians. They lived side by side during their school days and courtship. An old fashioned stile connected the paths between the two homes. My father took me to see this stile in my youth, and told me it was where he proposed to my mother. At the death of my mother’s parents, she inherited the farm where she was born.

     When my mother married my father on December 4^th, 1861, he came to live with her, and their first two children were born in the old home where she was born. They were, first, John, born January 16^th, 1863, who lived to be seven months old when he died of pneumonia, second, James, born October 28^th, 1864, a black eyed counterpart of his father, and from first to last the favorite of his parents.

     Tiring of farm life, my parents sold the property, and went to Corning where my father started a meat market, and when I was only a few months old they moved again to Laurenceville, Pennsylvania. About this time many people were feeling the urge to move westward, and my parents took what money was left of what had been quite an estate of my mother, and I was just eighteen months of age when they came to Saginaw, Michigan, to make their home.

     Not being skilled in any particular work, my father had to take what he could get, and he secured the position of foreman in a lumber camp on the head waters of the Tiddebawasee River and took his family out to camp for the winter of 1869. A fourth child was expected, and when the time came for the arrival there was not a doctor, nor even a woman, within many miles of the camp. Hastily a messenger was awakened and a horse and bob-sled brought into service. A farmer’s wife was found ready to assist and daylight arrived along with a fine little brother who was named Harry, this on February 25^th 1869.

     When spring arrived we moved back to Saginaw and my father’s next enterprise was the renting of an hotel called the Minnick House. My first memories cluster around this place.

     My brother Jim and I were constant playmates. One day he coaxed me out on the roof of the kitchen through a bedroom window. It was a grand playground and lots of fun. We romped playfully until I fell too near the edge and rolled off the roof, hitting on a river dock below made of heavy planks. The next thing I remember was Jim dragging me backwards into the house. Seeming to have the faculty of getting into trouble, I followed Jim one Sunday morning, dressed only in my night dress, out on to a long jam in the river which flowed by our place. Then I recall slipping into the river between the logs. Jim’s screams for help soon brought a crowd and it was with great difficulty that I was taken out from under the logs and brought back to sensibility.

     Saturday nights there were social dances held in the hotel dining room, and Jim and I were allowed to sit up and watch the dancing and listen to the music until we sleepily toppled off our straight backed chairs and had to be carried to bed.

     Winter came again, and Dad once more was engaged as foreman in a lumber camp, but the family was left at a hotel in Midland. Mother helped part time to help pay family expenses. I had developed into a pretty blue eyed child with very black, curley hair, and was a great favorite among the boarders, and no doubt spoiled. I became quite unruly and once knocked the spoon from Mother’s hand when she was insisting that I eat my soup. I was instantly turned over her knee and spanked until one of the boarders took me away, feeling I had had enough.

     When spring came we moved into a little cottage on Washington St. In Saginaw, and were living there when there was a big flood, and much of the city was under water, the water coming up even with our porch, and I was quite fearful that we were all going to drown. When the water lowered and hot weather came we were all taken with ague, causing chills and fever. The chills came only every other day, so if we didn’t all start the same day someone would be well enough to help out the odd day. When I felt my hair raising the goose pimples came out, my teeth would begin to chatter, and I would start crying, “I don’t want to shake; I don’t want to shake!” Many people were taken the same way, and, though the fever was high, the bones ached, and relief only came with the sunset, no one got any sympathy. It was only the ague, and no one ever died with it.

     Dad was having attacks of asthma, and was unable to work most of the time. Another little one was expected, and Mother took the sterling silver that had been in her family many years and pawned it for what she could get to help out. She was very unhappy at this time, still suffering from homesickness, and would weep by the hours.

     The little one came, but only lived a few days, and all the recollection I have of it was of my father lifting me up to see it lying in its little casket.

     Jim was now old enough to enter the Saginaw Academy, and I was delighted one day to have him take me to visit the school. On our way home I heard the rag man blow his horn. Dad had told me in a teasing manner that some day the rag man would get me, so I thought my time had come. I broke into a run and made for home, screaming at the top of my voice. A policeman on the way tried to stop me, but he was not quick enough, so he followed me home to investigate. When I reached there I grabbed my little brother, Harry, fearing he might be taken too, and ducked under the table, tipping it over with the dinner contents scattering over the floor, and a pitcher of syrup emptying on my head and plastering down my curls. Mother and the policeman arrived at the same time to find out what all the racket was about. When I could explain, she went after Dad in a manner meant to quell his fun of that nature. It was many years before I overcame my fear of the rag man and his horn.

     Dad was always lots of fun, but I was so serious minded I would believe what he told me. Once he put a feather in my hair and told me I was turning into a chicken. I became quite panicky thinking of the time when I would have to roost in a dark coop with the chickens.

     One night we were awakened by a fire alarm and ran out to see the school house in flames. Jim set up a terrible hullabaloo, not because the school was burning, but because he had just that day got his new primer and it was in the flames.

      Another winter dame, and Dad took charge of a lumber camp near Tawas City. We stayed in Saginaw. As Christmas neared, word came from Dad that he would not be home with us, and was unable to send any money at that time. Christmas Eve Mother told us Santa Claus wouldn’t come as the storm was too bad and the snow too deep, trying to break the news gently. Jim and I went to sleep hopefully, thinking Santa Claus was too good a scout to fail a feller on account of a snowstorm. When morning came the sun was shining, and Mother called to us to hurry and dress, whispering that Santa got this far last night and had gone to bed in our home. Wild with excitement, we dressed and were allowed to call out guest, who proved to be a much beloved uncle, Mother’s brother, who had driven into town from St. Louis, and before coming out to the house had filled his cutter with lovely gifts for us all.

     The spring I was six years old, after being in camp all winter where Dad worked, I was very ill of malarial fever, and was taken out to Mt. Pleasant to visit a doctor. I was tenderly carried on a pillow, and carefully covered with robes. His advice was to get out of the malarial atmosphere, and it was decided that Mother was to take the three children and go back to New York State and visit relatives.

     Before we left, Dad went to town to get the mail for camp and make arrangements for out trip. While there, something went wrong with his horses, and he started on foot back to camp. As darkness overtook him, he heard wolves howling in the woods, and, knowing there were many of them about, his heart quickened with fear and he hurried as fast as he could. We were all thrilled in the morning at his tale of adventure. He could hear the wolves coming closer and closer, and, as one approached quite close, he took a match and lighted some newspapers he was brining with him and threw them toward the leader. The papers burned brightly, but not for long, so after a short pause the wolves began closing in. He burned more papers until they were all gone. Realizing he couldn’t make camp before he would be attacked, he climbed a tree and stayed there until daylight drove the band back in the timber.

     The following morning the camp cook went to the spring for water and came back saying there was a dead deer lying there, half eaten by wolves. I was still ill, but was carried down by one of the men to see the gruesome sight, and how I cried about the poor little deer.

     We soon left for the East, but about all I can remember of the trip was being afraid of crossing the high bridge over Niagra River, and cowering in the seat with my eyes covered.

     As all of Mother’s near relatives had passed away, we stayed at the home of my paternal grandparents. It was the same place where I was born. Grandfather conducted a grocery, and the kitchen and dining room were in the rear of the store. I was greatly impressed with a huge bed built like a bunk with curtains in front where my grandparents slept. I used to lie there when I was having fever. Being delirious part of the time, it was marvelous how many strange things came out from behind the curtains.

     I soon got better, and, as my hair began falling out from so much fever, Mother had it shingled closely. Some of my teeth were missing, and as I went out in the spring sunshine my nose became painted with freckles. Where was the beautiful little Maggie now? Gone, never to return!

     After a few weeks of visiting, Mother found things so changed after nearly five years of absence and many of the old friends gone that her heart turned to the Michigan friends and she longed to get home to Dad again.

     Harry was then three years old, and very bright and cunning, and he amused everyone by his clever whistling. He could whistle many tunes, and improvised many shrill outbursts. He was constantly begged to whistle for someone, and proved to be quite an entertainer on the train coming home.

     We returned to Bay City to make our home instead of Saginaw. It was located twelve miles father down the Saginaw River and in the early seventies was very thriving. Being in the heart of a timber country, there were many mills, and ship building was very active. The river was lined by salt blocks pumping salt from the wells

     Dad’s lumbering experience for five years helped him to understand the value of rough building material, and he started in the contracting business of carpentering and was soon doing very well.

     When we arrived in Bay City we were entertained in my Uncle Barney’s home and my aunt, being very religious, was shocked that we children had not been taught our prayers, and she made us kneel down each night we were there and say the Lord’s Prayer and “Now I lay me”, Dad was born and reared a Catholic, but had given up the church. Mother was a member of the Episcopal Church and read her prayers from a prayer book but had not yet given much thought to religious teaching for us. I have always felt grateful to Aunt Nellie for her instructions in that line as it made a great and lasting impression on me.

     There were many forest fires, and Chicago was burning. The sky was overhung with smoke and cinders and for days we could not see the sun. In listening to the older ones discussing it, we developed a fear that the fire would reach us, and Jim gave me a vivid description of how it would all be just like hell if it did. Aunt Nellie’s religion had included a hell as well as a heaven.

     Our home was on Seventh and Sherman Sts., and Jim and I entered the Farragut School, (1872) a large brick building housing twelve grades. My first day at school is all very vivid. We sang, “See the neat little clock in the center it stands” and “I think when I read that sweet story of old” I was so happy and elated over everything, but when the bell rang to put away our slates I didn’t understand what was wanted, and the teacher boxed my ears to enforce the order. My face burned. It was so hard to keep the tears back until I could rush home and cry on Mother’s shoulder.

     My first admirer was a little boy next door named Bertie. He insisted on walking to school with me and carrying my primer and slate. I didn’t reciprocate his advances, as I much preferred to walk with two little sisters, named Nellie and Jennie Dennison.

     Following dinner one day I complained of not feeling well as an excuse to stay home, and Jim said, “Let’s play I am the doctor; you shut your eyes and I’ll fix you some medicine.” Trusting Maggie closed her eyes and swallowed the mess, which consisted of pepper sauce, pork gravey and sugar. Ugh! Up it came all over a new red calico dress I was wearing. The good spanking Jim received was a proper ending to that experience.

     We soon moved again, over on Lincoln and Twelfth Sts.

     Jim, Harry and I were victims of measles that spring, and just as we recovered Mother came down with them and was very ill. She was scarcely well when a great happiness came to the household: a little sister was born on July 6^th 1873. Oh, how happy I was! I was well fed up on brothers, as they were great teazers. We named her Eliza for our grandmother, but called her Lida. She was a most adorable baby. At the age of six weeks she was very ill, and it took a counsel of learned doctors to decide she had the asthma, which was remarkable for a child of her age, but she had inherited it from her father.

     One day my teacher noticed something was wrong with my eyes, and walked home with me to call my parents’ attention to them. A specialist was consulted. He found both eyes in bad condition, but the right one was the worse, with an ulcer covering the sight, and aftermath of measles. For days I was kept in a dark room and cold tea leaves as packs were kept on my eyes. For a time I was threatened with blindness. A friends had just met with a remarkable cure by an eye doctor in Saginaw. My father took me there and I was left in the doctor’s home and cared for daily. The treatments were excruciating and I could scarcely be held on the table. I got better and returned home but had to go weekly for more treatments and went on the train alone in care of the conductor and was met by the doctor’s wife.

     The eyes were healed, but the sight partially destroyed in one eye, in which I never had reading vision again.

     Jim and I were now old enough to go to Sunday School. We entered a class in the Trinity Episcopal Church down on Washington St. We faithfully learned the Catechism and collects and were so pleased with our leaflets, getting our lessons together. The rector, finding we had not been baptized, called at the house and consulted mother about it, and offered to come out to the house and baptize us all, which he did one evening. Our baby sister amused us by putting a finger in her mouth and blurbing at the rector. He was the Rev. John Wright, and often called at the house afterward.

     For several winters, when navigation closed, there was a sailor, named Bill McKay, first mate on one of the lake steamers who came to board with us. How we loved the tales of the sea he used to tell, and how glad Mother was to get rid of him in the spring!

     Dad’s carpenter work was such that it could not be done in winter time, and he would be home during the cold wintry months. Debts would accumulate that would take all summer to pay. He taught me at the age of eight to play many two handed games of cards and it helped to pass the idle hours away. I became quite expert at beating him.

     Winters in that clime were very severe; most always a cold wind off the bay and lots of snow and ice. I suffered agonies with the cold going to and from school. I must have been improperly clothed as I was always freezing when outside. I would come in from school with hands and feet nearly frozen, and the pain was intense. My feet were shed with water proof pebble goat shoes and heave cotton stockings. The first pair of rubbers I ever had was when I was about thirteen years old. They were felt lined and the sensation I had in stepping into the snow was a heavenly surprise not to feel the cold penetrate instantly. We quite often begged Dad to tell us stories, and he would be very amusing. We developed a taste for ghost stories in which he excelled. What thrillers! We would be scared nearly to death but we ate them up. I was alarmed at my own shadow, and the dark held many terrors for me. I have never been able to overcome my fear of the dark. To pass a graveyard after night is still awesome to me.

     In those years there were many Indian uprisings and massacres were frequent. Jim was able to read the newspapers and he rejoiced in giving me all the graphic details. Unlike the children of today who are properly cared for and given so much psychological consideration, I was entertained by anything that would thrill or frighten.

     How well I recall a visit of Buffalo Bill and his Indians. Before their exhibition they rode around the streets in full Indian regalia. They passed our house and came by racing their ponies and giving Indian whoops. I ran to the window and at first sight I screamed and fell to the floor clutching at my scalp, as I was sure they were after me. This may sound amusing to you who reads, but to me it was frightful, and I suffered.

     In those years I developed a phobia of fear that had an influence on all my life. I feared dogs, horses, “hooky” cows and savage looking men. I feel a deep pity for myself when I look back on my childhood and realize how often my heart was shriveled with fear. In lager years my sister used to say “You were an idiot! The first I ever knew to grow up and have good sense.”, a doubtful compliment, but later when I had children born to me, the first rigid law I laid down was that they should never be frightened, and I know their lives were much happier than mine.

     One of the fears that sank deep into my being was the fear of our mother dying. I would lie awake nights wondering what would become of us if mother died. Enduring it no longer I would creep out of bed and go to the side of mother, and cautiously touch her to see if she were alive. This would startle her awake. I would say “I wanted to see if you were dead.” I love to think of how kind and patient she was about it, and she would tell me to quit thinking of it and crawl back in bed.

     Literature at the time contained much of what was sad, and Death was a popular theme.

     Mother rarely ever left home. If we came into the house and found her gone we knew there was sickness in the neighborhood and she had been called out to help a little one into the world, or lay a departed one out. She never failed to respond when wanted, and was loved and appreciated by many who had known the comfort of her presence.

     School days came and went and life was quite uneventful. I was never very well as I suffered with rheumatism, which was climaxed by a run of rheumatic fever when I was ten years old.

     One September my Aunt Nellie, who now lived in Harrisville, a pretty little town on Lake Huron, one hundred miles north of Bay City, came to visit us and have dental work done. She was attracted to me, and asked to take me home with her for the winter. I went and was delighted with the trip on the big steamer, “Dove”. I recall as we were leaving the dock people clustered on the shoreside to bid farewell and the boat listed on that side. I was frightened and jumped up and down as hard as I could to tip it back.

     My Uncle Barney was the big man of the town, owning the pier and large general store besides the finest home there. I loved my little cousins, John, Granville and Mamie, and enjoyed the trips to the beach where we played in the white sand and watched the waves come in. However I began missing my own brothers and sister and soon homesick pangs had me down. I was to have stayed until navigation opened in the spring, and only one more round trip was to be taken by the boat before the closing of navigations. Panic seized me and my tears were copious until one day Aunt Nellie said, “Be comforted, for I have to have my dental work corrected, and we will go down on the next boat.”

      I was so happy to be back once more in the bosom of my own family, and our modest little cottage looked good to me.

     Our next door neighbors were named Brown, and had three children, Curt, Cora and Dot, who matched us in age and we developed a friendship that lasted into old age. The good times we had together are too numerous to mention.

     It was in 1876 we moved again out on a hay farm of eighty acres, where we had free rent on a nice home in payment for living there and protecting the property. It was in the city limits but a half mile from neighbors.

     We continued in the same school where we had started, walking one and a half miles. There was a nearer grade school, but we begged so hard to remain with our classmates that Superintendent Morley relented and let us continue there.

     We lived here for two years. It was the happiest part of my childhood. Dad was prospering, our home was very comfortable, and we had the use of a horse and buggy, or cutter, in the winter. Mother was happy with a lovely garden, chickens, ducks and turkeys. A little incident about the ducks was that a thunderstorm came up one day and killed forty baby ducks, much to Mother’s distress!

     Another strange happening and near tragedy came to my mother while there. We had a cistern that was filled by the rains and during a dry spell it became empty. A storm threatened one afternoon, and wishing to clean out the cistern before the rain started, Mother got down inside by lowering a chair, then passed the chair up to one of us children. She began cleaning, and we went to play out in the hay barn. The storm advanced and broke into torrents. The eavestroughs filled and the cistern began filling up. Mother was a prisoner, and had no way to get out. She called and called, and the water was to her armpits when we at last heard and ran in to pull her out. In a few minutes we would have been too late.

     One of the happiest memories of my youth is the long and lasting friendship existing between myself and Cora McCombs. It started when I entered school and lasted for ten years. Year after year we clung together through the graves and walked to and from school together. The only jealousy I ever experienced was once when she moved to a new part of town and she walked with another school mate. I thought my heart would break. We were separated by my move to the North. A few years of school teaching broke her health, and she died while still young of tuberculosis, but I never forgot her lovely character and devotion to me. Friendship has a meaning all its own, and I still feel the influence of her sweet character.

     One Christmas while on the farm we hung up our stockings and went to bed, but not to sleep. We could hear paper rustling and much activity by Dad and Mother (We were too old to believe in Santa Claus.) After the house had become quiet I sneaked down stairs and began pinching the various bumps on the stockings. Satisfying my curiosity, I turned to go back to bed just as a strange man was climbing in the window. Dad had heard the window being opened and arrived in time to scare the intruder away. Needless to say, I awaited daylight before any more investigating. In the morning we heard of several neighbors who had been robbed the night before.

     It was while living on this farm we used to have an old negro do work for us, and his name was Grant, the name being taken from his master, who was U.S. Grant, a future president of the seventies. He had been his servant and attendant during boyhood, and later was his bodyguard throughout the war. We children loved him very much and listened to many tales of the war that he could tell us. He was coal black, but we always called him Snowball, a name my father game him.

     Another historical touch to our childhood was a visit at our home by Admiral Worden of Civil War fame, he having been in command of the victorious “Monitor” in the battle of the “Monitor and the “Merrimac”. His brother owned the farm where we were living and brought him out for a visit. We shook hands with him and stood in awe while he ate Mother’s pumpkin pie just like anyone else.

     Jim was always in school fights and I would become so frightened I would jump in to the melee trying to pull off Jim’s opponent and get a bloody nose myself. The graphic stories and I would make up on our way home were remarkable for their ingenuity. Once Jim hid out a knife on his way from school and told me he was going to kill a boy that had beaten him in a fight. I guarded him for days to prevent the approaching murder and, receiving news about that time that the boy met death by drowning in one of the river slips a great load slipped off my shoulders.

     One day Dad came home bringing an old man with him whom he said we were to call “Uncle Peter”. Dad had been passing a boarding house, and seeing a disturbance he stopped to see what was taking place. An old man was crying and was being put into a conveyance. Dad asked what the trouble was, and was told that the old man had no money and no friends and could pay no board, so he was being taken to the poor-house. Kindhearted Dad said, “Let me have him, I’ll give him a home.” Uncle Peter stayed with us over a year, and was a joy and help at all times, and we all loved him dearly. Later Dad clothed him in a new suit, bought a ticket and sent him to Pennsylvania to live with a daughter. Uncle Peter remained a pleasant memory always.

     The year 1876 being the year of the Centennial, celebrated at Philadelphia, Dad took Jim and visited the Fair. When they returned they brought me a belt with a cracked Liberty Bell for a buckle. Thirty nine years later I visited the Pan American Exposition and saw the bell on exhibition and again saw it go through Fresno on a flat car.

     Our friends and schoolmates enjoyed spending Saturdays with us, and the big barn filled with hay was a great place to romp. In the Spring nearly the whole eighty acres would be under water from one to two feet dep when the snow melted. We built rafts and played Robinson Crusoe and Swiss Family Robinson, and camped out on the islands. A freezing spell might come and we would skate on the ice formed. This was where I learned to skate. A forest joined the place, and here we would rejoice to find spring violets and many wild flowers. Wild strawberries grew in abundance, and later in the summer the woods were filled with red raspberries and blackberries, and we made Mother happy by bringing in the fruit for her to can.

     After the haying was finished the land was rented for pasturing mill horses, and we would ride the horses all over the place. One summer Jim became circus conscious and made a ring to ride around with the horses. He practiced athletic stunts, and taught me to carry a balancing pole and walk a slack rope one foot above the ground. I was always his ally in anything he attempted. One day I was chosen to be the clown and Harry “made me up”. He used the scissors to cut off a part of my eyebrows. They never grew back and the effect did not add to my looks, never the best.

     There were often rattle snakes about the place so we were warned to flee if we heard the warning rattle. I was returning from school and nearly home one day when I became aware of the warning sound. It wounded so close I just gave a glance behind then started to run, as I decided the snake was close in the long grass. The faster I ran the closer the sound came, and after running till I was exhausted I stopped and the noise stopped. Getting my breath and starting again, the noise still followed me. I soon found the source; Mother always starched my underwear to the thickness of boards and the rattle had been from my starched pants. Fraidy cat as usual!

     When I was thirteen Dad built us a large home of our own and we moved to Eighteenth Street. A brother of his, Frank, who was just eighteen, came from New York to live with us and sow his wild oats. He was like another brother and he made one more to fight with and create a rough house. Mother had to get after us pretty often to quiet us down. One evening the boys started in to tease me while I was doing my school work. Mother enjoyed the fun as well as the boys and at last becoming enraged I raised my slate and his Jim over the head with such force the slate broke and the frame was left like a collar on his neck. This exhibition of temper caused Mother to pick up a lath, the only weapon handy, and gave me a good whipping. I had a gritty habit of never crying and she always felt I should be punished until I did. As the strokes kept us I grabbed the lath and broke it in two, and the whipping continued until I broke into tears. That was one whipping I felt was quite undeserved, and I cried myself to sleep. Jim and Frank were quite ashamed and brought me candy the next day, but I still felt bad.

     On February 25^th, 1880 a young brother was born and named Charles. I was just recovering from an attack of typhoid fever and was scarcely strong enough to hold him, but he brought joy to my heart as I dearly loved babies and Lide was now a big girl seven years old. He was a very cross baby, and had thymus trouble that caused him to hold his breath. Often we thought he would never breathe again. I became more and more attached to him, and Mother was only too glad to surrender the care of him over to me. My whole heart and would seemed wrapped in him and when he took ill with “summer complaint”, so called then, I prayed constantly he would be spared to us. He was very heavy and I was very slight, but I carried him about to keep him amused and never let him cry if I could help it for fear of his holding his breath. His first summer Uncle Barney called on us on his way to Lansing where he was now a State Representative. After he left, a messenger came to the door with a little willow baby carriage with Uncle Barney’s card and marked for me. Nothing ever pleased me more, and my gratitude was boundless. Charlie was always happy in the carriage and I walked many miles pushing it.

     I often enjoyed spending a week end with a girl friend, Mary Phillips, who lived on a large dairy. We had retired one night when a commotion was caused down the hall by a drunken farm hand. Mary left me to go and tell her father. I heard the man getting up, and fearing he might come in our room I rushed out in the dark hall. I ran toward the stairway, forgetting how close it was, and I fell headlong down the stairs with my right arm doubled under me. A step-mother reigned the household and she was pretty angry at all the hub-hub, so crossly ordered us back to bed. How I suffered all night and didn’t sleep. When morning came at last my night dress sleeve was binding my arm so tightly it had to be cut. Our family doctor lived across the street, but Mrs. Phillips insisted I go home before calling him. On reaching home I was taken back to the doctor. The arm was broken but could not be set on account of the swelling. When finally set it was crooked for a long time and interfered with writing.

     When I was about fifteen my brother and I were invited to some friend’s house to spend the evening, as they were entertaining a couple of young girls who were members of a vaudeville troupe. Their names were Leila and Bonita Keorber, and Leila was the life of the party. Not until years later when I read the autobiography of Marie Dressler did I realize that Leila was the famous Marie in her early days of clowning.

     I was sixteen when I saw the first electric light. A plant had been established in Bay City and a few of the merchants had put electricity in their stores. On a certain night the juice was turned on. Hundreds of people went down town to see the lights. They gave a sort of blue light and flickered unpleasantly, so were very trying to the eyes. Many old heads were shaken dubiously. They thought they would never be a success. About that time I learned about the telephone, but had never seen one.

     In 1882 it was decided we should move to Cheboygan, a small city on the Straights of Mackinac. We had lived in Bay City ten years, and we left many of the old friends with regret. I was still going to the school where I started, and was just finishing the tenth grade. I had always hoped to graduate there.

     The trip was pleasant, going one hundred and fifty miles north. We passed through forests and along the shores of many lakes. The towns were all little lumber towns until we reached Cheboygan. This little city was a busy seaport resting on the straights between the two large lakes of Huron and Michigan.

     Twenty miles south of Cheboygan was the little resort town of Indian River. My Uncle McHenry had built a large hotel there and was doing a big business. Needing more dining room help, my aunt sent for me to come and help her out. I went down, and was there two weeks. While there a new station agent was sent to take charge of the railroad work at that place. He was a jolly good looking fellow, and I waited on him at the table. My aunt said he was showing an interest in me for he had asked her who that little curly headed French girl was. There were many Canadian French there. As I was always dark, the inference was not strange. My hair was my pride and I wore it in heavy braids hanging down below my waist with the lower end of the braids in curls. I had just passed my sixteenth birthday and was young and undeveloped for my age. So far, boys had made no appeal to me, nor I to them, and as the new agent was about twenty three and nearly bald he seemed rather ancient.

     When it was time for school to open I went back to Cheboygan, prepared to finish high school. I found on entering that their schools had no grade above the tenth so I had no chance to enroll. I became acquainted with a teacher of country schools and she said, “Why don’t you take a teacher’s examination and try for a third grade certificate?”

     I visited the President of the board of education and talked with him. He told me what books to get to study, and asked me to call again in three months. I had always been a good student and all I had learned stayed with me. As the end of three months I went back to him and he gave me a personal examination and granted a permit to teach until the next teachers’ examination.

     We decided at that time that Indian River was a better place for us to live, as Dad had the contract for enlarging the McHenry House. We all liked the place and as there were less than four hundred inhabitants we knew everybody and everyone knew us. My health was better than it had ever been. I was now doing my hair on the back of my head, and my skirts were lowered to a proper length for young ladies. I was encased in stays and wore a small bustle. I began feeling quite grown-up.

     For the first time I was invited to go out with a young man. With several couples we went for a sleigh ride with the box of the sleigh filled with hay covered with blankets, and we all sat on the bottom. We drove across Burt Lake on the ice, about five miles, and as the horse climbed up the steep bank the boards in the bottom of the sleigh slid out and we were all dumped into the snow. We were now all wet and cold so drove a few miles further to a farmer’s house and called him out and tried to get him to serve us with hot maple sugar. This he refused to do, so we turned about for home. The night was getting much colder and my teeth chattered. My feet were so damp and cold I almost cried. I suddenly felt warm hands wrapped about my feet, and discovered, no, not my young man, but a very charming young man, sitting close to me and performing the chivalrous act. My heart warmed as well as my feet and I was glad to say good night to Burt, the undesirable, and looked forward to seeing my new friends soon. I did not have to wait long. He called, and invited me to a dance. We had a good time and had he not been leaving town soon I think we would have been very good friends.

     The young station agent was still there and I often met him in a social way. He was slightly crippled from a broken knee, so did not dance.

     There was a very nice class of young folks in our town, some of the boys recently out of college and quite musical. Our gathering place was in the parlor of my uncle’s hotel, and we had very jolly times.

     In January I was sought by the school board of a little district school two and a half miles out on the plains. I was thrilled and excited to be hired to take it for the balance of the school year. I was thrilled and excited to be hired to take it for the balance of the school year. I engaged board near the school house, expecting to come home weekends. I stayed the first night, but decided I would rather walk the distance than stay out in the country.

      I had thirty pupils and was my own janitor. One pupil was a trifle older than I. He was the bad boy of the district. I was warned to look for trouble. I treated him with kindness and consideration, and soon he was a great help. I would find the fire started and snow shoveled from the path when I arrived. Often he would meet me half way. Ab remained devoted always until he lost his life, capsizing in a sailboat.

     The snow was very deep that winter, and for the first time I enjoyed the snow and cold, as I was properly clothed. I wore a heavy storm coat, and my feet were covered with warm overshoes and wool leggings. I wore mittens and a wool cap. I had to cross the River Sturgeon on my way, and logs were driven through this river to the lake by river drivers , who were mostly French Canadian. They had boasted they were going to give me a good scare, as I was not friendly to them. They were a rough lot and I didn’t feel very safe meeting them when they had been drinking. One time to avoid them I crossed the river on a fallen log and came home by the railroad track, getting home after dark. One of the young men of my acquaintance presented me with a small revolver and taught me to shoot. I became quite handy with a gun and could pop bottles off from the fence with speed and accuracy. I had a pocket in my skirt to carry the gun, but never had any reason to draw it forth. Our dog, old Rover, often accompanied me, and was more protection than a gun.

     Deer ran wild in the country and often crossed my path. One day I dismissed the children to go out and see some deer running past in a band of cattle only a few rods from the school house.

     Quite often as I closed and locked the school I would find the station agent, whom I formally called Mr. Eby, waiting for me with a horse and cutter. He used laughingly to say, “Maybe I can’t dance, but I can take you cutter riding.”

     The town of Indian River was situated on the river of that name which was six miles long and connected two beautiful lakes, Mullet and Burt, each about five miles wide and twelve miles long. A chain of lakes formed what was called the Inland Route, and was traversed by steamers between Petoskey and Cheboygan. Many little steamers plied the waters and everyone possessed a boat of some kind. Summer visitors from adjoining states were plentiful and many had their summer homes there.

     The young people went ut in row boats the same as they now ride in automobiles. Boys and girls could all row and skull, but rarely anyone knew how to swim. The waters were too cold for that sport. The ice was rarely out of the lake until the first of June. I recall going cutter riding on the lake in May when the ice was still nearly three feet thick and the sun very warm overhead. In the winter there would be fishing huts dotting the lake where fish were speared through holes cut in the ice. Many people had their own ice houses and would saw the ice in blocks and haul it in and cover it with sawdust, and it would be available all summer. The river was filled with many kinds of fish and the many streams leading into the river were filled with trout and Grayling. One could go ut either pole fishing, spearing or rolling and come back in an hour with a string of fish as long as one’s arm.

     One bright afternoon in early spring a young friend called and invited me to go for the first boat ride of the season. (The river never entirely froze over owing to springs.) We took along trolling lines and had a delightful afternoon drifting down stream. Time passed quickly, and we realized the sun was getting low. We were then at the lake about five miles from home. Turning about, I took one oar to help out. A stiff breeze had sprung up and the weather had turned bitterly cold. Rowing became very difficult against stream and wind. The sun set and it became most too dark to pick our course among the river islands. Our only recourse was to pull and pull hard, and condemn ourselves for being such fools. With aching muscles and hungry stomachs we reached home about eleven o’clock, and were astonished to find a group of men gathered at the dock with lanterns and boats just ready to start a search for us, my folks having become greatly alarmed. And did we feel embarrassed! In that town, and those times, it was nothing short of absolute disgrace to be out alone with a young man until the unearthly hour of eleven o’clock! In spite of our alibi of wind and stream, I daresay the gossips shook their heads the following day. I didn’t mind that so much as the blistered hands and lame shoulders.

     During the summer, groups of young people would hire a little steamer called the “Ida May”, and we would take our lunches and cruise on the lakes. I learned to handle the wheel and it was great sport. We often went to Indian Point, a reservation at the head of Burt Lake. We were always made welcome and entertained by the Indians. On one of our return trips, a storm blew up and what a wind could do to that lake was worse than anything I have ever seen on an ocean trip. The waves would run from eight to ten feet high. One minute we would be on the crest, the next down in the trough of the sea. With the folly of youth we used to think it was fun instead of danger. My railroad friend rarely went on these group excursions, but often called and took me rowing up on the lake. We would enjoy the quiet waves in the moonlight and listen to a wonderful echo from a hill on the shore. Other friends might be out on the lake and we would call to each other at great distance, as sounds carried a long way on the water. It was very enjoyable and I was having happy times.

     In September Mr. Eby left for a vacation, being gone about two weeks. For the first time I realized how much I had enjoyed his company and what a really grand fellow he was. When he returned he presented me with the first present I had ever accepted from a young man, a beautiful gold pen. It was not long after this before we were engaged to be married. It was hard for me to realize anyone so dignified and so really grand could care in that way for me! I felt a great humility and wondered if I could ever equal him in goodness and reserve. I accepted the gift of his love and my family were made very happy, as he was held in the highest respect by them.

     We set the date of our marriage ahead for a year. I was only eighteen and it would take a little time to get enough ahead for house keeping. My engagement ring was set with twelve garnets, and no diamond ring ever pleased a prospective bride more.

     He was a very devoted son and wrote weekly letters to his mother. In some way she learned that he was drinking beer! She was terribly upset and wrote him a temperance lecture that he showed to me and asked what I thought. I agreed with her, as John Barleycorn had a lot to do with the poverty of my youth and he answered her, telling her he was temperate for life, a vow he always kept.

     The next year was filled with happiness and plans. In the spring I was engaged to teach a school at Mentor, a post office and crossroads seven miles from home. I boarded with charming people and had very delightful children in my school.

     When I went there the district was busy making maple sugar. I enjoyed visiting their sugar camps. There were many maple trees which would be tapped and a great deal depended on the weather. There would be freezing nights and warm days so the sap would run. Buckets were placed about to catch the sap and large kettles of sap were kept boiling over huge fires. One was kept busy stirring the sap for hours, keeping it from burning until the right consistency arrived. After the syrup stage was reached it was removed from the fire, but if it was planned to make sugar the boiling and stirring continued until it grained.

     Every other Sunday Mr. Eby came and had dinner with us, usually chicken, biscuits, home grown vegetables and fruit in season. This was a rare treat to him as he was very tired of hotel fare. The next weekend he would drive out on Friday taking me home for over Sunday. The mid week always brought a letter and he proved to be a delightful correspondent for a man who was reserved and somewhat silent. My school closed late in September, and our wedding date was set for November 24^th, 1885

     Not being able to find a suitable house, an old book keeper staying at the hotel offered to build us one and a dear little five room cottage was planned and built. It was situated on the banks of the river with a dock for boat landing. Tall pine trees surrounded it and pine needles thickly carpeted the ground. A fragrance of pines always brings back the thought of the charming little place.

     I sent to E. Ridley and Sons, merchants of New York City, for material for my wedding and traveling dresses. The wedding dress was olive green silk and the traveling dress a plaid of shades of brown. We had a very good dressmaker in town, and my dresses were well made, high necked, long sleeved with small waist and bustle effect. I had hats and gloves to match ad my wrap was a black silk dolman with fur collar. I can see my grand daughter laughing when she reads this, as it would seem so little, but at that time it seemed quite an elaborate outfit for people in moderate circumstances. I was to wear three starched petticoats to help make the dresses stand out properly. (Hoops were passe.) Mother starched them several times before they seemed stiff enough. I was quite proud of having earned my own money for my clothes.

     We had no ordained ministers in town, only students being sent there to conduct services in one church, Methodist. Usually a couple wishing to marry would take the train to Cheboygan and visit a justice of the peace or a parsonage and arrive back in the morning with the announcement of marriage. We did not favor this way, so a friend of ours was detailed to secure the services of the Rev. Mr. Westgate, of the Congregational Church of Cheboygan, and accompany him down the night before the wedding. We were to be married at 8 o’clock in the morning, as we were to leave on a train leaving at 10:10 A.M.

     The wedding morning dawned bleak and cold with spots of snow and ice here and there. The sun glimmered through a cold sky enough to make us hope “Happy is the bride the sun shines on”. We arose early and snatched a little breakfast of toast and coffee. A larger breakfast of fried chicken with the trimmings and wedding cakes was to follow the wedding. I recall Charlie, my small brother, saying when he saw preparations for the second meal, “Gee whiz! Two breakfast in one morning!”

     Aside from immediate relatives and two friends there were no guests. When we sat down for breakfast there were just thirteen plates and Mother, being superstitious, insisted that the girl who worked for us should have a plate on to make the fourteenth.

     Before the ceremony Mr. Westgate took us one side for a few instructions and helpful words. We felt pretty nervous. When we approached for the services my old dog Rover walked between

 us and stood facing the minister which gave us a laugh to break up the solemnity, when the services were over. We walked to the depot and I was conscious of faces peering out of windows and the more curious had gathered at the depot. Congratulations were extended and we were soon on the train headed for a two weeks honeymoon. My first introduction as “Mrs. Eby” was to Jim Sweeney, conductor on our train.

     Our destination was Three Oaks, near Chicago, the home of my husband’s parents. We had planned to stay over night at a hotel in Jackson and continue our journey the next day. However, my new mother-in-law, who proved to be a very forceful character, insisted that we save a hotel bill and come right on through. This kept us sitting up all night, as there was no through sleeper, and we reached the parental home at four o’clock in the morning. I never was more tired in my life, and if I looked like I felt I was not a very lovely bride.

     We visited all the friends and relatives of my husband and later left for home, stopping over at Lima, Indiana, Sherwood, Union City and Garfield, to visit friends and relatives. I felt I had been looked over and picked over to quite a degree. And since then I have always advised brides to refrain from a like honeymoon. I wished we had gone directly to our little house, which had been all finished before we left.

     Three weeks before we were married E. K. (Now called that by request) went to Detroit and bought furniture. It consisted of carpets for all the rooms two bedroom suites, rocking chairs, dining room set, couch and corner bookcase. The stoves were bought in Indian River and set up after the carpets were laid. We bought a complete set of ironstone china, numbering one hundred and seventy-six pieces, and I had them all washed and placed in the china closet. Things were well in order on our return and with a few wedding presents of silver and household linen we were ready to start housekeeping.

     While in Detroit, my husband had been persuaded by a friend who was in the wholesale grocery business to stock up in groceries. The amount he ordered and sent home was always a joke in the family. It convinced us he was quite ignorant of buying or had felt a deprived appetite too long living at hotels. On the list were a twenty-five pound sack of unground coffee, a ten pound chest of tea, a keg of pickles, a case of Royal Baking powder, two cases of pie peaches and two cases of canned tomatoes. Before leaving on our honeymoon he had had a farmer place in the cellar a large bin of potatoes, a barrel of onions, a barrel of turnips, and three barrels of apples. The sad part of the story is that the cellar was not frost-proof and the vegetables and apples were frozen solid. They had to be taken out and rolled down to the river. The coffee lost its strength, the pickles had been spoiled by putting them in a tobacco pail, and the pie peaches were tasteless. Otherwise, everything was all right and it was many years before we had to buy tea or baking powder.

     We were very happy getting settled and our friends called to admire our new home. None of the young people had a home as good as ours as the town was very primitive, and not many home were built as complete as ours was.

     My husband’s railroad salary was but forty dollars per month. Added to this he had express commissions averaging about five dollars per month, except in the summer when the large shipment of huckleberries, sometimes two hundred bushels, per day, ran up into a nice little roll. Odd deals of buying and selling timber would also help out. We did not have many of the luxuries of the present day - no running water, electricity, nor gas: no automobile, but plenty of nourishing food, warmth and comfort, with plenty to spare for guest. I wish every bride could feel as satisfied and happy as I did.

     Answering an ad, my husband bought a telephone and had it connected between the railroad station and the house. By pounding on a spring it would shake a bell that rang on the other end. The wires that came with it were strung from tree to tree to cover the distance of perhaps a half mile. I don’t remember what caused it to work, but anyway we could hear quite well and it was a comfort to me when trains were irregular and meals had to be delayed. Friends were curious and often called to hear it work.

     A wealthy lumberman who stayed in camp when shipping out logs missed his home bath and had a tinner build him a portable tub. When he left the country he made us a present of the bath tub and it was the only one in town, so we were ahead of the times.

     I thought when I was married I would enjoy spending lots of time at the office with my husband and hoped to be taught telegraphy. He always had to go back after supper and remain for a passenger and mail train that came in about eight twenty. It would be at least nine o’clock before he returned home. Often the trains would be late and my evenings were lonely. Seeing the trains come in was a favorite habit of many of the young folks and the depot was a great gathering place. I made the suggestion our first New Year’s night that I return with him and stay at the office until the train arrived.

     In quite a kind, but positive, manner he told me that he had always said no wife of his would ever stay around the depot like so many of the wives on the road, and he wanted to think of me always as being home when he returned. Now that was a surprise! When he left I broke down and wept and felt terribly abused. I pouted for days but it got me no attention at all. At last he begged me to cheer up as a wife in the pouts was not much of an asset. This totally and lastingly cured me and I endeavored to keep a cheerful front no matter now much I felt abused.

     We went out very little, just to a game of whist or a dinner at the home of relatives. Lida and Charlie spent much time with me and were lots of company.

     We had heavy snows that first winter and many nights I was left alone all night while my husband was on duty taking train orders for snowbound trains.

     I had not been feeling very well. A doctor was called in and I learned I would be a mother in September. This pleased us very much and we were very happy in planning for the anticipated event. When spring came I was feeling much better. During the winter my husband had purchased some timber land and hired my father to cut and ship the spruce for pulpwood to a large paper mill in Niagara Falls.

     A business visit to the mills was necessary and Dad decided to go and combine the business trip with a visit to relatives in New York. I mentioned I wished I were going. My husband kindly suggested he thought it might be very good for me, and after talking it over with Mother my plans were set to go.

     I enjoyed my visit at Niagara Falls very much, being entertained highly by the owner of the mills, Mr. Gilchrist, and his wife. We registered at the Niagara Hotel but were taken for rides all over the city, and out to their home for dinner. We visited every point of interest about the Falls. The roar from the falling water was constantly sounding in our ears but not noticed at all by the residents.

     We were taken through the paper mills and witnessed the process of making paper from rags and waste paper; from the cleaning vat for the filthy rags to the linen note paper at the end.

     We saw the huge spruce logs that had been shipped from our forest for pulp, ground into a mass that came out in rolls of finished paper.

     My Uncle Levi was passenger conductor on the Erie Railroad and we took some lovely trips with him through the Alleghany mountains. We were caught one day in the floods and had quite a time getting back to Corning.

     On our way back to Michigan we visited an aunt in Rochester and we were shown all about the city. Here I had the pleasure of visiting Powell’s Art Gallery, quite world famous.

     I was delighted to return to my little home again. My sister Lide had kept my house in order and E.K. had had his meals with Mother. I brought Lide a pretty gold ring with a came setting for her caring for the house, which made her very happy.

     A pleasant summer came on. We kept a boat house with three boats for rental and we were often out on the water.

     In June a young cousin of mine, Maggie Van Camp, of Cleveland, wrote asking if she could visit us. I wrote telling her I was not in condition for company, but that didn’t discourage her and she came anyway.

     When we started our home we planned to make it a very hospitable one, but our hospitality was badly wrenched with her, our first out of town guest. She persisted in staying and being waited upon until six weeks before I expected my baby, and my husband bought her railroad ticket to hurry her home.

     My doctor had moved to Cheboygan but we planned to have him come down by train when we needed him. When my illness arrived I didn’t recognize the symptoms and hesitated to wire the doctor until his chance of coming on the train, due in the morning, had passed. My mother and aunt were called in and my husband decided to send Jim on a railroad velocipede to Cheboygan for the doctor, whom he wired to that effect, and had him meet him as soon as he reached there.

     It was soon realized he would be too late and my husband rowed across the river and called the teacher of the school to come. He was a young Doctor Hall whose health had caused him to give up doctoring. They arrived just as my baby did, a fine eight pound boy (September 15, 1886) - the happiest moment of my life!

     Jim and Dr. Moore arrived about an hour later. Jim had taken off his coat and sat on it and the sleeve caught in the wheel and was ground off, adding the price of a suit to out double doctor bill. We named our baby Ernest, with Cowley for a middle name. He was a good baby w3ith wonderful blue eyes like his dad and a heavy head of brown hair. I loved him until it almost hurt, Our cup of happiness was full and overflowing. I had never dreamed one could be so happy.

     In February, when he was five months old, I decided to visit friends at Bay City and have photographs taken of Him. Kodaks were unknown then. After spending a few days there he was taken with a sever cold. Deciding I had better get him home, I wrapped him well and took a cab to the train that left about noon. We traveled in the drawing room car that was coal heated and very comfortable. Soon after starting a snowstorm set in. It was not very cold. Large flakes fell lazily but steadily. We were due to reach home shortly after eight o’clock. I had wired home so my husband knew I was on the train. Mr. Westgate, who married us, was a passenger on the train. I had not seen him since my wedding day. As the short day drew to a close the storm increased and the large flakes turned into pellets of ice. The wind arose and the mercury began dropping.

     We were fast losing time and the conductor looked worried as he hurried up ahead with the yellow sheets of orders to the engineer. After stopping, the train would have difficulty in starting, the engine puffing lustily and the wheels whirring. We kept moving until we reached Gaylord, thirty miles from home, and three hours late. Here I was handed a telegram saying, “Worst storm of winter. Make yourself comfortable as you will be on the train all night. Signed E.K.”

     My baby’s cold seemed to be getting worse and a few hoarse coughs filled me with fear. It sounded as if croup were in the offing.

     A freight train had drawn into a siding and its engine uncoupled to attach to our train as a double header. Now we would soon be off. After much backing and bumping and whirring of wheels we got going. The wind howled louder and the cold grew intense. We were in the midst of the well remembered blizzard of 1887, with the temperature at forty-two degrees below zero.

     The two engines kept us moving a few miles, then the head engine was released to try to make a path through the drifts. It got a few rods ahead and stalled. The snow packed solid about it. We were in a cut with high banks each side, and the snow was packing and filling in until the train was being buried fast.

     The passengers were beginning to wrap up in their coats and cuddling down, trying to sleep. I was too filled with anxiety over my sick baby to close my eyes.

     Some time in the night the conductor came in and said we would have to move into the other coach. When asked why he said, “We have the last coal in the stove but in the other coach we still have some wood.” I picked up my baby and with someone holding me on each side I managed to get through the passage between coaches. Vestibules were not in the effect at that time and the storm nearly lifted us off our feet.

     About six o’clock our fuel was gone and a man had gone back to Gaylord, about three miles, for help. When the conductor came in and told me there was a team outside and we would have to leave the train I rebelled and sobbed, “I can’t take my baby out in that storm.” A passenger took off his fur coat, picked up the baby and rolled him carefully in it, and left the train. Mr. Westgate comforted me and helped me with my wraps. I wore a heavy coat but had only kid gloves and a silk bonnet, giving no protection to the ears.

     The horses stood to their bellies in the snow and we were bundled into a sleigh. A man waded on each side of the horses and plied a whip constantly to keep the horses struggling through. Mr. Coons, the station agent, had come out with the team, knowing I was on the train with my baby. Other passengers unloaded at the hotel, but Mr. Coons took me to his home. I had never met him nor his family, but there is quite a brotherhood among railroad men. I could never forget their kindness. A doctor was called and every care given to break the baby’s cold. My ears and fingertips were frozen and much care had to be give to them. We were there forty-eight hours before the train could be dug out of the bank that had completely covered it. When I finally reached home I fervently said I would never leave home again with a baby.

     Soon after we were married my husband hired Harry as an assistant around the depot. He was now seventeen years old and a very charming boy. He was growing very fast and handled heavy freight, which was the cause of an enlargement of the heart. He was taken ill and was an invalid a whole year before his death - the first death to touch me in an intimate way.

     Jim was now railroading as a brakeman, but was soon called to the Upper Peninsula, where he was engaged as a passenger conductor.

     When Ernest was eighteen months old we gave him a little sister, who was born March 27^th, 1888. At the request of Grandma Eby we named her Flora after her aunt. I added the name Margaret.

     My hands were now pretty full. Ernest had been suffering from an abscess on his face and took more care than the new baby. It was a hot summer and I would lay her on a pillow on the floor and hold him. The neighbors were fond of telling her afterwards how she was an abused baby.

     When she was about three weeks old I was getting supper and had her in her crib near me. I heard a choking sound and looked around to find Ernest stuffing her mouth full of cold potatoes. He said, “Fofo hungry.” He couldn’t say “Flora” so the nickname became quite general until she was old enough to go to school.

     Our five roomed house was now pretty small for our family so we decided to buy and fix up a two story house across the river. We moved in there when Flora was six weeks old.

     I came in one day soon after and found Aunt Lide, as we now called her, unpacking a suitcase. “What is all this,” I asked. She said, “Mother told me to come and stay with you.” We were only too glad to have her when I found Mother wanted her with me instead of at home. Dad was lumbering and keeping the men at his house and they were pretty rough for the company of a young girl. Lide was just fifteen and very pretty and saucy. On and off for nearly twenty years she continued to make her home with us. The children always worshiped her and she was a great comfort to me. She became more like a daughter than a sister.

     At the time of our Three Oaks visit Dad Eby gave E. K. A bushel of black walnuts to bring home and plant. He put them out on a stump to freeze all winter so they would crack open ready to plant in the spring. He planted a backyard full of them and when they came up he told all of his friends to come and get what they could use.

     Walnut trees had never been grown in that climate but these all prospered and the time came when the shade of dozens of walnut trees made the little town beautiful; and these were the only walnuts in Northern Michigan. The legend of Eby’s trees became well known.

     In 1889 we were comfortably settled in our little home, all nicely furnished. I was so contented and happy. Everything going just fine, but my husband was dissatisfied and seemed to think we had better make a change. Oklahoma was opening up new land and a great rush to the front was being organized. He wanted to join the rush. I couldn’t see taking my family t that county in those wild times, and he certainly wasn’t pioneer stock.

     Being a man of unusual silence, but plenty of determination, he said little, but came home soon with a pocket full of passes and said, “I’m going out to Oregon.” I reasoned with myself instead of him, I had only diverted his plans, not controlled them, and thought, “Perhaps he knows what is best and I should do as he wishes.” He was pleased with my willingness, but I think would have gone anyway.

     He decided it best to sell everything. We sacrificed our home and disposed of all our furniture for a very low price. Thinking it best to go ahead alone, he left me and the children to board with my folks, and gave Mother our cow for the children’s use. Resigning his position with the railroad, a new man took his place. He deeded all his timber land to Dad.

     It was our first real separation and I felt badly to see him go. He wrote every day and the further west he went the more homesickness seemed to overcome him, but he went as far as Portland. At the end of thirty days he unexpectedly walked in. Back where he left off!

     Soon after he returned I discovered another child was on the way.

     Applying for another job with the company, and being a first-class telegrapher and holding a clear record, he was sent to Parma in the south of the State. I took the children and went for a visit with his people. He didn’t like Parma and asked for a position on the Norther Division again.

     He was finally given Vanderbuilt, eighteen miles south of Indian River, and we once more set up housekeeping, but with much less that we had had. Anyway we were by ourselves again, and I was happy and busy getting ready for the new baby.

     On June 21^st, 1890, I was taken ill. Lide was staying with me, but my husband wired for Mother to come. A freight train came ahead of the passenger train, but the message told her if the passenger passed the freight to flag it and change trains. When she told Conductor Richards, who was a great friend of the family, he said, “No passenger train will pass me today.” He made the promise good and Mother was in time to greet the new grandson, who she immediately named Harry, for my brother who die. I added the name of James for my older brother. Dr. L. A. Harris was the attending physician.

     A month before Harry was born we had bought another home. It was a large two story place, but had no shade. E. K. Would go out in the forests that were near at hand and dig up young maple trees and set them out. Once more as he moved on he had left a remembrance of beautiful shade trees that shaded the old home and are still standing. We lived there two and a half years and they were busy years with my three babies all under five.

     During the sinter of 1892 a dear old aunt of E. K.’s, Aunt Sue, stayed with us. We loved her dearly but she had become quite childish, so was quite a care. She passed away shortly after leaving us.

     Lide did not like Vanderbuilt, so stayed more at home those years. She had become attached to a young man working there and planned to marry him. Mother raised objections and fought the idea of her getting married until she gave in and let the young man pass out of her life.

     Vanderbuilt was wild and woolly. It was headquarters for many of the lumber camps. Saloons and bawdy houses were thick. The depot was closed at eight o’clock evenings, but sometimes when a traveling man had to take an eleven o’clock train out he would hire E. K. For a dollar to keep the station open for that train. The former agent always kept a billy and a gun in the drawer looking for trouble, but E. K. Never got in any mixup. He had a very nice way of handling the public and said he would rather they would shoot him than shoot them.

     When Harry was a little over two years old we moved eight miles south to the next station, Gaylord. It was better pay and a better town in which to live. We sold our Vanderbuilt house and bought the departing agents’s house which had just been built and was the best house in town. It had eight rooms, a “vestibule” hall and tower. Some class to us! We had to finance it through a Building and Loan Company. We paid out three times what we borrowed before it was paid for, and we were pretty disgusted with dishonest corporations. We lived there from 1892 ‘till 1904. Twelve busy but happy years.

     On August 30^th, 1893, a little daughter was born and named Helen Louise. We were very proud parents with two sons and two daughters and were quite satisfied with that number.

     All four children had their father’s blue eyes and brown hair. Friends would say, “If you have seen one Eby you have seen them all.” Both girls were favored by having curls. Otherwise I would have had to do them up on rags as all little girls wore Long curls.

     Aunt Lide still lived with us.

     I did all my own sewing, pieced quilts, and made rag carpets on the side.

     We had a large yard and our place was a gathering place for the neighborhood children, as I kept my children playing in their own yard and the neighbors enjoyed leaving their children there under my watchful eye, as I was usually at home. The day school closed for the long summer vacation we would get a croquet set and set it up; this gave them a good game. If a quarrel started they had to box the balls and mallets.

     Flora was a tomboy and did not like girls that came with dolls, once hiding under the bed until they had gone. She had a boon companion, Becky Smith. They did everything a boy could do. Flora was unfortunate in accidents, twice breaking her collarbone, once her elbow; and falling from a hammock, broke the cheekbone on an iron ring. Usually she was doing the forbidden thing when an accident happened and she once said I didn’t need to punish her for God always did.

     Helen was interested in cats and would spend hours dressing and undressing the two she owned, named Pauline and Madeline. She would ride them all about in a doll cab. On her eighth birthday Mother sent a kitten on the train in an Indian basket. He had a big red bow on his neck and was named Tom. He was a loved pet for many years.

     Beulah, a little girl living next door, played with her much of the time.

     When Helen was about eight years old she had become a great reader and devoured many books. The library was situated next door to us so she had easy access to reading matter.

     She entertained herself a part of the time by writing stories she made up, and became so clever at that age that we were sure she was going to be a second Louise M. Alcott. She continued for several years and amused us all with what she wrote, and earned some cash prizes, but after entering high school gave it up, so our fond hopes of being parents of a genius collapsed.

     When the children were old enough to take music lessons we got them a piano and all took lessons. Harry and Flora were the only ones that stuck with it. Flora also tried lessons on the violin, and Ernest took mandolin lessons. Once more our ambitions soared, thinking how entertaining it would be to have an Eby Orchestra, but I have to relate they didn’t go very far. About the only criticism Helen ever game me was when she said, “You are to blame for you should have made us practice!” I went on the theory if they didn’t care enough to work for it, it was not worth my time and patience to keep at them. What could not be done without nagging was not accomplished.

     Harry kept up the most interest and played quite well. He would be up and have his practicing all done before breakfast and was then free to play outside. Later he took up the saxophone.

     During the summers I canned hundreds of quarts of fruit, and made gallons of pickles, catsup, jams and jellies. My cellar shelves filled with rows of jars gave me a feeling of great pride. I always baked all my bread, eighteen loaves a week.

     We entertained freely and were rarely alone. Gaylord was the county seat and as we had friends all along the line we had many overnight guest who came on business or to get dental work done.

     Our home was a comfortable one summer or winter. We heated the house with two large coal stoves which burned from October first until April first without going out, and people loved to drop in and soak up some of our warmth. At the end of our living room was a glassed in bay window which was filled with blooming house plants, which bloomed all winter and not only was a pleasure to us, but people outside loved to look in the window when the snow was three or four feet deep on the ground and see the blooms and admire the big base coal burner sending out a glow day and night. We secured our coal through the railroad company and were the only ones in town who burned coal. We lighted our house with coal oil hanging and bracket lamps.

     About 1895 Charlie was taken on as an assistant at the depot and lived with us. Our family now numbered eight. A very happy, congenial family. We often received the compliment of having the happiest home in town. Charlie and Lide were full of Irish wit and always kept our guest entertained. My table would seat fourteen and on special occasions we would have it full. We observed all birthdays and never failed to celebrate with a birthday cake. Our friends soon learned when to drop around and help us celebrate.

     Sundays always seemed a hard day for me. The night before the children would all have their tub bath and be ready for Sunday clothes in the morning. Church was at eleven o’clock followed by Sunday School. It would be difficult to keep them clean and ready to go to church when I was ready to go with them. I would always go with the four of them, and after church go home to get the family dinner while they attended Sunday School.

     After dinner they were supposed to keep a Sunday attitude and not play out as usual. Sometimes their young friends would call and they would have music, but no rough games. Sometimes they would pop corn or make candy. In the evening I would read to them and entertain them with stories or guessing games till bedtime, and I was more tired than after a day of hard work.

     When summer days came Harry would fix up a little stand by the sidewalk and make lemonade and pop corn for sale. He hired so many aides there wasn’t much profit. Once Dad, who was the Isaac Walton of Northern Michigan, caught a lot of fish and brought them to him to sell. Another time he gave him a small pig. This required a pigpen and Harry and his friend, Joe Hazard, built an elaborate sty and played for days in the pen with the pig, necessitating a nightly bath. Harry would be so tired, and whine, “Why do I have to have a bath every night when I’m not going any place but to bed?” He was always busy and happy. At times he would have very sever headaches. We didn’t learn until he was grown that eye defect caused them and from then on he has had to wear strong glasses.

     As the years passed we knew what it meant to be terribly worried as the children passed through many illnesses. All the children’s diseases known were impartially distributed amongst our little flock, the contagious diseases usually hitting them all at once. Croup was one of the dreads of our nights. Both E. K. And I have worked many nights in a sheet-made tent with a steaming teakettle till the dawn. Keeping Harry breathing. E. K. Was always so devoted and kind when the children were ill, and would be out of bed to help at the first sound of a croupy bark. I would be nervous and fearful, but he was calm and collected and always gave me courage.

     Diphtheria was always present in Gaylord and carried off whole families of children who would be buried at night, and I was in a positive state of terror when a white spot showed up in on e of the children’s throats. Through poor sanitation in the town, we were visited by lots of typhoid and many were the homes that lost their loved ones. Though we knew the anxiety of the possibility of those afflictions, we were spared the visitation of both diseases.

     I would keep the house well sprinkled with disinfectants and nearly choked the family to death burning sulphur on hot coals placed on a shoved at every new diphtheria outbreak. I even made the children wear asafetida bag on their necks. Phew! I can smell them yet. Taking on worries as I did, it was not to be wondered at that my hair began turning grey in the late twenties and by the time I was thirty it was most as grey as it is now. In spite of my worries, I gained weight around forty, and tipped the scales at about one hundred and sixty-five pounds.

     The children would sometimes ski and often skated at Scott’s Lake a half mile away; a sport they all enjoyed was hitching their sleds to delivery sleights and being drawn about town. In the winter they would make a toboggan slide by building up old piano boxes and this was great sport. They were always warmly clad and loved all snow sports.

     Harry was very quiet like his dad, but very active in originating and building contraptions. He not only entertained himself but the whole neighborhood.

     Both boys had a paper route, carrying the Detroit Evening News about eight years. They made all their spending money and bought their clothes and school books besides banking a little. Summer or winter they would be up at five o’clock to meet the early morning train, making their own paths in the snow when there had been a heavy storm. They would have their papers delivered in time t be back at breakfast. We always had breakfast at six thirty. All members of the family were supposed to eat at the same time.

     Our home was run on railroad precision - meals on the dot, and for years the children all had to be in bed at eight o’clock. Not one of the children ever had a tardy mark at school. Each child had his or her work to do. The girls did the dishes and the upstairs bedroom work. The boys looked after the wood, coal, and ashes and shoveled snow paths, besides, in the summer time, helping to care for the large lawn.

     Lide went out sewing by the day but was home for meals and back to sleep in her own room that we always kept for her.

     While E. K. was winding up his day’s work after supper (we didn’t call it dinner then) I would get the children to bed, first reading them a chapter in the Bible and listening to their prayers. A neighbor had let us use her organ for storage and I took enough lessons to play simple hymns and the children would sometimes sing, often being interrupted by our old cat who would howl a dirge. A rule I always tried to keep was that no matter what had taken place during the day, I always wanted them to go to bed happy. They would all be tucked in with a goodnight kiss and the house would be deliciously silent and orderly when my husband arrived from work.

     His slippers and newspaper would be laid out for him and he would lean back in his old red rocker in silent content. His hours were long at the office and sometimes he would be too tired to read and would sleep the evening away in his chair, while I would read of catch up on my darning and mending. Nothing could tempt him to go out in the evening. He was perfectly willing to stay with the children and kindly urged Lide and me to go out, and at times would bring show tickets to us. I used to feel so widowed when other women went out with their husbands, although I felt I had the best husband in the world at home. Lide and I were very congenial so we had good times together anyway.

     In 1898 she and I joined the Royal Neighbors of America and this gave us two social evenings a month. I was elected to the head office and served three years. In 1899 was chosen as R. N. A. National Delegate to a convention in St. Paul. It was a pleasant break in my stay-at-home schedule and I enjoyed the trip and the people I met.

     In 1898 when the Spanish War broke out Charlie, who was then eighteen, thought he would like to join. He talked with E. K. And me and we thought it was all right, so he got us to go down home with him and see Mother about it. As soon as it was mentioned she broke into tears (a great weapon of hers) and cried and sobbed until he said, “Cut out your tears, Mother. If you feel that way I will forget it.” Knowing she could trust him, she was laughing through her tears in five minutes

     It was soon after this Charlie made the mistake of locking in a freight car a couple of boys who were running away and they didn’t want to be discovered. This was a grave offense and when the railroad company learned about it they discharged him. He then went West for a while.

     Railroad men worked Sundays as well as week days. My husband continued to work long hours with no relaxation and the urge would descent on him to move on or make a change. Railroad advertising circulars filled his mail and they interested him beyond everything else. Once he decided he would explore the south. He secured transportation, asked for relief, and started for Birmingham, Alabama. He visited relatives at Springfield Ohio, and then stopped off at Cincinnati. After a few days rest at a comfortable hotel he left for home without going further. I now realized nothing I could say would stop those flights, so I accepted them philosophically. He would return so happy to be at home again and renew his work with vigor and pleasure; all trace of fatigue would be erased as if by magic.

     I didn’t understand him then as I do now when I look backward. The minister who preached my mother’s funeral sermon said, “One has to die to be understood.” How often that has occurred to me since. I didn’t have time to pause and analyze things then, but I know now that it was fatigue that made my husband restless. Even his family whom he loved and who loved him dearly, tired him and it was a complete rest to go and be all by himself.

     I never thought of asking to go with him until the children were well grown and both Lide and Charlie living with us. He had been reading circulars about the Southwest and his heels began to itch. One day he announced he was going to take a layoff and run down into New Mexico and Texas. Helen had just come down with scarlet fever and I urged him to wait until she was well and I might like the trip too. We had never taken a real trip together since our honeymoon and a little change looked good to me. Helen recovered and after waiting until we thought danger of contagion was over we took our departure, traveling via Chicago, and Fort Worth to Pecos Valley, New Mexico. He had been all through the west but I never had and it was a big thrill to me. We stopped in Eddy, which was at that time a small village of adobe huts. It is now called Carlsbad and has become quite a place owing to the famous Carlsbad Caverns which were discovered many years later.

     One night when we were crossing Texas we were discussing with other passengers a news item telling how that night there was to be a shower of stars and the earth stood a good chance of meeting one and being destroyed. A great many people were being terrorized at the idea and jokingly we all said it might be our last night. Some time in the night the brakeman came in and found the stove pipe had shaken apart and the car was fast filling with coal gas while we all slept. He hurriedly opened all the windows and aroused us to see if all were all right, so our “last night” might not have been a joke.

     I was the only woman on the train and when we stopped for dinner one night we had to walk over a half mile through bands of cattle until we reached a place to eat. There were only men there and we walked through a saloon to the rear to find our meal. I felt rather out of place, but with my husband on one side and a Catholic priest, who traveled with us, on the other I felt very safe, and had never found men more courteous. One thing on the bill-of-fare was prairie dog soup and not bad.

     My brother Jim had lately been made yardmaster at Cripple Creek, Colorado, and we decided to stop off and see him. We stopped at Amarilla, Texas, and picked up a nice lot of mail from home and learned all were well. We proceeded to Pueblo and from there took the Cripple Creek Railroad. It was my first ride in the Rockies and I was filled with awe over the scenery and grandeur. The railroad cut through solid granite and sometimes not a thing was evident except glistening rocks. As we climbed higher my head began to roar and my heart pounded till I could scarcely breathe. I had never been in high mountains before so had not learned how the altitude affects one. We climbed to an altitude of 12,000 feet by the time we reached Cripple Creek. As I looked out of the train the first person I saw was Jim, who I had not seen in sever years. On greeting him he was so surprised his black eyes nearly popped out. He took our bags and we started for his house but had gone only a few rods when we were snatching for our breath. He had to wait until we could breathe again, then we went very slowly till we reached the house. We learned that after a time one got used to the altitude but we did not stay long enough for that. Pike’s Peak looked so close it seemed almost in the front yard. It has an altitude of 14,000 feet. Water for the gold camp was piped from there and came out of the faucet like ice water and with such force we once watched the firemen tear down a building before it could burn, by turning on the hose. Our visit was in the year of 1899 and the gold boom was at its height and fortunes lost and made every day. There were explorers digging in the rocks any way one looked and nuggets were constantly being picked up. Jim had picked up a few and offered them to me but I suggested he have them melted into a ring for Mother, which he did much to her delight. We rode on an electric line, called the Golden Circle, to all the gold mines, and at one mine had the chance to go down in the mine, but I refused as I don’t enjoy being underground.

     After a few days there we left for home but stopped off at Colorado Springs, where we went sightseeing and sampled all the springs.

     We stopped at Three Oaks to visit Grandpa and Grandma Eby and were handed a telegram on our arrival, saying Flora had come down with Scarlet fever and was very ill. We took the first train home and were relieved to find her over the worst of the fever, but her throat was left very bad. As soon as she was well enough I took her to Ann Arbor and Dr. Carrow operated on her throat.

     The following summer Jim brought his wife and came home for a visit. Before leaving Denver he secured a baby burro and shipped it to the children by express. It weighed only seventy-five pounds and was the cutest pet they ever had. They named him Jack. He would come in the house and wander in every room and his bray was heard for blocks. Harry made him a harness and cart and he and Helen rode all around town, and sometimes double on his back He was very clever and learned some smart tricks. It was hard to keep him at home for he would pull his staple in the barn and pull his stake when in the yard. One time he got loose and wandered into a Salvation Army meeting and brayed his loudest.

     We often took all the children and spent weekends at Mother’s down at Indian River. These were gala occasions and the children enjoyed the boating and fishing. One time they loaded Jack on the baggage car and took him, too, which was a great thrill for Indian River children as they had never seen his like.

     In the winter Harry and Jack would get out early in the morning and with a crude snow plow Harry made they would clean the snow from the walks and were considered a great benefit to the community.

     When Jack was about two or three years old he got rough and sometimes mean, for older children teased him, and the boys sold him for three dollars to a visiting circus that came to town. The children watched him drive away behind a circus wagon and they felt pretty bad.

     In 1901 The Pan American Exposition was held in Buffalo and as Aunt Lide was taking a trip East we let Ernest and Flora accompany her as far as Buffalo and it was quite a pleasure to them to visit the Fair. They left for home at about the same time President McKinley was shot at the Fair.

    Gaylord was built right where there had been a primeval forest but it was very difficult to get shade trees to grow and prosper again. We tried several kinds, then one day we had some little seedling shipped from Grandpa Eby’s yard. They were ash leaf maples and when E. K. Carried them out there were twenty-one in a teacup. He carefully set them out, spaced for big trees, and put shingles around them for protection. They were a big joke to all of our friends, but today surround the old home in immense shade, and the Eby trees still make a monument left behind.

     While living in Gaylord my health began to fail and for two or three years I was pretty miserable. After many painful attacks and having several doctors, I found one in Bay City that discovered my trouble, which was gall stone attacks. Nothing gave me relief except opiates and I grew gradually worse until I was taken to Ann Arbor and was operated on by Dr. Nancrede, a very famous surgeon. E. K. Was so anxious about me he secured relief at the depot and never left me for six weeks when we returned home. I recovered, but was not well and strong for another year.

     Aunt Lide became very restless for something to do about this time. We wanted her to take a high school course but she didn’t want to do that. “Larnin’” didn’t interest her. I conceived the idea of she and the boys starting a Novelty Store, something a little different that what was in town. Harry and Ernest had a small bank account and I borrowed money from Grandpa Eby to add to it and rented a store building next to the postoffice and then visited wholesale stores in Detroit, and with what cash I had and our credit at the bank I was able to get a supply to start the store, which was to be called the Eby Brothers Novelty Store. My selections had been very good and as the holidays were nearing we sold almost completely out, and at a fair profit.

     A candy salesman visiting the town called on us and persuaded us to put in a supply of good candy as no one in town handled any first class confection. I ordered what I thought was a good order, but he padded it and it all went so fast we had to keep sending in for more.

     The boys would help out after school and Aunt Like ran it day times. We put in school supplies and children’s story books. Aunt Lide was exceedingly popular with all the children and every penny they could raise was spent with her. Keeping a window full of attractive candy, and being near the post office, the trade became very active and profits were good. As summer came on we put in ice cream shipped from Saginaw by express. There was no ice Cream elsewhere for sale in town. At that time what was used was homemade.

     We worked up a big business and were doing fine when the old lady who owned the building refused to rent and we couldn’t get another place in town. Another old lady offered to buy us out and we sold at a good profit, while the purchaser and landlady got their heads together and tried to carry on the business, but with no success. It was evidently a put up job, but didn’t win.

     Once more E. K. Was getting restless and came home with passes to Seattle and announced he was going to Alaska. There was a gold rush on and he had caught the fever. Again I had to object strenuously. We had just got our home all paid for and each time these flights took place we went backward financially. To get outfitted and go, there would have to be a mortgage on the home large enough to carry the family through, too, and my feelings were strong against it. He apparently soon gave in with a quiet acquiescence. Not for long though. He had been studying up about the southwest and, thinking there was a fortune awaiting anyone buying and selling timber in Arkansas, he resigned his railroad position and left for Newton County, Arkansas.

     He interested a Michigan millionaire in letting him buy timber land for him at so much an acre. Thinking this was going to work out to our advantage, he wrote and told me to sell the home, and when the school year was out plan to move down to Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

     It was a lonely winter for me. He came home once on his birthday. The children were in the upper school grades and doing well. They were at the age of adolescence when children usually give parents trouble, but never for a minute did they get out of hand. They gave me only help and no trouble whatever. Ernest being the oldest, felt he had to set a good example and always impressed upon the others that “Mamma knew best.”

     At the close of the school year I managed to sell the home for cash, and packed my household goods, having a small car load, as I decided to take everything. We bade our friends good-bye after many kind receptions for us and went to Indian River for a few days visit before leaving. Lide stayed at home but planned to follow. It was the year of 1904. We stopped on our way at Grandpa Eby’s were we visited them and saw them for the last time. St. Louis, Missouri, was having an exposition so we stopped and visited that. We then went to Eureka Springs. We were met by E. K. And we were pretty haply to all be together again. We went to a boarding-house for breakfast, then to our new home.

     It was a lovely modern eight room house, entirely new, and pleasantly located. For the first time we were to have electricity and a real bath room with hot and cold water. It was on a hillside which made the house two stories in front and three at the back. A large chinkapin tree was in the rear and was a new kind of tree to us. In fact, everything seemed new and different. The street cars went right by the door and passengers were let out at their gate instead of the corner.

     It was the middle of July and coming from the North we thought the South should be hot, but we found the climate moist and tropical, but not unpleasantly warm.

     Eureka Springs is situated in the Ozark Mountains about two thousand feet elevation. It had about six thousand population, sixty per cent of which were out of state people, who had come there for the benefit of the springs. There were forty spring within the city, each having a different medicinal value. We found it a beautiful spot, and both the county and the people were different than from where we came.

     The long time residents and natives all spoke with a drawl and a southern accent and use suck words as “you-all”, “I reckon” and “right smart”. I presume our nasal twang and way of speaking amused them fully as much as theirs did us.

     We found many intelligent and charming people as well as some that were impossible - quite poverty-stricken and did not care for anything better. One woman used to say, “We ain’t got much and we don’t want much.” There were many negroes who were a novelty to us.

     The little city was quite modern with an electric car line, many fine homes, good churches and excellent hotels. One hotel “The Basin” was built while we were there of the stone blasted from the ground on which it stood, and each of its eight stories had a ground entrance.

     Automobiles were not allowed to enter the country account of scaring the horses off the grades, the roads all being mountainous. I saw just one automobile while we lived there.

     The chief recreation was horseback riding. Several stables kept for hire horses, saddles and divided skirts for women. All ladies were requested to wear divided skirts as the horses were not trained for mountain riding with side saddles. There horses were all well bred southern horses and trained beautifully. Any child could ride safely. Helen was wild about horseback riding and made particular friends with all the stable boys who would lead the horses to the hotels for guests, then return for them later. Here is where Helen came in for rides. All her extra spending money went on horses, too.

     When school started Ernest and Flora entered their last year of High School and Harry and Helen lower down in the grades. E. K. would be home a few days at a time, then go back to Jasper to look after the land he was buying. He had located us in Eureka Springs account of better schools and good class of inhabitants. Strangers thought I was a widow as I was always seen without a husband. He was working with one idea - to give us everything money could buy. I felt that we were missing much that money couldn’t buy when we loved each other so dearly and had to be apart so much.

     He decided to take up a homestead at Cave Creek and this required that I go with him and spend a few days out of each six months. Those were delightful trips. I came nearest to “paling” with my husband that I ever had. We would go by train about fifty miles to Harrison, then by stage to Jasper, a distance of twenty-two miles. There were no bridges in the county and we would ford the Big and Little Buffalo rivers twenty times in that distance. If there had been recent showers the water would be so high that the horses would be obliged to swim and we had to keep our feet up in the seat to keep them dry.

     We would stay over night in the hotel at Jasper and in the morning hire a driver with a team of mules to drive us to Cave Creek. He would be engaged to come back at a certain time to pick us up. Meanwhile we would be completely isolated if there were heavy showers as there was no way to cross Cave Creek by foot. We had built a nice little cabin and shipped in every thing for convenience, such as good spring and mattress, cooking stove, dishes, chairs, etc. There was a large spring at the foot of the largest sycamore tree I ever saw where we got our water, and we named the place “Sycamore Springs Ranch”. We spent the days wandering miles over the mountains and through the forest and admired the grand white oaks and Southern pine trees on the place. There were also black walnut and cherry. To a Northern man they looked like a million dollars worth of timber, but we had to learn later that it was a hopeless proposition to get laborers or transportation to get it out.

     The woods were filled with wildflowers of great beauty and so many beautiful birds, various kinds we had never seen. There would be tropical showers in the afternoons with heavy thunder and vivid lightning, clearing at night. The fireflies would come out so thick they were like an electric display. The lizards were numerous and would crawl in the bed and even venture onto the table while we ate. They were harmless and did not bother us. We often saw huge snakes near the spring.

     During these trips E. K. would be so happy and contented, and would express a wish that we might stay there forever like that, just he and I, all alone. Sometimes I felt very anxious at his attitude, and was afraid he was becoming morbid. Unlike him, I would be very glad when the driver came for us as my thought would be with the children and it would seem weeks instead of days that we were gone. I began asking myself, “Am I a better mother that I am a wife?” I really tried to do my duty in both ways, but the question is still unanswered and my conscience remains troubled.

     During some of those trips we visited among the people and found them very far behind the times. Many old housewives had never cooked over anything but a fireplace. A cook stove was a curiosity. One old lady, admiring a newcomer’s house with a window in it, said, “I have lived here over forty years and never had a window.” Some places all the members of the family slept in one room. The food often consisted of only bacon and cornbread. If a cow was among their possessions they would milk it a cup at a time, just as they needed the milk. All owned pigs that fed on acorns and made poor pork. The graves of the country were fenced in as the hogs would root out the bodies.

     Most of the school houses had dirt floors and school was held only two months in the year. They usually resented the teachers sent to them and made plenty of trouble, even resorting to shotguns. Many adults with who we did business could only sign a cross for their names.

     Both men and women used tobacco, often in the form of snuff. A woman would usually have a flattened stick that had been dipped in snuff hanging from the side of her mouth. The landlady of the hotel at Jasper where we stopped would chew tobacco and spit clear across the lobby into the fireplace - and never miss. Many of the residents were quite proud of the fact that they had never seen a train. My attention was called to an advertisement of the Jasper Academy announcing, “Pupils were never disturbed by a locomotive whistle.” I felt quite disgusted that such a place thrived in an enlightened country like our United States.

     To the contrary, E. K. enjoyed the people and the unrestrained way they had of living. In retrospection, I know now the lack of restraint and conventions, ever the distance from the locomotive whistle, were counteracting the strain of years at a railroad desk with his ears strained to the click of the telegraph instruments. He simply loved it! He had a big black saddle horse named John that he rode. He had a saddle made to order that was very comfortable, and cost almost as much as the horse. The hotel where he stayed was comfortable and there was the best of food on their table (fried chicken and hot biscuits every morning). He would ride each day looking land with a young engineer who was staying at the hotel.

     Eventually he bought up all the land his employer felt he could use, about fourteen thousand acres, then he turned attention to his own interests, buying up acreage for himself and trying to start a stave business. After spending much time and money he found not a man in the county was to be depended on to work. They would make many promises and never show up - always lying, and often shooting a man who would call them a liar.

     Abandoning this idea, he and the young engineer conceived the idea of making a survey for an electric line from St. Joe to Fort Smith, which would take its electricity from the Buffalo River, and the line would pass through a district heavily timbered with ore of many kinds lying on top of the ground. E. K. hired another engineer to come from the North, and as the survey progressed he tried to interest capital from the North and East to forward the installation of the line.

     The natives of the country fought tooth and nail to keep them out. None of them would consider living near a railroad track, and refused to sing for rights-of-way. They made so much trouble the idea was abandoned. Thirty years later Harry sent his father a copy of an electric magazine with pictures and description of an electric enterprise over the original survey and said, “All ailed your idea was, you were thirty years too soon!”

     In May, 1905, Ernest and Flora graduated. I made Flora’s dress by hand of some kind of white chiffon. She looked very sweet and pretty, but her usual pink cheeks had faded into a paleness owing to a chronic stomach trouble that had developed following years of throat trouble. She delivered a paper on “Some Women I Should Like To Meet”. Ernest graduated in a black broadcloth suit, the first suit his father ever bought him (he had always earned his own clothes peddling papers). His paper was on “Our Oriental Friends, The Japanese”!

     The following summer Ernest worked in different places; once for the Water Works and on the local newspaper. He was quite a socialite and very popular with the young people. Flora’s poor health kept her from enjoying most of the good times, which made Ernest feel badly, as they had always been inseparable in their High School days and in all their fun.

     In the Gaylord school days they had belonged to a bunch of six boys and six girls calling themselves “The Dizzy Dozen”. Ernest and Flora were sort of mentors for the rest as we had some strict rules and made them live up to them. The other parents would say, “You may go if Ernest and Flora are going”, or “You may stay as late as Ernest and Flora.” Sometimes Flora would put up a protest and say, “You not only spoil our fun but also the fun for the rest of them.” I am still pleased to say this didn’t weaken our discipline.

     Their father and I made a rule early in their childhood that “what one parent said the other would stand by, even though sometimes not agreeing”. This always worked out fine. Their father never bluffed or scolded, and rarely punished. Just a snap of his fingers to get their attention and “pst” they jumped to his orders. Helen declares she thinks they weren’t bright, they minded so explicitly. In childhood when a whipping was considered necessary, it would be done with a “heater”, a bunch of which was always handy for kindling. A heater was trimmed from a barrel stave and was very effective.

     The year after Flora graduated she was hired to teach a school after the teacher suddenly left town one night with a show troupe.

     E. K. was beginning to lose his optimism. I was at the “I told you so” stage, but, believe it or not, I refrained. However, I did use all my influence to get him to call it a “bad break” and once more to go into the railroad work on some Western line. Expenses did not diminish but the money in the bank did. Conditions in our life became reversed. Here I was advising a change of work and location, while he firmly refused to move, and said he would starve before going back into railroad work. He rode his horse home and left him in the stable and stayed at home quite closely. Sometimes he would hire a saddle horse for me and I would ride with him over the mountain paths and through the gulches. The country was quite overpowering in its beauty. Dogwood and redbud bloomed on the hillsides, waterfalls were formed by the many springs and the autumn foliage surpassed anything in coloring that I have ever seen. We could have been gloriously happy if we had not had to think about finances.

     The winter before, Lide and Charlie followed us down, with an idea of getting into something and then send for Dad and Mother to come to a warmer clime, and get out of the deep snows of Northern Michigan. To our disappointment, the winters proved quite cold in the Ozarks and there was plenty of snow all winter. There was compensation, though, in the fact it was the grandest country in the world for coasting. Having lived in a flat country all their lives, the children never before had known this sport and it proved to be a joy they have never forgotten.

     Charlie scoured the country for a job, but not a chance. Finally he accepted the humiliating work at one dollar per day of caring for a drunken Indian taking the cure at a sanatarium. This was just too much. He left for St. Louis and was hired by a Transfer Company.

     Realizing the uselessness of trying to do more in the lumber business under the existing circumstances, E. K. Decided to plan on something else. There was some kind of a new ten pin game being exploited and he thought he might do well with that in the live mining town of Joplin, Missouri. He ordered the outfit, rented a hall, secured a good boarding place and began business. From his letters, which always came daily, I felt things were not prospering too well and wrote him I was leaving to visit him. I received a telegram “Wait. I am leaving for home.”

     He arrived next day and we were all shocked at how he had aged in a short time. The game didn’t take too well as it was pretty tame for carousing miners. He had taken a bad fall and shattered his left wrist. He had not called a doctor and all the attention it had had was from his landlady who had kindly bandaged it and helped him in other ways.

     He had disposed of the ten pin game at a complete loss and came home in quite an unhappy condition, bitterly calling himself a failure. The children and I did our best to make him feel how dearly we loved and respected him and still had plenty of confidence in his ability. We stood ready to help in all ways. We were able to pay all our bills, but finances were getting low.

     A few months before with money Dad had sent from the sale of some property Lide had bought a little five acre place a mile out and hoped to make a home for Dad and Mother. It was a very prolific little place set to many kinds of berries and peaches and was wonderfully rich soil that grew immense vegetables. The ground was completely covered with fine rock that was called chert. One not knowing would think it was a hopeless rock bed everything grew. Lide once amused our friends by saying she had planted her tomato plants with a gimlet and a screwdriver. Other tools had no chance in the rocks.

     Dad and Mother came out in the late summer, stayed awhile, and the old story of transplanting old people to a new country held good in their case. They became disappointed and restless. Jim, who was prospering as General Yardmaster for the Southern Pacific Railroad at Fresno, California, invited them to come west for a visit and sent them passes for the trip. Mother was sixty three and Dad was four years older. Mother was very lame from varicose veins with which she had suffered for many years. We dreaded to have them take the long trip alone, but they started and got along very nicely, and we began hearing glowing accounts of California prosperity. They liked it so well they decided they might as well stay and make their home there if Charlie would come out from St. Louis. Jim sent him transportation and promised him a job of switching, so it was not long until her arrived in Fresno.

     Our ready funds were getting low, so we thought it a fine chance to cut down expenses by giving up the house of high rent and move out to Lide’s little farm, which was walking distance to town and school. Nearly every home or small acreage was given some kind of a name and we decided our little place should have one too. We called it the “Lidalia” in honor of Lide.

     Ernest had saved enough of his earnings to start a college course at the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville. Flora was teaching and E. K. was over in the hills again. We thought we could live very quietly and modestly until things took a turn. The house was a little five room house and we had lots of fun papering and painting and crowding our furniture into it. The velvet carpet didn’t go very well with the house so we folded it and put it beneath the bedsprings, using surplus carpets from our larger house.

     Lide was always such a joy! There was no such thing as being blue around her. When things looked dark she could always think of something funny to make us laugh. All of the young friends of the children liked and enjoyed her and we had scarcely got settled when all the acquaintances we had made began flocking out to the “Lidalia”. Just as the evening was settling down we might hear some music and outside would be a bunch of the young fellows who had called before in town. They were a quartet of really marvelous singers. Of course we had to call them in and with more music and singing they would stay for refreshments. They all loved it and would come repeatedly. We found our guest list growing by leaps and bounds. With the different friends of the different members of the family it kept me pretty busy preparing food and keeping a full larder. The “Lidalia” became about the most popular place in the hills. Many of the friends made then remained devoted friends for years.

     The house was situated on one of the mountain ridges which commanded a very pretty view. Many miles in the distance we could see the mountain where the battle of Pea Ridge was fought. Surrounding the house were six beautiful oak trees. There should have been seven, but the previous owner had cut one down to make a stump on which to rest the wash basin, a custom of the country.

     While we were enjoying the good social times at home poor E. K. was over in the hills, lonely and discouraged, but not quite willing to give up. Lide and I would walk up hill and down dale many dark nights to the post office for our daily letter which, when it came only brought rather discouraging news.

     A day came when some classy looking strangers called and seemed very much interested in the “Lidalia”. They asked if it were for sale and what would Lide take? Not expecting to make a sale, she named a price way beyond the value of surrounding property. After visiting us a few times they asked her to have the bank make out the papers as they wanted it and would pay cash down. As Dad and Mother were urging us to come to California we thought it best to let it go in case we went away.

     We moved in a cottage down town called the Britt Cottage and the other people took possession of the “Lidalia”. They were an elderly mother and her son and wife. In due time we learned the mother was a writer and the son a drug victim and everything was being done to break the habit. This looked like an ideal spot to care for him. It was only a few months until they went back to their home in Chicago and were looking for other ways to cure him.

     E. K. received word one day that brought hope and cheer to him. Three well known business men of Gaylord - Comstock, Scott and Wise - all good friends of his, wrote they were coming down with a business offer that meant wealth to all of them. When they arrived they presented a plan to him whereby he was to secure a piece of land with some lead and zinc on it (very easy to find and very cheap). They would explore it and pronounce it very rich and valuable and take large shares at an imaginary high price. They would then return to Gaylord and advise all their well-to-do friends to try and get in on the ground floor and buy shares at these high prices. They would divide the spoils and share alike as long as the suckers lasted, E. K. to get his one-fourth.

     The success of the whole plan was to be based on the good name of E.K. and his honesty, as he was regarded as a man of high principles and honor in Gaylord and the surrounding country. As soon as he got what they were driving at he told them in no uncertain terms to get out! And go to -------! He said he had lost all he had saved in twenty years, was flat broke, and discouraged, but he still had his good name and planned to keep it. It was some time before he told me, but when he did I was not surprised that he took that stand and I felt very proud of him.

     Taking a gambler’s chance, he had drawn several hundred dollars from the bank, all we had left, and paid to a crook who said he could sell a mine for him. He soon learned the man was no good and the money hopelessly lost. He was in despair when Jim wrote offering him work if he would come to Fresno. He finally decided to leave Arkansas. He let go of all his holdings at a great loss and let his horse and saddle go for a twenty-five dollar lot in Oklahoma, and walked fifteen miles out from Cave Creek to the railroad. Harry was to graduate in May so we thought it best for me to stay in Eureka Springs until then, while he went ahead.

     He arrived in Fresno early in March and boarded with Dad and Mother. His first work was telegraphing at Cable, a small station in the Tehachapi Mountains where a tunnel had caved in. He had to set up his instruments in a box car and he nearly froze. This was in 1906. When called in he was given another job, taking car numbers at Fresno. He had fallen behind the times in the new system of telegraphy and found it too difficult to continue in that line.

     We made some lovely friends that spring in our new home on Spring Street. Helen played daily with two interesting boys named J. W. And Ralph hill. One evening she met with an accident that gave all of us a bad scare. She fell off a twelve foot stone wall and was knocked out for a while. I was panic-stricken and how I did miss her father! I had always leaned heavily on him when in distress and I felt my responsibility doubled with him so far away.

     Mrs. Wheelock, a writer of Nature Books, called at Harry’s school one day and gave the children a talk on “Birds”. Harry was so interested and gave her such intelligent answers that she called at the house that night to see him. She said, “I am writing a book on ‘Birds At Night’ and you are just the boy I need to help me.”

Harry felt honored and was very delighted to assist her. Mrs. Wheelock would call at the house with a couple of saddle horses about one o’clock in the morning and they would be out until breakfast time. Harry would come home tired and dirty, with his clothes in tatters from climbing trees and crawling over rocks. He was so interested and happy. He would tell us many interesting things about the birds.

     He had been making a study of them for some time and could tell Mrs. Wheelock many things she didn’t know. She wanted him to make notes for her book and let him have the credit when her publication came out. He was too modest to do this. When he graduated she presented him with a limp leather autographed copy of her “Birds of California”.

     Harry was a regular nature student. He loved to wander through the mountains and explore the caves, going back in them a long way with only a candle for a light. He would get up before daylight and walk to a small lake about three miles away where he would lie on his stomach for hours watching the wild ducks awake. He and Ernest were as fond of Arkansas as their father.

     They still love to think of their good times of coasting, horseback riding, and, most exciting of all, the o’possum hunts they used to have. They would go out with a band of boys and some hound dogs and be gone all night. They would tree their possum, bring it down, roast it, and eat it with relish, coming home all greasy and smoky.

     Harry graduated with honor and was still under sixteen. The class exercises were “King Arthur’s Round Table” and he took an active part.

     The next thing was to get ready for our exodus to California. E. K. did not seem very happy so far away and still longed for Arkansas. I was afraid he might get back before we could get away. I still wonder what our destiny would have been if he had, for I had had enough of Arkansas conditions and I know nothing could have kept me from leaving after getting ready to go. I sent for Ernest to come home from college and help me pack. He hated to give up his school and go west but he was considerate and gave in gracefully. He seemed to realize how badly I needed him.

     Freight to California was high so I tried selling as much of our furniture as I could. Many craved the furniture, but had no money. Scarcely anyone had regular work there so money was pretty scarce. They offered to exchange other things in lieu of money so I let a log of the goods go and took butter, vegetables and dressed poultry, and just about set our table for a few weeks before leaving. We borrowed money from Lide to pay over two hundred dollars freight charges on what was left.

     Jim came to our assistance once more and sent transportation, dividing it up on different railroads. He gave Lide and Flora passes over the southern route through Arizona via Los Angeles. They left several days ahead of the rest of us. I had passes via Salt Lake and Ogden for the boys and me, but by some misunderstanding Helen’s name was not included on the passes. No conductor ever collected for her, but poor child! She was in agony every time we went through a gate or a new division was approached. She must have thought we would leave her behind if we had to pay. I can see her yet as she ducked through the gates of Kansas City when we showed our passes. They would have had a fine time catching her.

     On leaving Eureka Springs I handed Ernest the transportation and the purse and said, “Now, Ernest, we are depending on you all the way through. Be sure you don’t wander off and miss any trains.” This was quite a hardship on him for he loved to jump off at many stops and would jump on at the very last minute. It was a four day ride to Fresno and not a bad trip. Helen knew everyone on the train. She loved to talk and all loved to hear her. She had always been fond of dried figs and I recall at Sacramento some small boys were selling little sacks of ripe figs. She took her last dime and bought a sack. She had never seen any before and was so disappointed in them she wanted to make the boy give back her money.

     It was in July and all the way across the country had been cool and rainy. As we crossed the California line in the morning the weather began to warm and by the time we reached Sacramento, we felt as if entering a furnace. As we entered the different towns I remember wondering how people could endure such heat and walk around as if it didn’t matter at all. All of the car windows were open and the wind coming in scorched our faces and my eyes felt fairly burning up. We had heard it was hot in Fresno but didn’t dream it was like this. We reached Fresno at three thirty in the afternoon and temperature was 112 in the shade, one of the hottest days of the summer. Jim’s home was over the depot and we were at once taken up to his rooms and his wife had ice cold lemonade made for us before we left for the Cowley home out on I Street.

     My first inquiry was, “Where is E. K.?” Imagine my disappointment when I learned he had thought we would be on the midnight train and as a surprise had gone north to meet us, passing us on the way south of Lathrop. We wired him of our arrival but he couldn’t get back before the midnight train. When he came he was pretty sore to have taken that hot trip and missing all the afternoon with us.

     We were taken out to the house where we found Lide and Flora who had reached Fresno first. They had stopped off in Los Angeles for a visit with friends and made their first visit to the Pacific Ocean. Like all novices, they had come home with a beautiful sunburn and were feeling pretty miserable. The rest of the folks were well and made us feel very welcome. It was nice to all be together. Mother had all her four children together for the first time in many years.

     A cottage next door was vacant and we were urged to rent it and so be close to Mother who found it hard to get about any more. It was small but we had disposed of so much of our furniture we made it do very nicely.

    That summer was a record breaker, never missing the maximum 100 degree mark or over every day for the first sixty days we were there. I camped in from of the thermometer and watched it go up. The nights would cool and we would crawl under the covers about dawn, but it was hard to overlook the high day temperatures. Business was brisk and everyone worked, old timers paying no attention to what the mercury said.

     There was money, money, everywhere, mostly gold, no currency and a penny change was scorned, all accounts ending in 0 or 5. Women earned as high as eight dollars a day in the packing houses. It was fascinating to us after living where there was no work and no money. We left Arkansas without owing any one so were not followed by bills. As Helen once said, “We escaped from Arkansas with our lives and the piano.” She was always saying funny things and amused us at all times.

     Ernest went to work on the railroad, taking car numbers and as he went up and down the hot tracks all day his poor feet would be blistered at night. After he would be bathed and asleep I used to feel like kissing the blisters. He had been so brave about coming home and helping us get started again, turning his pay check over to the family fund. Harry washed mud from autos at one dollar per day and gave his money toward helping Flora go to Business College. She had decided she didn’t want to go on with teaching. She liked the children but didn’t like teaching and said it wasn’t fair to the children.

     Harry soon had another job working in a sawmill right near home. He had learned to care very much for a young man that worked on the saw opposite him. One morning Harry was late, and while working with another helper the young friend of Harry’s had his hand caught in the saw and had to have it amputated. He groaned at Harry, “If you had been here it wouldn’t have happened.” It just about broke Harry’s heart, and he came home sobbing like a child.

     Shortly afterwards he worked as railroad collector and made his rounds on a bicycle. I recall a funny incident he had one day. A barrel of molasses had been broken open while being unloaded in the alley and Harry, not knowing what the dark spot on the pavement was, rode gaily into it. Immediately the wheel skidded and he rolled over in the molasses. He came home perfectly furious, molasses from one end to the other. He certainly was a sweet boy, and his bicycle a sticky mess.

     In Mother’s younger days she had craved seeing California, and particularly the Golden Gate, but said she would never go there until she could go by train. Many doubting ones laughed and said, “Then you will never see the Golden Gate.” The year we arrived in California was the year of the big fire and earthquake in San Francisco. Lide and I were anxious to see the reconstruction of the city and planned to take a trip. Mother longed to go, too, so we took both her and Helen. It was a very difficult trip for Mother, but she made it and had the desire of her life. From San Francisco we went on a ferry to Sausalito, rode the electric to Mill Valley, and climbed Mt. Tamalpais on the road of a thousand curves. On the return ferry we crossed the bay at sunset and Mother saw the Golden Gate in all its glory, the sun setting like a golden ball in the center. It seemed to mean a lot to her and she was gritty and brave about the terrible cramps in her limbs that kept Lide rubbing them all night at the hotel.

     The condition of her legs became much worse and the doctor ordered her to the hospital for an operation. As she was nearly sixty-four and her condition serious, the doctor required someone of the family to attend the operation. Lide and I both sat in the operating room and it was quite an ordeal watching two doctors cut the legs below the knees and tie all the veins. She recovered from the operation but was a long time in the hospital and in bed for weeks at home. She was on crutches for some time, later a cane, and finally gave up trying to walk only as we walked by her and helped her.

     Lide had given up living with us and was the mainstay at home. Dad was crossing guard and happy as a lord with a real job. He knew everyone who crossed the crossing and everyone knew him. He was “Dad” to all, old or young. He was on his feet a great deal, and having suffered many years with a hernia it became much worse. The railroad doctor ordered him to the Sacramento hospital for an operation. He enjoyed all the attention and care he received there. After coming home it was not long until he had a sever coughing spell and burst the stitches, undoing all the good surgery. He immediately wanted to go back for another operation but the doctor said, “Dad, you are over seventy, you haven’t long to live, so take it easy and don’t try it again.” In his profane way, Dad Answered, “Hell! I’ll live fifteen more years and bury you.” Dr. Doyle was a young man, but Dad fulfilled his prophesy. He lived sixteen more years and survived Dr. Doyle several years.

     There were many fine churches and excellent ministers in Fresno and I attended the Methodist church. I would urge E. K. to go with me (he had been a member of the Congregation Church in his youth) but always his answer was, “The Golden Rule is good enough for me.” I would be disappointed, but I always had to admit no one ever followed the Golden Rule closer than he. I would go alone and try to save my own soul, knowing he was saved anyway. The children had outgrown Sunday School. A zealous young preacher got Flora interested in the First Christian Church and she united with that church May 30, 1910. Helen had become interested in the Episcopal service and in July of that same year she was baptized and later confirmed. One of our close friends once said, “The Ebys are the funniest people I ever knew. They all belong to a different church and each one has his own dentist and doctor. In spite of this they are the most united and affectionate family I ever knew.” I would have liked to have kept them all together but they had all reached adulthood and I had to allow them to make their own decisions.

     One morning in October Dad came in and looked so grey and frightened I said, “What is it, Dad?” He broke into sobs and said, “Ernest has been hit by an engine!” My blood seemed to congeal but I quietly asked him to tell me about it. He was too overcome to say more but E. K. arrived and broke it to me the easiest he could. Ernest had been riding on the front of a switch engine with Charlie. Mexicans were repairing the track but had no red flag out. When the engine struck the rail being repaired it jumped the track. Charlie realized the danger and jumped. The jar threw Ernest on the track ahead of the engine and he was caught under the bumper and rolled. The engineer brought his engine to a stop almost instantly. Charlie, peering under the engine, saw Ernest. It was a terrible shock to him. Ernest had put on a new pair of cords that morning and when the lifted him out from under the bumper he was conscious. He looked down and saw the pants in shred and said, “Uncle Charlie, my leg is cut off. Poor Mamma!” He had been smoking a new pipe and when the ambulance and stretcher arrived he was cooly asking somebody to look for his pipe.

     His father and I arrived at the hospital a few minutes after he did. Both his hip and knee had been rolled out of joint and a large piece of flesh taken out of his back. He made light of the accident and tried to comfort us by saying “It was nothing”. We stayed in the room until he was under the anaesthetic. The doctor thought it would be too hard on me to see them set the hip and knee so I reluctantly left.

     In order to have railroad hospitalization he had to be taken either to Los Angeles or San Francisco. He chose the former. The second day he was carried to the sleeper on a stretcher, and he and I left for Los Angeles. I think everybody in the family had tipped that colored porter but he was the most inconsiderate help I ever found on a Pullman. Ernest was nauseated and in constant pain, sometimes praying and sometimes singing to help him forget the pain. It was a very long night for both of us.

     Word had been wired ahead for an ambulance but when we arrived in Los Angeles everyone left the car and it was shunted onto a sidetrack before the ambulance arrived. I was getting pretty anxious by the time it arrived as I didn’t dare leave the car for help. The driver and attendant were considerate and careful. We were soon on our way to the St. Mary’s Hospital and I was seeing Los Angeles for the first time from an ambulance window.

     He was soon comfortably at rest and after an examination by Dr. Cate, the head surgeon, who assured me he would soon be all right, I left and tried to find some place I could get a cup of coffee. My head was feeling like a boiler works sounds. No eating place was near. Just before reaching the hospital we crossed Figuroa Street, and as that was where our Cousin Hattie lived I walked down to the street to look for the number and found I was right at her door, just a couple of blocks from the hospital. She had been urging us to come down and was delighted when she met me at the door and recognized who I was. She was so lovely and sympathetic. I never can forget how kind she was. I stayed with her about ten days, visiting Ernest each day. He seemed to be doing so well I felt I had better leave him and get back to my family. Cousin Hattie promised to visit him often.

     When I had been home about a week a special delivery letter came from her saying, “Ernest needs you. Please come at once.” His father and I took the first train down and found him suffering with what the surgeon called surgical shock. He did not know us and at times was very bad. Part of the time he was kept in a straight jacket. A young interne told me he probably would never be any better. I was almost in a collapse and thought “Surely this awful thing can’t happen to my boy.”

     In another week or so he was enough better that Dr. Cate advised me to take him home as he though the would recover quicker out of hospital surroundings. It was at the heavy fruit-shipping season and hard for E. K. To get away again, so I wired for Charlie to come and help me bring him home. As he was still in an abnormal condition Charlie and I had plenty to worry us before we reached Fresno. Dr. Cate was right and it was only a few weeks until he was his own dear self and by the first of the year he was back at work again. It took me quite a while to get over the anxious time I had had, but I was thankful it all turned out so well.

     In 1908 the Fleet came to the Pacific Coast and Mr. And Mrs. Waterman were going and asked Helen to go along as they were taking their daughter Katherine. They were to drive over and regretted not having room for Flora and me. It made us want to go so E. K. Got passes for us and Flora and I went by train to join them at Pacific Grove. On our arrival we learned Mrs. Waterman had been hurt in an accident as they came over the grade, and both of her ankles were broken.

     We arose at daylight to see the Fleet come into the bay and anchor and as they were the first warships we had seen it was a thrilling sight. After a couple of days there I sent the girls home with Flora and I stayed till Mrs. Waterman could be taken in the car and brought home. The Pacific Grove doctors had set her ankles but a few days later in Fresno she had to have the work done over and she was always quite lame.

     When Flora finished business college she was employed by R. A. Powell, an accountant, as stenographer and bookkeeper. Her old stomach trouble was bothering her again and she called on Dr. Cowan. He called it ulcer of the stomach and put her to bd for thirty days and gave her a light diet. She got better and went back to work. In a short time she became careless of her diet and ate the wrong food again. This called for another visit from Dr. Cowan. He urged an operation. These hospital trips and operations were getting me down and I was rebellious about surrendering her to the knife. He was lovely to both Flora and me and offered to go to San Francisco with us and put her under Dr. Stillman, the best surgeon on the Coast. He offered to stay with us three days or until all danger was over. All this he did. I stayed in San Francisco until near time for her to come home. She was soon able to return and go to work.

     As soon as Flora was earning money she paid Harry for helping her through business college and (for interest) paid for a course in Taxidermy for him. He still kept up his interest in nature study.

     He hired Katharine and Helen to catch butterflies for him at five cents each, and on the hottest days of the year one could see them chasing everywhere with a net trying to earn a nickel. He would put the butterflies in a bottle of cyanide to kill them, then carefully mount them.

     When he started his lessons in Taxidermy he would buy pigeons to kill and mount. After mounting he would spread their wings and tails and stick pins in to hold them out, and suspend them by strings hanging from the ceiling all over his room which was shared by Ernest . When Ernest came in late at night he wouldn’t turn on the light and it kept him busy dodging dead pigeons, stuck full of pins. He said, “It is most as bad as when I had to share my bed years ago with Harry and his elephant and about a dozen other stuffed animals and toys.” The elephant’s legs were clothespins and stuck straight out. Whichever way Ernest turned those clothespins would jab him.

     Mrs. Waterman, who was always doing something kind for people, came in one day with a dead peacock for Harry to mount. Harry was never more thrilled over anything. It had to be cared for immediately as it had been dead twenty-fours hours. He enlisted my services and we worked nearly all night. Harry took with one of his sick headaches and he and I were both nauseated by the smell of the sour craw frequently had to take a trip outside. He did an astonishingly good job at mounting it, and that old peacock thirty years later is still going to State and County Fairs. I wrote Harry recently that as I went down Fulton Street one day I was an old friend of his advertising Peacock shoes in a store window. He guessed right away what I meant.

     In the year 1907 both Grandpa and Grandma Eby passed away. They left a little property which was divided between their one daughter Flora and their only son, E. K. He was not able to go back to Michigan so sent his sister power of attorney and she handled the estate We held a family meeting and decided to invest our share towards buying vineyard land. Raisin growers were very prosperous at that time. We made a payment on forty acres of land and loaned the boys enough money to make a payment on an adjoining twenty. E. K. hired a man by the name of Hogan to level part of the land and set out vines. He was to be paid as the work advanced. He had just partly done the work when his horses were taken debt. He plead for his money in advance as he could do nothing without his horses. E. K. advanced the money and Hogan took his horses and drove to Oregon. That was good-bye Hogan.

     E. K. soon regretted buying the land and said he would let it go. He decided he would take what money was left and go to Petaluma and make a payment on a chicken ranch. In fact, he had his transportation when he made the announcement. This was history repeating itself and I objected as heretofore and urged him to stay with his job and not throw away what he had invested in the vineyard. He was nearing fifty and this was probably his last chance to get a hold on any property. He said, “All right. I’ll deed the ranch to you and you and the boys can handle it.” I took the challenge, thinking I was doing the right thing, but was I?

     He always gave me the pay check and I went ahead to the best of my ability. All I could save from household expenses went into the ranch. He worked faithfully and his salary gradually increased. He demanded his Sundays for recreation and the time was discounted from his salary. I was so pleased to have him do this for it was the steady grind that had always made him restless. He shifted all responsibility of the ranch and became quite contented with his work.

     He was made car distributor and he saw busy times when the fruit was being shipped. He became quite enthusiastic in his work and would come home and tell how many cars he had handled. He was a marvel in his system of handling the cars and those who knew him best said no one else could have done the work he did, nor handled the shipped with his finesse. He was loved and respected by all who knew him, as always, and I think for the first time he was happy in his work.

     Shippers would solicit favors but he treated them all alike. Nothing was too good for him when the season was the busiest and everybody wanted cars. We were given cases of raisins of all kinds, figs and other dried fruits, oranges and fresh fruits in season. In the fall, as the Thanksgiving shipping season was on, we were given cases of olives, peaches, pineapples and asparagus. We were teetotalers but our cellar was full of wine given by the wineries. This of course helped our budget but we would not begin to use it all and gave our friends the most of it.

     Charlie would often say he didn’t see how E. K. stood the confusion of the yard office as he handled three ‘phones at his desk and the yelling and shouting of the help were maddening. He was always placid and cool. When he would kiss me good-bye in the morning he would say, “Well, I am off to the madhouse.” When a shipper would get wild and angry when the car shortage was at its worst no one could calm him like E. K. He made them all line up for their turn and like it.

     He lost all interest in the ranch. I went ahead and hired Yasui, a Japanese, who kept about forty Japanese working for him. He took charge of the ranch for five years. It was hard work bringing the vineyard into bearing. The vineyard was located eight miles east of Reedley. I would quite often get up early and get my family off to work and leave on an eight o’clock gasoline motor for Reedley. There I would hire a horse and buggy and drive to the ranch and oversee the Japanese at work. I have gone many days when the thermometer ran 108 degrees and often higher. I had lots of ditch trouble and legal expense over a ditch that overflowed our land.

     I was still scared to death of a horse and some of the stable horses were quite tricky. Once I took Lide and Flora over with me. We drove a gentle old horse but he had a mean trick of backing after stopping him. Seeing a tree loaded with apple blossoms Flora wanted to stop and pick some. I stopped the horse and instantly he began backing. We were on the edge of a high embankment. Flora jumped with the reins about her feet and the horse started to back down the side of the embankment. Lide was pitched into the middle of the road and the horse’s hoof struck her on the back of the head. Like a faithful captain, I stuck to the buggy and continued down until a fence stopped me. When I got out the thills were on top of the horse and he was calmly eating apple blossoms. Flora was working over Aunt Lide who was lying in the dirt unconscious, and the blood flowing from her head. A ditch ran close to the road and I soaked my handkerchief in the water and slapped her in the face with it until she came to. When we would try to help her up she would faint again. A man driving by helped us get her into his buggy and started to Reedley. A rancher, having seen the accident from a nearby vineyard, came and brought the horse up and straightened out everything. Flora and I followed Lide into town.

     We called a doctor. He put several stitches in her scalp and bandaged her head. The stable man came to investigate and complained, “My buggy top is badly damaged.” Lide faintly answered, “You better take a look at my top!” Strange to say, each time I had to have a horse from that stable afterwards I always, always asked for old Charlie. He had been so gentle through it all. I always kept a whip in my hand while driving and as I stopped, one little flip of the whip would stop his backing.

     I usually arrived home about four o’clock with a sick headache. The heat of the vineyard and the fumes of the gasoline motor would nauseate me. I would be refreshed with a bath and have dinner ready when the family arrived home.

     A young friend from Michigan, Lamont Quick, boarded with us so my family numbered seven. I always baked my bread and often friends would drop into dinner just to have some homemade bread. Among them was Winnie Swett, Flora’s intimate friend, and she has always been a devoted friend and never forgot the homemade bread.

     Yasui was quite devoted to me and often called at the house to report on the vineyard. One time I visited the vineyard in the spring and found it uncultivated and the weeds covering it. Yasui was not around and I held up his monthly pay check. He soon appeared and his apologies were very profuse. He said, “I went to San Francisco to meet my new wife on the boat and we married. You forgive this time. I’ll never do again.” He was a Buddhist and I showed an interest in his religion. He gave me quite an insight into the belief and presented me with a book on Buddhism. The ranch began paying dividends, but Yasui’s wife died and he left with the three children for Japan.

     I had bad luck his last year as the small barn I had built took fire from a cigaret and burned; also two mules in the barn were cremated. The year before that Yasui had had to shoot a mule that bogged down in the adobe.

     Things seemed to be going from bad to worse. The next year I hired a Russian to run the place. He was a complete failure in everything, losing most of the crop by neglect. I was still gritting my teeth and hanging on. I never took my troubles to E. K. And as he never looked over the books or asked questions he never knew how I stood. He had enough to do to look after his railroad work and I was paying for my wilfulness. He deposited all of his money in my name and seemed to trust me implicitly.

     In 1910 we had our silver wedding anniversary. He brought me a lovely boquet of carnations, saying, “I don’t know if you like these best, but I do, and they are trying to tell you how much I love you.” He would always bring flowers and ask on each anniversary, “Do you still love me?” I always replied that I was still looking for any man I could love so well. This seemed to make us both happy and we always remained quite devoted. In spite of our disagreeing many times we never lost our dignity enough to quarrel.

     Lide was restless at home and Mother was able to help so much about the house that she went into a tailor shop and learned the trade and did very well.

     Charlie had been going out with a young girl and one day announced his coming marriage. Mother was quite overcome as she couldn’t imagine sharing Charlie with anybody. When she said, “what are we going to do without you.” He replied, “I’m not leaving, I’m just bringing Ida to you.” They were married at a nice little wedding at the home of Ida’s father and left for a wedding trip to Portland. To please Mother they were married on her birthday, July 6, 1909.

     Ida came into the family and many adjustments had to be made, but Ida was a jewel and my heart ached for her many times. Mother was old and very set; Dad was an impish old rascal, and Lide had been boss so long it was hard to retire gracefully. Ida had been a girl of little schooling and had been knocked from pillar to post. Her mother died when she was three. She was put in San Juan Convent where she led a neglected and lonely existence. She tells of how she was not only lousy, but the lice were lousy, and extreme of which I had never heard. When she was seven her father married and as the babies began to arrive Ida was brought home to assist in the work. Her stepmother was very cruel to her and often beat her with a stick of stovewood. As soon as she could do for herself she got out and worked.

     When she came to us she appreciated a mother and a good home and showed it by being very devoted and kind to all the family. Mother got so she thought no one could do anything so perfectly as “Idy”, and Dad went to her for everything. It was a lucky star shining for all of us when Ida came into the family. She never fell down in her duty in any way. When Dad was dying several years later his last words were “God bless you, Ida”

     Lide felt she was not needed at home so went over to Coalinga and found work in dressmaking and tailoring. About this time she met Dick Davis, a young man that was employed on the pipe line and she married him in 1911, on her thirty-eighth birthday, July 6^th . We had a pretty evening wedding on the porch at home and they went away quite happy to live on a cattle ranch in Kern County.

     When we had been in Fresno a few years Jim got in some trouble with the railroad and lost his position and needed financial aid. E. K. Was the first one to come forward to help and loaned him all he had in the bank - a small return for the way he had helped us when we needed help. Later he was restored to service and was yardmaster at Los Angeles until retired for disability years later.

     When Charlie had been married a few years they moved to the Pipe Line on the west side. We had remained in the small cottage all these years account of Mother being next door, but now felt we could move, and we went into a bigger and better place in the next block.

     Before moving, Harry had slept under a large pepper tree in the back yard. He had manufactured a swing seat to hang from the umbrella tree and also a lawn seat that he said was to help marry off his sisters. He always went to bed early and when he wanted to retire the yard might be full of young folks in the seat he had made and he would begin playing “The Star Spangled Banner”. This meant not only “standup” but “get out”, and he would soon have the back yard to himself.

     He was about the first boy in town to try experiments with radio, and I think had the first aerial, breaking down our chimney and nearly falling from the roof while putting it up. He had inherited his father’s wanderlust and took yearly trips, once returning to Arkansas, visiting his old haunts. Another year he went down in Old Mexico and the following year to Alaska. He always said he was leaving to stay, but, like his father, he always came back. I advised him to go and get it all out of his system before he had a family. He was very quiet like his da, but always gave me his confidence. I would listen patiently to all his plans and schemes. He was always too busy to every think or do a wrong thing. I can truthfully say, excepting illness, he never gave me a minute of worry in his life.

     In 1913 he planned a vacation to Panama. That was before the Isthmus had been cleaned of fever and disease and I dreaded to have him go there. I said, “You have never been to Hawaii. Take a trip over to Honolulu.” He followed my advice and I lost my boy. This time he didn’t come back.

     Ernest had taken on a sweetheart, Grace Scott, and was so enamored that when she moved to Bakersfield he followed and secured work there. Her parents soon moved back to Fresno and he came back and took a position with the Goodrich Rubber Company.

     Changes were plenty and life moved fast. Between the home and ranch I was kept pretty busy. One summer, in 1910, we decided to rent a cottage at Inverness and all have a little vacation. E. K. did not want to go (he seemed over his restlessness) but Lide , the girls and I went and it was a very delightful outing. Inverness is situated in Marin County on Tomales Bay, an inlet of salt water from the ocean. Here the girls learned to swim and became very enthusiastic.

     Helen always kept up her enthusiasm and became an expert swimmer. Several years later she was swimming instructor at the Campfire Girls’ camp in the mountains back of Los Angeles. I may mention here a little incident of her being taken out with a rip tide at Long Beach one summer. Though life guards made many rescues she did not have to call for help but got back by keeping her head and taking her time.

     Mother used to get so lonesome on the Pipe Line that I had her often with me, as she loved to be where the children were. She had developed cataracts and was fast losing her sight. Lide had earned the money dressmaking and bought her a wheel chair. This was the only way we had of taking her out. At times she was very depressed as she couldn’t do work of any kind and couldn’t see to read. Feeling one could not be unhappy out in the sunshine, I would ride her for blocks. She weighed two hundred pounds so it was quite a push. I would come back pretty tired but she always came back in good spirits, so it was worth it. She kept her interest in the newspapers and loved a good story, so I would read aloud for hours, thus helping her forget the summer heat. The time would come when she felt she must see “Idy” and Charlie again, so we would take her back.

     Helen graduated in 1912. The other children finished so young I suggested she would not hurry too fast through high school and one year, for the first time, she flunked. I made it quite clear that that wasn’t what I meant. She got busy and finished in the proper time. I was in hopes she would be happy to stay home as I really needed someone to help me. After a few months she became restless and entered Business College.

     When she finished and went to work, she went blithely from one job to another, enjoying the changing about and used to say, when she quit and got married, she had the record for being hired and fired. Her firing consisted of her own resigning as she enjoyed the change.

     Flora was entirely different, setting her mind on her work and faithfully looking out fr her employer’s interests. Her first position with Mr. Powell, a public accountant, she held four years, and he next one with Waterman Brothers, six years.

     Just after Helen was out of school the girls wanted to take a trip up to Big Creek and E. K. and I took them and a girl friend up to spend the Thanksgiving holidays and attend a dance. Big Creek was a camp where a power house and other electric development were taking place. There were about two hundred men at work, all fine looking boys - some engineers and many would-be engineers. Girls were at a great premium. All the girls had a delightful time. For months our back yard and front porch were pretty well cluttered up by visitors from the mountains. It was Helen’s first experience with admirers, other than school boys, and she tried to entertain them all at once.

     Helen and Flora used to try and take their summer vacations together which pleased me as Flora was reserved and Helen the reverse, giving Flora the job of holding her down. Flora would complain that Helen “talked to everybody, even flirted with the elevator boys at the hotel”.

     One September when Helen’s vacation came, Flora couldn’t go with her, so I decided to join her in a vacation up to San Francisco at the hotel for a few days, then for an ocean trip to San Diego. We left San Francisco harbor at four o’clock and were scarcely over the bar before Helen had made the acquaintance of a Honolulu boy whom she found knew Harry in Hawaii. The “Harvard” carried a fine orchestra and there was dancing on deck. I made a poor chaperon and retired to our cabin early. Helen danced with her new friend and made a request for some musical numbers of the orchestra ‘cellist, who was a young German named Amsterdam. In the morning he sought Helen out and was exceedingly attentive until we reached Los Angeles Harbor when he had to leave the boat. We continued on to San Diego where we were entertained by old Michigan friends, the Giffords. After a delightful visit we sailed on the “Yale” for Los Angeles. We were entertained there by our McClellan cousins. When Amsterdam returned on the “Harvard” he got our Los Angeles telephone number and became very annoying and persistent, wishing to call on Helen. He was turned down by our host and asked to cease his attentions. After we arrived in Fresno he kept up a fusillade of letters, with little encouragement, and finally ceased to annoy us, bu we had not heard the last of Amsterdam.

     In April, 1915, Harry made his first trip home. He had advanced the information that he had made his choice of the girl who was to be his wife in another year. She was one of five daughters of a Scotchwoman recently widowed, and her name was Eva Hastie, a native of the Islands as she was born on Kauai on the Maukaweli plantation, almost the exact landing spot of the explorer, Captain Cook, (1778) where a monument of commemoration stands. I wanted Harry to have a wife and home if he wasn’t to come back to us so the news made me happy.

     We all enjoyed his visit very much. When he was getting ready to leave he said, “Now, Mamma, it is going to be hard to part this time, but please try not to make a scene, as I couldn’t stand it to see you in tears and will hate to come again if I have to leave you feeling badly.” I think he had recollections of the copious tears Mother always shed whether we were coming or going. Suffice it is to say he had no complaisant then nor many times afterwards. I always sent him away heartlessly smiling, though no one knew how my heart would be torn.

     Eva, with her mother and two sisters Janet and Mae, came to the Coast that same summer and made us a nice visit at Fresno. They were all very lovely and refined. We found them charming and interesting guests. We all loved Eva at once and were very pleased to accept her into the family.

     Flora had made a visit to see Harry the September after he went to Honolulu and she felt pretty well acquainted with the Hastie family.

     In 1915 the Panama Pacific Exposition was held in San Francisco. No one felt he could afford to miss it. Flora and Helen expected to spend there vacation there in October and were quite insistent that I go with them. I was in hopes E. K. would feel he could go, too, but he said, “You go with the girls and when the shipping slows up I will go up for a few days.” Knowing he would rather see it by himself, I made preparations to go.

     Charlie had moved back into Fresno again and was living out on Fresno Street about one and a half miles from our place. Mother often had bad spells from her old limb trouble and the day we set to go she was not very well. They had called Dr. Coyle, so I called at his office and asked him if I should leave town. He assured me her illness was nothing different than she had had before and said for me to go and have a good time. He ordered some bandages and drugs which I bought and took out to the house. Lide had been wanting to come up for a visit but felt she didn’t have the money. I left money for her ticket and asked Ida to send for her. When I called at the house to say good-bye I found Dad had had a bad night too, so I decided I had better give up my trip, but the family all insisted that I go. To my everlasting regret, I went!

     Mother did not improve. I was kept in ignorance until I had been ten days at the Exposition when E. K. wrote Mother seemed pretty ill. The girls and I left at once for home. Mother was in coma when I reached there and died two days later (October 25,1915) without knowing me. I was the only one by her side when she breathed her last. I closed her eyes and crossed her hands in the rest that she coveted. The family was overcome with grief and lamentations, but I could only feel dazed and numb. No tears came to my relief. I could not make my loss seem real until the following morning when I called at the mortuary with white carnations to put in her hands. Grief came to me in full and alone by her side I was overcome by my loss. I had known a mother’s love and always been near her for fifty-one years. How could life go on without her? Yet, I would not call her back. Life had become such a burden and so little for which to live was left.

     We laid her away on a beautiful sunny afternoon with a white rose blooming above her head. That was nearly twenty-two years ago and the same rose still blooms. Winter or summer, when I visit the grave I can always find a bloom or bud and it seems a part of Mother to me.

     Until we knew of Mother’s serious condition the girls and I enjoyed the Fair very much. The exhibits were wonderful, the girls were lots of fun, and we enjoyed the hotel life, a pleasant change for me. We visited everything together, but one day a suggestion was made that we go our separate ways for the day. I recall it was a day given over to honor Edison, Burbank, and Henry Ford. I spent the time with much pleasure, heard all three men speak and learned many things about plants, automobiles and electricity, and learned a lot about the men honored.

     When we had arrived in San Francisco Amsterdam had almost immediately popped up. We learned later he had been keeping track on our hotel register. He was playing in the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. He was very kind to all three of us and took us out to dinner. He was quite charming in manners and about convinced us he was all right. The day we chose to go by ourselves he requested the pleasure of showing Helen the Palace of Fine Arts. She was wild to go and I consented. When I returned to the hotel in the evening Flora was there but not Helen. I asked, “What did you do today?” She answered, “I have been up in an airship!” She had been wild to go up ever since assisting Mr. Powell at an air meet. The flyer, Christofferson, she had met at that time and wanted him to take her up, but regulations wouldn’t allow it. He was making a business of flying at the Fair at ten dollars a passenger, and here was her chance. They flew over the city and out over the ocean. She got her money’s worth and returned happy, but as she had left no word where she was going and no names of the passengers were taken, I felt she had done wrong to take a chance as, without leaving me word, if anything had happened I might never have known what had become of her. Christofferson was killed in a crash a short time after. Airships twenty-two years ago were different that now.

     We had a guest, Betty Erwin, staying the night with us at the hotel. When Helen didn’t return late in the evening we all began to feel anxious. I had all kinds of visions of what might have happened. It seemed silly to mention our worries to the hotel staff and though I considered notifying the police, I refrained, feeling I would be considered unreasonable and foolish to be alarmed over a couple out for a good time at the Fair. None of us could sleep, and some time after midnight Helen came tripping in all excited and exclaimed, “Oh, I never came so near being married!” Explaining she had been for a long time just across the street in St. Francis Park listening to Amsterdam pleading for an immediate marriage, she undressed, hopped into bed, and was sound asleep in ten minutes. It took the rest of us some time to settle ourselves. She had been wanting excitement and thrills and she was getting them.

     Word came in the morning of Mother being worse and I hurried the girls into returning home with me. We packed and called the bellboy to take down our baggage. At the foot of the elevator Amsterdam appeared as if from the floor. He went with us to the Ferry Building , continued across the Bay, and onto the Pullman at Oakland. He talked seriously to me and begged me to “trust him”. I was about to call a brakeman to put him off when he sprang from the train. We thought, “We are rid of him at last!” We were mistaken.

     As soon as we reached home letters, telegrams, and long distance messages began to arrive. E .K. wired him to cease his annoyance. Surely he must be crazy, we thought. It was the next day that Mother died. I came home that evening and found two police officers on the front porch guarding the house. They had received a telegram from Chief of Police White, of San Francisco, saying, “Amsterdam on his way to Fresno to kill Miss Eby and himself.” Protect Miss Eby.” We sent Helen to a friend’s house the other side of town. The excitement ended here, for a friend had met him on the ferry and, realizing his condition, got him to go home with her until his friends could reach him. This was all fun and excitement for Helen and she never realized her danger.

     Since high school days she had been going with Alex Robb, a dear boy whom we all loved, and she kept him upset as well as she did me. She had had her thrill and was made to realize her greatest happiness lay in marrying Alex. She announced her engagement and the wedding date was set for February 17^th, 1916. She was married at nine o’clock in the morning at St. James Episcopal Church with only a few friends and the family in attendance. Flor was maid of honor and walked ahead of Helen who was on her father’s arm. As Flora passed where I was sitting I whispered “Slow Down”. She was going at a pretty good stride. She shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands as much as to say, “The sooner the better.” We often laughed about it afterwards.

     Helen was dressed in a navy blue traveling suit with a pretty spring straw hat. We drove to the church in the heaviest fog I ever saw. I have always retained the vision of her as she kneeled at the alter with the candlelight on her hair, which was curled around her face from the dampness, and the fog moisture clung in drops to the curls. Her big blue eyes were like stars. Alex was very handsome in his slim youth and happiness radiated from him. She had given him quite a race but he won, just as she always intended he should.

     After the wedding she tossed Grace her boquet and they drove away in a gib gray Buick roadster that seemed to dissolve in the fog. They spent their honeymoon in San Francisco, which was only marred by a fine for speeding when coming home.

     It was hard to return to a home that was not cheered by our sunny Helen. We had named her Helen Louise without knowing the names meant “Light, good and desirable.” Yet how she filled that description. The rest of my family all being non-talkers, her chatter was music to my soul. She always came in bursting with excitement of some kind and there wasn’t much of her day’s doings that she didn’t tell at the table to amuse us.

     Our table was a very happy gathering place at the end of the day. All were through work and we never allowed any unpleasantness at the table. We would sit indefinitely until I gave the signal by picking up and carrying out the coffee pot, telling the girls to get busy on the dishes. The kitchen soon would be a medley of rattling dishes and the laughter and conversation of the girls, who were always very fond of each other and decidedly congenial.

     On the return of the Robbs they settled in a little brick cottage and were very happy fixing up their new home. We never went many days without seeing them and I arranged to always have them over for Sunday dinner with the family.

     Harry never failed to write me a good letter every week in answer to mine: in all the years he has been gone he has never failed to send me weekly word. So I still kept my family, though away from me.

     Harry’s and Eva’s wedding came off in July the same year Helen was married. They had a beautiful wedding at the home of Eva’s mother in Eleele, Kauai. Eva was in white silk and long veil and I was told she made a very beautiful bride and Harry was very happy and proud.

     When he was sent over to Eleele, on applying for work at Honolulu the year he went down, he went as a timekeeper on the plantation at seventy-five dollars per month. He left the position of Souther Pacific Claim Agent at a much larger salary, but he wanted a change. He met Eva the first evening he arrived in Eleele and fell in love on sight. Soon after they were married he was made assistant manager of the McBride Plantation at a large salary and a sugar bonus. Added to this he had a nice home rent free.

     I continued to struggle with the ranch. I had hired white men, Japs, Germans, and Russians and finally leased to Armenians by the name of Tosoosian, who did beautiful work for three years, making us a good profit, and in 1918 I finished paying out on the ranch. I had the deed made out jointly to E. K. And me. For the first time in all those years I gave him the books to look over. It was now a vineyard in which we both took great pride. Nothing is more beautiful than a well cared for vineyard. The long rows of well staked vines and the lush greenness give the possessor a glow of satisfaction, particularly after one has gone through all the labor pains of giving it birth. While I had been going back and forth looking after it I had take a University course on Viticulture, so I was always able to supervise intelligently.

     In 1919 vineyard prices went higher than ever known. Raisins sold as high as eighteen cents. War was over and money was plenty. Many ranches were being sold. I was offered sixteen thousand dollars for the ranch but turned it down. A few months later when offered twenty thousand five hundred dollars I decide I had better let it go. We sold on contract - fifty-five hundred dollars down, seven per cent interest for four years, then final payment.

     I must get back to Helen and Alex. They were anticipating a little one in March and were very happy. Helen made all the little clothes by hand and had a very pretty layette. I never sewed nicely by hand but felt I must contribute something besides a crocheted jacket and booties. Alex’s mother had donated some lonsdale cambric and Helen gave it to me to make some little morning slips. I worked painfully, a stitch at a time (it must be handmade) in the cambric, that seemed to have an antipathy to the needle. Ida made me some fine tatting out of 100 thread, and the work was completed, and added to the dainty handmade garments. Later when Helen was sending clothes to the poor Belgians, I discovered my “handwork” amongst the garments, showing they had never been worn. Like the elephant, I have never forgotten, and Helen Laughs at me yet because I haven’t.

    When Helen’s time came she was confined at her home and had a trained nurse and doctor in attendance. The doctor mercifully put her under ether for two hours before the baby came which had its effect on the baby. He came into the world grey and lifeless. He took a great ducking, first cold, then hot, water and with a spanking added, he gave a little cry and decided to live. Alex and I clung to each other in fear and trembling until the little wail gave us hope. The doctor handing him to me and told me to breathe into his lungs while he and the nurse gave Helen their attention. With every breath I gave a prayer that the little life would be spared. My prayers were answered and he is now twenty years of age and has always been devoted and loving to me. I often am accused of loving him best of the grandchildren.

     Helen became one of the modern mothers and I was denied the pleasure of rocking him and knew the agony of listening to him cry for an hour before going to sleep. He was given the name of Alan Russell.

     About six months before he was born, only a few months after Helen was married, she saw a beautiful English baby cab that she coveted and went in to the merchant to see about buying it, fearing she wouldn’t be able to find one like it when the baby came. He asked, “How old is your baby/” This was embarrassing, but she finally said “About six months”. When he took her name and address he said, “Why, I know Alex. I knew he was married, but I didn’t know there was a baby.” She sent Alex down right away to fix things and restore her reputation.

     Ernest and Grace had been going together six years, but on December 2^nd , 1916, they were married at Grace’s home; just a little home wedding with a few friends and relatives. Grace was married in pink silk that was adorned with lace her grandmother had worn. She looked very nice and Ernest looked pale and dignified, but hot, with the perspiration standing out on his forehead. They went on a wedding trip to San Diego and came back and settled in a pretty cottage not far from us.

     My family had been slow in starting matrimony but three married in less than a year. We were happy to still have our Flora. I always called her my thoughtful daughter as she did so many generous and kind deeds for all. She missed her sister as she had always slept with her and waited on her. She used to say she got up and got her drinks for her at night until she was married.

     I was exceedingly happy and contented to see them getting homes of their own and each choice had been very desirable with all of us.

     It was on August 14^th, 1917, we received the happy news that little Harry Junior was born in Kauai, and Harry and Eva were delight parents.

     The month after Alan was born Ernest called me from the Burnett Sanitarium one night and said Grace had been taken suddenly ill and had lost her baby that was to have been born the following October. We all felt badly, but grace became well and strong again, and their loss was softened by the arrival of a fine boy July 29, 1918, who was named Jack Scott Eby.

     Ernest’s company had recently sent him to Sacramento but Grace came to Fresno to be near her mother when she was ill. The morning she was taken sick she was taken to the hospital and her mother called me and said. “Grace is sick and I just

can’t go and stay with her. Will you go and stay with her?” I was glad to go and greet the little arrival and was repaid by getting the first kiss.

     Ernest arrived hot and dusty after a hurried trip down from the Capital but was an hour late. Grace would look at her baby until Ernest could bring it to her. I accompanied him to the nursery where eight new babies lay in their cribs, each one dressed in just a band and diaper. I said, “There they are. Pick him out.” He passed down the line to the fourth basket and said, “Here is my Jack.” He was the newest one there and lay sucking his thumb and looked bigger than the others but Ernest made no mistake.

     In April, 1917, we were forced into the World War. Alex was a Canadian and had never taken out papers. He knew he would be called so went to San Francisco and then to Canada where he was signed up in the British Air Force. Before leaving he had fixed up his business expecting it to support Helen and her baby. He left them with us and I was so glad to have them with me I could almost forgive the Germans. With Alex gone his business began failing, and Helen was obliged to go to work. She secured a position with the Union Oil Company, and worked cheerfully to support her baby and help keep Alex’s business from going on the rocks. It was heaven to me to have Alan for hours to myself. He was just fourteen months old when Alex left. He could walk and was learning to talk. He called me “OoHoo” as I always called “OoHoo” when I reached the house.

     The morning Alex left I had nice breakfast with red, white and blue decorations and flags at every plate. We were all trying to be brave as well as patriotic! A cousin of ours, Captain Hammond, was present, having brought his wife Ruth and little Harriet to stay with us until he knew where he would be sent. Lamont Quick was also with us and later joined the Army.

     Ruth had a fainting spell the night before and was not able to be at breakfast. She said we all laughed at the table as if it were a big and happy celebration. Why not? Tears didn’t help much those days. Helen went to the train and saw Alex depart. She sent him away with a smile. Her courage and good cheer lasted until his return from England a year later.

     Alex had no sooner gone than Charlie wanted to join the Railroad Engineers and go overseas. Ida was perfectly willing to find work and let him go. He came to me all thrilled and asked what I thought. I told him, “Certainly, you go, and I’ll take care of Dad”, which seemed to be the difficulty. He left the house in high spirits. He soon returned with tears of disappointment in his eyes and said, Margaret, it is all off. Dad threw a monkey wrench.” I said, “Don’t give up until I see Dad.” And did I give my old Dad a lecture! All his life and Mother’s they had taken a toll from Charlie who was the best son I ever knew. He had supported the and devoted all of his life to them and give up gracefully when he wanted to go to the Spanish War in his youth.” All this I told him and more. I said, “Charlie is going whether you like it or not, and you are coming to me and I’ll give you the best care I can.” He said,”But I am eighty years old; I may never see Charlie again.” To this I said, “Yes, you are eighty and all your life you have come first but now it is Charlie’s turn.” I went back and told Charlie to go back to Dad but not to weaken. Dad had turned about face and the next day bought a “Father’s soldier button” and wore it with the deepest price. I thought, “What my conscience will do to me if Charlie doesn’t come back or Dad dies while he gone”, neither of which happened. Dad came to us cheerful and happy. He worked every day at a news stand and saved all his money to buy Liberty Bonds. He never ceased to speak with pride of “My boy in France”.

     Ida found a good position at the San Joaquin Light and Power Company and boarded with a friend. I would liked to have had her but our space was limited and I was caring for four generations and doing all my work. All our household joined in doing what they could to help everyone be cheerful. Dad was lovely with the baby and there was never any discord with the different ages.

     E. K. Would come directly home from work at four o’clock and Alan would just be up from his nap. He would put him in his cart and take him out and care for him until Helen arrived at five. This period would be my time for an afternoon nap and rest, which helped me to keep going. I knew what it was to be pretty tired at times but I couldn’t lie down on my job. I smiled to myself one day when I heard a lady had criticized me for not doing my bit for the Red Cross.

     Ida became quite ill and on calling the doctor he said, “An operation is necessary.” It was appendicitis and I went with her and stayed at the hospital through the operation. Each day she was at the hospital I found time to call on her. I hired a special nurse as I could take no chances of losing Ida. When she was able to be moved I had her brought to the house and cared for her until she was able to work again. It was only a few months until I had to accompany her again to the hospital to have her tonsils out.

     After that she was very well until she took the flu in the big 1918 epidemic. Everyone of sufficient age remembers this terrible plague. We must have been under divine protection for not a man escaped it in the office where E. K. worked except he. In Waterman Brothers garage Flora Mr. Waterman were practically the only ones out of about forty employees that escaped. Helen worked at the Union Oil Company where the force was almost depleted and she kept perfectly well. None of us at home came down. Deaths were frequent, and funerals constantly passed the house. Everyone had to wear protective masks and they looked weird going about. Churches were used as temporary hospitals and all helped who were well enough. Gloom and grief prevailed everywhere.

     Ernest was living in Oakland at that period and one night phoned to see if he could get some help. Grace and Jack(six months old) were both sick and he could get no nurse but was lucky enough to get a doctor. There flat was heated with gas and the firs thing the doctor ordered was the heating gas turned off. It was a very cold spell and their only heat had to come from a small fireplace, but the doctor said it was better than the gas in their illness. Ernest had thought Aunt Lide was with us and might come up but she had gone home. Feeling it was Mrs. Scott’s privilege to go up I ‘phoned her and told her I would be glad to go if she preferred. She decided to go up on the morning train. I wired Ernest “Mrs. Scott going up in the morning. If you need me give me twenty minutes before train time and I’ll come on the first train.” The following night he called just as we were getting ready for bed and said, “Mrs. Scott won’t accept any responsibility, so I’ll take your offer up.” The train left before midnight and I was on my way.

     When I arrived in Oakland it was a col, grey morning and everybody wearing flu masks. I caught a taxi and was soon out to the house. Mrs. Scott met me at the door, and put her arms around me and sobbed, “Oh, we have such a sick baby! I’m glad you came.” Ernest was trying to coax some heat out of the fireplace which he had surrounded with sheets trying to warm that much space. Grace was sitting up in bed much better. Poor little Jack lay pinched and cold, buried in a pneumonia jacket and sopping wet. They feared to chill him by changing him in the cold. “I started to pick him up and Mrs. Scott says, “Oh, you mustn’t take him out of the crib as he’ll get cold.” I said he was cold anyway and took him behind the sheets where there was a little heat from the coal. He was blue about the mouth and his little nose and hands were cold as death. Ernest warmed a blanket to lay him in on my lap. I took off the wet garments, heated some diapers and warmed his little legs and called for a hot water bag. There were two bags in the house but no one had thought to use them. I asked if the doctor had left any medicine and Ernest said, “Yes, but we choke him when we try to give it.” I took the crops, put them in a spoon with which I held his tongue down and it rolled down easily. They were all sure I was choking him to death. He began getting better soon and Mrs. Scott always said I had saved his life.

     Mrs. Scott and I slept together on a single couch and used our wraps for covering. Grace had some sherry wine in the house and it being New Year’s night Mrs. Scott and I each drank a glass to get warm as well as to celebrate, and Grace declares to this day that we got a jag on. Anyway, we felt pretty happy to know Jack was going to live. Mrs. Scott left right away but I stayed until Grace was up.

     When I reached home the first news I got was of Ida being down with the flu. She was being cared for nicely by the friend where she boarded so I didn’t try to move her as I was afraid Dad or the baby might get it.

     About a month later E.K. got up one morning with his jaws swelled to an enormous size. We thought it was mumps but the doctor said he was too old, just having had his sixtieth birthday. He did not feel badly so went to work every day. About two weeks later Helen came down in the same way and Alan a few days later, so we had to admit it was the old-fashioned mumps.

     When the Armistice was signed on November 11, 1918, we rejoiced with the whole world, and anxiously awaited the return of our loved ones.

     Christmas of 1918 was a most wonderful one at our house. War was over, money was plentiful, and we knew our loved ones would soon be home. Lide and Dick came up and Jim was with them. Their car was loaded with chickens, turkeys, fruit, jellies, butter, cream and other good things. Everyone generously gave to the other. Jim took Ida down town, gave her a check and told her to go the limit and not forget anyone. Christmas Eve our large dining room table was loaded with packages in fancy wrapping paper and tinsel. It seemed almost too much. It made me look back and think of the Christmas of my youth, when what we got could be put into a stocking. A candy cane, popcorn ball, an orange, some nuts, and possibly a small doll or a hand sled were added. Added to this would be a net bag of cheap candy from Sunday School. We were very happy and always considered it a glorious occasion.

     Alex had left his typewriter at our house and in odd moments, when not busy, I used to practice on it with the aid of an instruction book. When he returned I had learned to handle it very efficiently by the touch system and have been sorry I didn’t buy a machine and keep it up for I love to write and do a great deal of it.

     During the war activities Flora wanted to go across with the Y.M.C.A. They would take her as a secretary but she wanted real work and refused to go otherwise; so she did her share here at home in assisting in dispensing the sugar. Any housewife in town that wanted to put up fruit had to get her permission to buy the sugar needed.

     After the was closed she seemed dissatisfied in Fresno and Helen said to her, “When you hate the heat and don’t like Fresno, why don’t you go to San Francisco and get a job?” This seemed to make an appeal to her and she left us with a fist full of Liberty Bonds to go on, and went up and sought work. She wrote she was about ready “to eat her Bonds” when she found just what she wanted and went to work in the Flood Building for an insurance firm. She secured board in a very comfortable hotel filled mostly with young business people and seemed quite content.

     Once she wrote she dreamed she saw me bake a big batch of lovely cookies with loads of fruit in between. I knew what this meant. I sent her the cookies and, with apologies to K.C.B., I made up some lines in his style and sent with them. This pleased her more than the cookies.

             This is continued in Book Two__

        (With apologies to K.C.B.) M.C.E.

                                   “WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE’

A Mother I know is

         .....

Not good looking but is

         .....

Wears a kitchen apron

          .....

Ane smells like bacon

        .....

And good things in the

        .....

Oven for she has so

        .....

Many to cook for and

        .....

Everything and can always

        .....

Be found where the good

     .....

Smell comes from three

        .....

Times a day but she

        .....

Loves it because she loves

        .....

The ones who like her

        .....

Pies and cakes and everything

        .....

She has dear sons and

        .....

Daughters and all have left

        .....

The home where this

        .....

Mother lives but something

        .....

Seems to draw them back

        .....

Maybe it is the smell

        .....

That comes from that

        .....

Kitchen I don’t know but

        .....

Anyway they do come

        .....

Back and she is always

        .....

Glad and cooks and

        .....

Bakes and smiles because

        .....

She is happy to do

        .....

For these children she

        .....

Loves so much and

        .....

When one of these

        .....

Daughters working in

        .....

A big city writes home

        .....

A letter and adds a

        .....

P.S. and Says I

        .....

Dreamed last night

        ....

I saw you bake a BIG

        .....

Batch of those lovely

        .....

Cookies with LOADS of

        .....

Thick fruit in between

        .....

Then the Mother reads

        .....

The letter and laughs

        .....

To herself and goes into

        .....

The kitchen and gets

        .....

Into her apron and

        .....

Soon her kitchen smells

        .....

Of cookies with sugar on

        .....

The top and loads of

        .....

Fruit in between and

        .....

This busy Mother dreams

        .....

Too and wishes she

        .....

Could make all her

        .....

Dear ones dreams come

        .....

True so easily but is

        .....

Happy anyway thinking

        .....

She will look for a

        .....

Letter in a few days

        .....

That says

        .....

I THANK YOU

                                June 8, 1919

     Cousin Earl Hammond was the first of our people to return from France. He found Ruth in the last stage of tuberculosis. He did all that could be done for her but she passed away in Vallejo where Earl was on duty. Little Harriet was sent to her grandmother’s in Los Angeles.

     He evidently was lonesome and called to see Flora, making quite a little of the kinship, though the connection was not close. His grandmother and her grandmother were half sisters.

     Alex came home in May. He wired ahead and Helen bought new clothes and went to San Francisco to meet him. I guess they were about the happiest re-united couple in the city. Flora was invited to dinner with them but she said they really didn’t know she was there; they just sat and looked at each other. When they came home they were anxious to get in a little home of their own again so soon left and went to a little brick bungalow Helen had rented. Whey they took my baby and moved out his things, I thought my heart would break and I almost wished the war wasn’t over.

     Charlie did not get home until August. He found Dad hale and hearty and pleased to get him back all safe. Ida was perfectly well and they began looking for a house to buy. They found a good little place and Dad was the proudest being on earth when he handed his Liberty Bonds over to Charlie for the first payment. I gave Dada an honorable discharge. He took his little Maxine and her puppies and went away rejoicing.

     Lamont had been discharged but before returning to Fresno he married Neva Slade, a dear girl we had known and loved from childhood. They were married in Cleveland and came directly to Fresno. They stayed with us until they found a place to live, and from then on they have always been like our own family.

     It was at this time that the ranch was sold. Harry was begging me to plan a trip to Hawaii. He and Ernest were both willing to help pay my expenses for the help I had given them with the ranch. My family had gone, the ranch was sold, and we had a bigger bank account than ever before. I struck a bargain with the family - I would plan to go if E.K. would go with me. He instantly refused, saying, “You go over and I’ll plan to go next year if you think I would like it.” Here is where I struck on traveling in single harness, and was firm in my refusal to go if he wouldn’t. After many excuses he finally gave in and asked for a three months layoff. He began to plan with even more pleasure than I did for the trip.

     We sent to San Francisco for boat reservations and found the travel was so increased we could not get tickets for three months. We made our reservations for December 24^th, 1919, first-class on the “S.S. Lurline”. The man who owned the house we were renting wanted it for his own use, so we had to give it up. We decided not to rent another until our return. We stored our goods in Helen’s barn and a rear shed at Ernest’s. He had moved back to Fresno and was working in the truck tire business for Larson and Krog. We went to Helen’s to board until we sailed. E.K. kept on working. For the first time in many years I had time on my hands.

     Dick was away from home and Lide wanted me to visit her at the ranch as she was alone. I left E.K. in Helen’s care and went down for a few weeks. We had a wonderful visit all by ourselves. They had a big bloodhound on the ranch. He was a very valuable dog for protection, so Lide knew no fear if Ben were around.

     One day while I was there some men shot some mudhens on the reservoir and sent Ben after them. He brought them out reeking with blood and ate them. Lide had about two hundred Black Minorca laying hens. The night after Ben retrieved the mudhens we heard a terrible commotion in the chicken yard. It was brilliant moonlight and Lide rushed out. Old Ben and a young shepherd dog were chasing the hens from their coops. Ben would catch one in his jaws, break its back and go to another. Lide grabbed a club and tried to frighten him off, but he turned on her so fiercely I was in a panic for fear of an attack on her. At last he slunk off with his companion of guilt and we gathered up the hens by moonlight. There were about eighty of them with their backs broken. It was near morning and we dressed and got busy cleaning chickens. Ben had sucked the blood when he crunched them in his jaws so they were all right for dressing and eating. It took us half a day to clean them. Having the tooth marks on their backs they were no good for marketing and we distributed them among our friends. For pay Lide asked each recipient to write a few lines of poetry. They made a good many unexpected chicken dinners and Lide received some amusing lines.

     When Dick came home he tied Ben to the barn and beat him unmercifully. He accounted for Ben’s deed on account of getting fresh blood from the mudhens. Lide thought they should dispose of him but Dick considered him too valuable in many ways.

     That fall Dick was considering getting more land over in the desert as he was cramped for range where he was. We had been doing a little cattle business on shares with him and he was so honest we trusted him implicitly. Knowing we had money banked, he influenced us to let him have two thousand dollars to close a deal on a desert ranch and he would dispose of the present ranch and pay us back by the time we returned from Hawaii.

     He said if he could secure that land and we would furnish young cattle he come have a nice income rolling in to us when E.K. had to arbitrarily retire in a few years. E.K. and I both agreed it sounded reasonable and with all the confidence in the world we loaned him the money we expected to build a new home with upon our return. We had our lots all paid for in a beautiful part of the city. We took his personal note only for security and also bought and shipped him a carload of young cattle, Flora and Ernest going in on shares. Lide and Dick moved over to the desert that winter.

     The time approached for our voyage. I went down and spent more on new clothes than I ever did at one time before. Besides many little necessities, I bought a coat, hat, gloves, shoes and a traveling dress, besides an evening gown of old rose crepe with jet trimming. I felt like the old woman in Mother Goose - “Lawk a mercy on me, this is none of I”. I had always had to be so economical and think of others first that my extravagance was something new. E.K. had new tailored suits and plenty of good clothes.

     We were taking two trunks. One held cold weather clothing and the other, light weight for the tropics. We were leaving every one at home well and happily situated and left town with light hearts. I felt as though we were starting on a second honeymoon and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the kids had thrown rice on us. They were all so pleased to see us enjoying our prosperity. They bad us “Bon Voyage” with much love and good wishes.

     We went to San Francisco a few days ahead of sailing and enjoyed the time with Flora and her friends, taking them out for dinner. The night before sailing they held a celebration with a Christmas tree, giving joke presents and we had a jolly time. Flora wasn’t able to get away when the boat sailed so we had only strangers to see us off.

     We left the hotel after breakfast to go to the pier and attend to our baggage. One trunk seemed to be missing but we were assured the Transfer Company would attend to it. We went on the boat about four o’clock. I was glad to sit down for my high heels and the Embarcadero cobblestones had been giving me distress.

     I enjoyed watching the last minute rush; friends bidding good-bye, passengers running around with dogs on a leash looking for “pet quarters”, cabin boys placing baggage, delivery boys carrying huge boquets of blowers and packages of all kinds, and a stewardess carrying a large basket on her arm passing out rolls of confetti to everybody. A whistle blew and the warning was sounded, “All ashore!” for those going ashore. The winches loading baggage ceased their whine. The hawsers were thrown off and the ship was slowly moving out. Everyone aboard and on the pier threw confetti and it was a pretty sight with the streaming ribbons floating out on the water.

     The salt air was cold and a fog coming in. We slowly steamed through the Golden Gate. The fog horns were sounding their dismal warning. Through the thin fog we could see a ship that had preceded us out of the harbor casting its anchor on the bar. It was soon dipping and swaying and we laughed at its antics. We soon realized our ship was casting her own anchor and we were going through the same performance. They were being held up by tide and fog.

     We went inside and soon the dinner gong sounded. All chose any place for the first meal, but would be properly seated at breakfast. It was Christmas Eve and the dining-room was decorated in greenery. A peculiar and disagreeable odor permeated everywhere. At first I thought it might be the greenery, but learned later it was the disinfectants which were used before sailing.

     We were very weary and retired early. Our cabin contained two bunk beds and a leather davenport. There were side boards to the bunks to keep one from rolling out, but we bumped from side to side as the ship continued to circle on her line. I did not go to sleep until about one o’clock when I heard the anchor being hauled up and the ship took on a new movement. We swayed gently and with a rhythm that lulled me to rest.

     E.K. was up early and walking the deck. The fog was gone and the sun was shining brightly. As I went up he joined me and arm in arm we walked until the breakfast gong sounded. We went down to find the breakfast table very festive. The steward placed us at our respective places. At each plate there was a beautiful card with a list of all the passengers and a box of choice candy with the captain’s holiday greeting. The passengers seemed few. I soon knew why. We ordered breakfast and when it arrived and I had a whiff of bacon and toast a disagreeable change came over me. All that saved me from disgracing my husband was the close proximity of our cabin on the same deck with the dining-room. What a Christmas! However, it was brightened when I received my first wireless, a Christmas greeting from Alan, and a few minutes later one from Jack.

     The night before a bright little Russian Jewess, Martha Wilchinski, attached herself to us and asked for a seat next to me at the table. We both were attacked with the dreadful sickness at the same time. We would suffer together in the dressing room and when the gong for meals sounded we would go together and join E.K. at the table. We never missed going to the table, whether or not we ate, a bit of advice handed us by the steward. If he caught me reaching for a glass of water he would quietly take it from me and say, “The worst thing you can do.” After forty-eight hours of this suffering, and I mean suffering, we were out of the land waves, and though we rolled heavily and listed from improper loading in the hold, we got our sea legs and we were in the best of health and spirits all the rest of the way.

     The weather was fine except the fourth day out when head winds delayed us twenty-fours hours. The ship rolled heavily and the spray was blown every place. The sailors dressed in oilskins and all the decks were canvassed. Our dishes were set in little wooden “fences” but we handled our food with difficulty and more than one passenger found his food sliding into his lap. By the next morning we were once more in smooth waters and a tropical sun was shining warmly. Many showers took place and rainbows were frequent. With the high sun they would look directly in front of us and almost as though we might sail into them. The officers came to breakfast in white uniforms and passengers came out in summer attire.

     Our passenger list was only eighty and by this time we began to feel acquainted with nearly every one, and like old friends when we reached Honolulu. There was dancing at night and deck sports afternoons, besides betting on the daily log.

     Some days after breakfast E.K. and I would only meet for our meals and the bedtime hour. I loved to lie in the deck chair by the hours. It made me very happy to see him enjoying everything and particularly the excellent meals. Besides the three regular meals served there would be hot broth and crackers brought around deck about ten A.M by the deck steward, and sherbets and little cakes in the afternoon. There was always a basket of fruit in our cabin.

     We had the Captain’s dinner New Year’s Eve. This is a regular occasion on the last night at sea. The cook had decorated the tables beautifully with boquets made from vegetables, a very clever idea - white roses from turnips, red roses from beets, and bunches of small yellow roses from carrots. Mixed with greenery they were very effective. Poppers, balloons and New Year favors were at every plate. There is no formality on these occasions and everyone was out for fun and frolic. The light on Makapau Point could be seen so we were close to our destination and just slowly steamed along until morning. Many stayed up all night.

     As we rounded Diamond Head Point in the early morning I stood on deck for my first sight of Honolulu. We passed close to shore and could see Waikiki Beach and the Moana Hotel. The city lay facing south with the mountains for a background. The mountains were red and the city buried in tropical growth. The ocean in the foreground was indigo blue and it all made a scene like a picture on canvas. While enjoying the view my little Jewish friend, Martha came to bid me an affectionate farewell. I had learned what a clever little body she was, having published a humorous book on the United States Marines, a fast seller. She had entered the War as a press reporter and worked on press boats about the harbor of New York. She requested we keep up the friendship and I was proud to promise. For years we corresponded but now only hear from her occasionally when O. O. McIntyre mentions her in his column.

     About eight o’clock we went into quarantine and dropped anchor. A mail tug and a quarantine officer’s boat came along side and a doctor climbed aboard. Every passenger had to line up in a row. They were first counted, then stood with hands outstretched, palms up, while the doctor scrutinized each palm and looked into their eyes. After this formality we proceeded to the pier. Big and little Hawaiians swam about the ship and dived for pennies thrown out by the passengers and came up calling for more.

     The pier was lined with people all carrying leis on their arms which they placed on their friends’ necks as they greeted them at the gangplank. The band played and there was singing. There was no one to place one on us but we enjoyed the scene immensely.

     We took a taxi up to the Blaisdell Hotel and were about to register when Mae Hastie came hurrying in to greet us. She was married and making her home in Honolulu. She took us out to lunch. In the afternoon we hired an automobile and Mae directed us to many of the sights. I was quite overcome with the blooming hibiscus that brightened all the landscape. We drove to the Pali high up in the mountains back of the city. It is a pass where the wind never ceases and one can scarcely stand up alone against it. From there we had a gorgeous view, and Mae told us the historical story of the Hawaiian battles fought there and the bones of the losing tribe were still found at the foot of the mountain where they had been forced off the cliff by the sinning side.

     We were to board the “Kinau” and sail for Kauai at 4:30 so had to hurry to the pier and look after our baggage. Here we discovered our second trunk had never shown up.

     Just as we went aboard we saw a crowd coming which proved to be a group of our boat friends from the “Lurline” , all carrying leis. They had planned to surprise us this way and our hearts were touched with all the nice things they said to us. After placing the leis on us our pictures had to be taken.

     Fearing the roughness of the channel would bring on a spell of “mal-de-mer”, I refrained from eating dinner and we went to bed early. We were awakened at 2:30 by knocks at our door and some one calling “Nawiliwili”, the little port where we were to land. The ship was at anchor about a mile from shore and a small motor boat was putt-putting up to us, trailing several boats containing seats. There was no pier at the port that a large ship could enter, so all passengers had to be transferred by small boats. Harry had warned us of this mode of landing and begged us to try and get in the first boat as they would be so anxious to see us they couldn’t wait. It was a bright moonlight night and the sea unusually calm, the captain said.

     All but one boat had been taken from the motor boat and the officer in charge called for one man to go first. E.K. and I stood near and I urged him forward. He went down a ladder to a platform. Two large Hawaiians held the boat as steadily as possible and two more in the boat reached for the passengers one by one and swung them to their seats. E.K. being quite lame with a bad knee, I feared he might not make the jump safely. He did and a baby came next which he held in his lap while the mother made the jump. As soon as the boat was filled we started for shore. Here we came to a long pier where several were with lanterns. As we drew near two big natives came forward and two more in our boat stood up and watched the huge surf coming in until what appeared to be the right wave took us on its crest and as we swept in each passenger was picked up and thrown to the dock where they were caught by the men standing there. Quite a thrilling way of landing!

     The motor boat returned for another load of passengers and we began looking for our boy. Cars were there gathering up those who landed but there was no Harry. The other boats came and unloaded till all had come and gone. We were left sitting on the pier alone in the moonlight. In about thirty minutes we heard a shout and looking up the hill we saw Harry and Eva running toward us.

     Their pleasure in seeing us was dimmed by their being so mad at themselves for missing the boat. Plantation time had changed the day previous and when Harry set the alarm it was with a clock that had not been shoved forward an hour. We drove about fifteen miles to reach their home and found Janet there caring for the baby, who had to be awakened and shown to his grandparents.

     Everything was so new and strange. When we went out in the morning the air was so soft, the grass so green, and flowers everywhere. Doves were calling in the cane field and as they kept up their plaintive “OoHoo” my thoughts went lovingly to the little boy so far away.

     Eva’s mother and sisters, Janet and Maile, lived in a little cottage in the rear of Mabel’s home. Mabel was the sister married to Captain Leavitt, whose position was called Captain of the Port. They had a lovely large home and here was where we had many happy gatherings. The coffee pot was always on and something good to be had to eat. Mabel and Eva both kept Japanese maids who dressed in Japanese costume and were a novelty to us. E.K. spent hours with the Captain at his office and I went many places with Eva in her car.

     Our stray trunk did not reach us until just before we were leaving for home. We didn’t let this bother us too much. That was the trunk with our summer clothes. E.K. had a Chinese tailor make him two Khaki suits and Mabel being about my size loaned me a part of her wardrobe. The clothes we had were all too warm to wear.

     Our visit lasted nearly six weeks and it was difficult to tell who had the better time, E.K. or I. We were taken to see everything and place of interest on the Island. A list included the Barking Sands, water falls, Hanalei Bay, rice fields with water buffaloes at work, cane fields, sugar mills, pineapples, cocoanut groves, coffee plantation, beautiful parks and the lighthouse with the largest lens in the world. The roads were perfect and circled the Island, so we were always in sight of the sea. A strange phenomenon was that one side of the Island never got rain and on the other side were the mountain tops that had the greatest rainfall in the world, seven hundred inches. This rainfall caused the Island to have innumerable waterfalls and roaring rivers. Waimea Canyon was a small replica of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Kauai was called the Garden Isle and is the most entrancing of the group of eight islands.

     Little Harry was just two and a half and very bright for his age. He talked his own language fluently and could converse in Japanese with the maid and gardener; besides he had a smattering of Chinese and Portugese words. We enjoyed him thoroughly and loved him devotedly.

     Harry entertained his father with his boat building. He was building a large fishing sampan that would require two men to handle it. Eva entertained at a very pretty reception for me and we often went to afternoon parties.

     While there we saw some huge came fires that were being set by Japanese laborers who were making trouble. A wireless was sent to Honolulu and Uncle Sam sent some officers in uniform down. They drove about the Island in a huge grey car with an eagle on the radiator cap, and the Japs very soon quieted down, but it kept Harry pretty anxious as the manager depended entirely on him.

     A cane fire is a very fierce conflagration and quite exciting. As soon as discovered the plantation whistles blow, which means “quit work and all fight fire”. Auto trucks and the plantation railroad prepare to carry help to the blaze and all laborers are seen running with huge cane knives in their hands. The only way to stop the progress of the fire is to go ahead of it and chop down the cane. After one of these fires Harry would come in exhausted, looking like a negro with smoke and sticky molasses making him and his white clothes black.

     Eva’s mother was one of the dearest little old Scotch ladies I ever met. I enjoyed visiting with her for hours. She had come to the Islands from her home in Scotland nearly fifty years before. Her sweetheart had been a whaler in northern seas and wintered in Hawaii. When she was very young he sent for her to come and marry him. Alone she crossed the Atlantic, the American continent, and the Pacific Ocean to meet him in Honolulu. He took her to one of the Islands on which there was only one white woman. She told me she always found the Hawaiians kind and lovable and they were very fond of her. She had five daughters born, unattended by a doctor. Her husband was thrown from a horse and injured so that he died the year before Harry went down there.

     The plantations furnish everything to keep their help contented. On the plantation where Harry was they furnished a beautiful beach house on a grand beach. We often went there for a plunge and supper in the beach house. A woman was in attendance and everything to entertain the guests. The water was heavenly -always just the temperature of the shore and no shock was felt when going in. Across from Harry’s home was a fine tennis courts also built and kept for the help.

     The time came for us to say “good-bye” and be on our way. We were taken out on the small boat to the “Kinau” and left the harbor about five o’clock in the afternoon. The channel was a little rough and I was scarcely through dinner when I was overcome once more by seasickness. E.K. helped get my silk blouse and shoes off and I rolled into bed without any more undressing. He left me saying, “ I’ll walk around the deck and smoke a cigar.” In about an hour he came in to get ready for bed and said, “There isn’t a person in sight”. So I wasn’t the only victim.

     We were to land in Honolulu at four o’clock. We had an outside cabin and as I arose I looked out of the door and saw the Southern Cross perfectly framed by the doorway. Harry had been urging me to get up to see it as that was the only time it showed.

     When we docked I had to be helped to the taxi by E.K. and a friend as I was too dizzy to walk. I went directly to bed at the hotel and got up a few hours later feeling splendid.

     Our return passage was on the “S.S.Manoa” and she didn’t leave for a few days. This gave us a further chance to visit with Mae and Elmer, her husband. We went to the Seaside Hotel every evening for dinner and attended some very good shows. Mae was teaching so could not be at the boat to see us off, but sent Elmer down with leis for both of us. Just before the gangplank was hauled in we were pleasantly surprised to have Martha Wilchinski, who was staying in Hawaii, come running down the pier with more leis. She was not allowed to come aboard so we went to the end of the plank while she placed the leis about our necks.

     The Honolulu band played “Aloha”, singers sang and played the ukulele, and we were moving out. Hawaiian divers leaped from the high decks of the boat and came up with their heads through leis thrown onto the water. One is supposed to throw the leis to the waves and if they drift ashore safely it means we are coming back.

     The “Manoa” was a classier ship than the “Lurline:, but I didn’t like the way she took the waves. All the way up to the Coast we were following in the wake of a storm. She would take the waves head on and dip in to the trough of the sea and rise up to made another plunge. I soon knew I was in for it again. I was not so ill this time but quite uncomfortable all the way up.

     We had a cargo of sugar and bananas. When I would open my wardrobe door the smell of heating sugar in the hold would come out and smelled like candy in the making. This odor didn’t help matters and I would go out on deck where the bananas were stacked under canvas and the banana smell would be still worse. The best of food was before me every meal and I ate only crisp bacon, bread and radishes with lots of salt. I couldn’t drink even coffee of which I was very fond.

     There was a very nice crowd aboard but I didn’t enjoy visiting as before. Mrs. Jamison, a Honolulu lady, was aboard with a little three year old boy. She was so seasick she never got further than a steamer chair just outside her door. I was attracted to little Gill and he and I became great friends. I relieved his mother’s anxiety about him by walking with him on deck and keeping him amused by the hour. I also took charge of his food, which his mother was so glad to have me do.

     Imagine how shocked we were severely years later to read how he had been kidnaped, terribly mutilated, and left lying dead in a park in Honolulu with a cross on his breast. The crime followed right on the Hickman Crime of California and equaled it in some ways. A Japanese was convicted of the deed.

     E.K. never lost a meal nor knew what it was to be sick a minute. I was so glad for he enjoyed everything on the table.

     We reached San Francisco February 25^th, and wired greeting to Fresno. We spent that night with Flora who was looking splendid though was just out of the hospital. She had had a final operation on her bad throat and this time they dug deep enough to tet the trouble, though she nearly died from hemorrhage. She had told us nothing about it. We left the next morning for Fresno.

     Helen was expecting her second baby and I was pretty anxious to get home for the reception. Harry had said, “Why hurry home. I think Helen could have a baby without you?” When I told this afterwards Alex said, “Well maybe Helen can, but I can’t”, which I took as a nice son-in-law compliment. We had been there just three days when our little Nancy came on the scene, a Leap Year baby, born February 29^th, 1920.

     As soon as Helen was able to be up about the house we went to visit Lide and Dick in their new home in the desert, before E.K. went back at work again. It was a train trip of about four hundred miles. We found them quite nicely located. They had a big ranch house with a large living room, all comfortably furnished and with a huge fireplace at one end. They were just on the edge of Death Valley but up a canyon that was filled with springs, causing a growth of trees that made the place an oasis. From the front porch we could see seven ranges of mountains. We spent a week there, going often for baths to hot springs about four miles away where the water was a temperature or109 degrees. We drove into Death Valley and visited borax and talc mines. Some places the ground would be as white as snow with borax and soda. When it rained the ground would pop up like biscuits from the soda. Three miles from the house was the Gunsight Silver Mine which we visited.

     The ranch joining theirs was called the Resting Springs Ranch, the name taken from a wonderful spring with a six inch stream coming out of the rocks. This place was on the Utah trail going to Los Angeles, and the scene many years ago of an Indian massacre when sixteen white people were killed. The country didn’t look very good for cattle, but Dick was still confident.

     While visiting at Lide’s we received a letter from Flora saying, “I am going to marry Captain Hammond.” The date was May 10^th. This came as quite a surprise, but I was very glad, as I had loved Earl from the time he was a little fellow. He was recruiting in Portland and she was still in San Francisco. She came home for a visit and then left for Medford, Oregon, where Earl and his sergeant met her and they were quietly married in the Episcopal parsonage and left immediately for Portland to make their home. She wore a blue traveling dress with accessories and had never looked lovelier than when she bade us good-bye. After a honeymoon, she came to Fresno and met Harriet there and took her back to Portland.

     On our first visit at Lide’s she was planning to raise chickens and buy a graphophone for it would give entertainment and be good for dancing. When we came home we found a good one for forty-five dollars and sent it to her, telling her to pay for it when she could.

     I felt sorry for her to have to live in such a desolate place. Dick would be gone for weeks at a time and she would be entirely alone, three miles from a soul, and only a parrot, old Ben, and a young shepherd dog for company. She said some nights she couldn’t sleep. If it were moonlight she would take old Ben and walk miles over the desert until she was tired enough to go to sleep. Bootleggers were doing business back of her in the Charleston Range. There was an Indian Reservation by Shoshone and the Indians were always looking around for what they could steal, often killing and eating our live stock.

     One day while alone she was taken with a bad chill. Feeling she was about to have the flu, she wrote a note, crawled up to the road on the hill where sometimes some one passed going to Resting Springs and put the note under a pile of rocks in the middle of the road, hoping it would attract notice. A horseback rider found it, called and found her in high fever. He went to the mine and got the superintendent’s wife to come down and she nursed Lide through a serious illness.

     For twenty-five years I had been more or less troubled by an inward goitre and I began having bad choking spells. One night at the dinner table I choked so badly that the family was terribly frightened. I went to Dr. Cowan the next day and he had Dr. Maupin visit me. A decision was made that the only help was in taking it out. Me for the old Burnett! I came through the operation very well, and after a week at the hospital I was taken to Ida’s and she gave me a follow-up treatment for my limbs which were giving me trouble following the operation. It seemed as though we never could get out of Ida’s debt, as she was always doing for some of us.

     When I was better we went to live in a beautiful large home that we got rent free for three months while the owners were away. It was just a half-block from Ernest’s. I was glad to be near them as Grace was very miserable and expecting a little one. It came, a beautiful little girl, on June 22^nd. She stayed with us only eleven days, when she calmly closed her pretty blue eyes and went to sleep, and Jack lost the little sister that had been promised him.

     Grace was pretty miserable for some time and I kept two year old Jack with me, though I had not quite recovered from my hospital visit of the month before. He was a perfect little imp! I would chase up the front stairs after him and by the time I reached the end of the hall he was disappearing down the back stairs. I had to nail the china closets shut, and the only way I could feel sure he wasn’t in mischief was by locking him in a service porch. In September Grace was taken ill again. We gave up the house we were in and I went to care for Ernest’s family until Grace was better. Old 1920 was certainly keeping me stepping!

     Ida was looking for a baby in October. Just as Grace was recovering Charlie called me to the phone one day (September 16^th) and said, “Margaret, Dr. Doyle has me over a barrel. He says Ida is threatened with convulsions and unless I let him take the baby he won’t be responsible for Ida’s life after six o’clock tonight! What will I do?” I answered, “When you hire a doctor, take his advice. I will be with you.”

     We took Ida right over to the Burnett and in an hour the nurse brought out a tiny little mortal to us that shocked Charlie, as he had never seen so small a baby. It weighed a trifle over three pounds. He gasped, “Do you think it will live?” The nurse said, “I am sure she will.” He said, “Is it a girl?” Of course he wanted a boy.

     We stayed with Charlie and when they brought Ida home I stayed to care for her and little Anne. I always gave Anne her bath until I left to spend Thanksgiving with Flora in Portland. E.K. stayed at Ida’s.

     While in Portland we received a cablegram from Harry saying William Edward had arrived November 20^th. They were disappointed because he wasn’t a girl. In Portland Flora and Earl took me to all points of interest. We drove for many miles out the Columbia River Highway.

     On my return trip I stopped at Cottonwood for a visit to a dear Friend living on a ranch of thousands of acres. E.K. met me in San Francisco and we had a few happy days there together.

     After Christmas we were still boarding at Ida’s but all the sick folks were well and I was craving a little home of my own again. The year 1920 had been an eventful one for the Eby family - four births, one death, and a wedding.

     Helen was about to move, so we had to get our goods out of their barn. When we had purchased our lots to build the land had been a subdivision in a peach orchard, and a little ranch house stood on the lots back of our lots. We planned to build as soon as Dick settled with us and I rented the little house in which to store our goods. As I prepared to move the goods in I conceived the idea of the possibility of living there while we were building. I telephoned E.K. to meet me there after work to see what he thought. I was all prepared with a live argument to get him to agree with me as he always demanded things pretty comfortable. The argument was not necessary as he was just as anxious to get by ourselves as I was.

     There were a large living room 16 x 22, a sleeping porch, a kitchen, and an enclosed back porch. A large porch ran around two sides of the house and was forty feet across the front. The house was roughly built, shanty type, with sloping roof. The walls were just boarded. Lights, water and gas had never been put in. We had never lived in anything so shabby but we thought it would only be while we built.

     We bought a little woodstove, set up a bed and a dining table, and prepared to be comfortable. Charlie fought the idea, but Dad encouraged us. I’ll never forget the cozy feeling I had when I turned the key the first night and crawled into my own Seely mattress.

     We knew it was impossible to get our money out of Dick right then so we planned to get a loan and build anyway. We had a contractor draw plans and blue prints were all made. The carpenters were to start the next week, but the contractor became alarmed account of changing prices at that time and refused to sign the contract.

     The lots where the little ranch house stood were for sale and property was booming. Every day someone called to see about buying the place. I suggested we buy the lots ourselves and fix up the place until conditions were settled and stay there. E.K. loved it and was perfectly willing.

     The house was in a regular forest of eucalyptus and cottonwood trees and was very comfortable as hot weather came. Dad came out and helped us plan how to re-vamp it. He called it the “Shantyette” and the name always stuck.

     We ordered gas, lights, and water put in. We papered the walls with grey building paper and did some painting. We used the enclosed back porch for a bath room and had plumbing added; and we built a breakfast nook at the end of the kitchen. E.K. was so pleased with it and worked every spare minute after work. He built lattice work and planted vines, shrubs and flowers. We thought how comfortable he and I alone could be.

     However, our friends did not plan to leave us alone. They absolutely crowded in on us and it became a regular picnic ground. E.K. put up a big swing in a large tree and the hammock in a shady spot, besides two swing seats on the porch. We had rustic furniture for the yard, and the next year when Harry came home he wired the trees with strings of lights and we strung Japanese lanterns all about.

     An Armenians came and offered us ten thousand dollars for the whole acres which we owned with fifty feet that belonged to Ernest where he hoped to build. We refused the offer as there wasn’t a prettier place in town for a home. We made a mistake as prices dropped and we had forty-five hundred dollars worth of street work on the lots to pay for later.

     Our folks would often drive out and I always had some of the children. They loved to come and play under the trees. It was a safe place for them for the house set back two hundred feet from the boulevard.

     We had just got nicely fixed up when we received word Mrs. Hastie, Janet and Maile were on their way from Honolulu to visit us. We were glad we had stored our beds in a shed at the rear. We got them out and the big porch made a good place to set them up. They came, and how they enjoyed the little place.! It was July and very hot. We were nicely screened by the trees and the girls at night would hang the hose in the trees and take a cooling shower which they thought lots of fun, though Mrs. Hastie was properly shocked.

     The following April Lide came to visit us and was there only a few days when she took with pneumonia. For ten days she was very ill. Fearing my strength was giving out, I asked the doctor for a nurse. He said she was so ill he didn’t want to create the excitement of a change (the crisis was near) if I could continue, so I was able to finish the job and she recovered nicely.

     We had just discovered that E.K. had diabetes so my anxieties were doubled. He had never been ill in his life and it was a new sensation to be worried over his health.

     In July we were delighted to have a nice visit from Flora, Earl and Harriet. They were looking for a little one and were very happy.

     In October I got letter from Harry saying they expected to make us a visit and were bringing the Japanese maid to care for the baby. Well, that was a poser! I thought they knew the size of our house (there would be five of them) but no doubt they felt confident we could manage. We had never turned back a guest yet. We got busy and planned a way. There was a chicken house and small granary with a good floor in the yard. We whitewashed the granary inside, put in some shelves and a wardrobe curtain across the corner, pulled a three-quarter bed and dresser out of storage and draped the little windows with mull curtains. How was that for servant’s quarters? Sakai came and was lots of help and interested everyone, in her Japanese costumes with big obis. We borrowed a bed for the baby and the rest was easy.

     They stayed about six weeks and every day was a joy. I entertained all of Harry’s old friends while they were there and learned that one doesn’t have to have a big home to give others a good time. Ida gave a party which was composed of mothers and children. Jack found a club and beat up on all the kids and such a mad lot of mothers (all but Grace) one never saw. When it was all over Ida, with tears in her eyes, said, “Well, that was a heck of a party.”

     As I had my five grandchildren all together I asked the mothers to please take them down for a group picture for me. They did it, though not very graciously, the children behaving better than they did. I got a group picture which no one liked but I treasure it.

     It was while Harry’‘s family was visiting us that we received the telegram telling us of the birth of Flora’s little son, Terry Edward, who had arrived on Armistice Day, in Portland, 1921. I was certainly knowing all the pleasures of being a grandmother and each little arrival made me that much happier.

     When Terry was six weeks old Earl received orders to go to China. I was afraid Flora might over do in getting ready to go so soon after her baby came. I invited her to bring the children down and stay with us while Earl made ready to go, but she preferred to help look after things. They came down to San Francisco days before sailing. The Robbs met them there and visited a few days. E.K. and I went up the day before sailing to wish them “Bon Voyage.” When friends came in to bid them good-bye there were a few tears and Earl turned to me afterwards and said, “Mother, if you must turn your faucets on, please do it here at the hotel.” You see he didn’t know me very well yet. We all went to the pier in a taxi and boarded the “Sherman” until the half-hour whistle blew for “All shore for those going ashore.” We were not the only ones bidding loved ones good-bye and the scene was quite depressing. It was over in a few minutes and we went ashore.

     The transport was to sail at twelve, and exactly as the noon whistles began to blow she drew in the plank and sailed slowly out into the bay. She turned her back to us and headed for the Golden Gate, leaving a trail of smoke that seemed to spell “Good-bye”. It had been hard to stand on the pier a half hour and wait for them to go. The last sight we had of them Earl was holding the baby and waving his little hand. Somebody’s faucets were working that were not mine.

     In October of the next year, I had not been feeling very well and had had a fainting spell that should have been a warming. My brother Jim and wife came to see us and I had been pretty busy. After they left I had cleaned house al day. I experienced rushes of blood to my head but kept on working. As I went to bed that night I felt a strange sensation in my head and felt I was sinking into darkness. The next thing I knew, I awoke to find the family and doctor standing around my bed. Once more I closed my eyes and was sinking, sinking, sinking. It was, of course, a very light stroke.

     After keeping quiet and wearing an ice pack on my head about a week I was allowed to sit up, but I was informed by Dr. James I was through work, and he made me understand that the high blood pressure I was carrying was liable to end my career any time. He delivered the verdict with no equivocation. It upset me terribly. The family all got after him for being so candid. My life work was not completed. I would not have it so. How could I leave E.K. with his diabetes?

     Dr. James had me try out a mineral water called Witter Water. After using four cases, at twenty dollars a case, he said, “Well, I guess you can get the same thing in a prescription for seventy-five cents, so you needn’t take any more. I was just trying it out.”

     Several years before I had taken a University course on Adult and Child Nutrition merely for something to do, and now it was coming into good use. I handled E.K.’s diet according to rules laid down by the doctor. I took his tests and fought the sugar content as well as the doctor could do it. Insulin as a remedy was discovered the year E.K. took diabetes but was not yet practical. It was terrible to have to take certain foods away from him and he did get so hungry! I also was put on a diet. It was not so much fun to have company with the mixed diets.

     E.K. kept to work and ate just what I dared give him. He rarely rebelled but I could tell how hungry he was. It seemed like the irony of fate to think his food was taken away from him when his pride had been to keep a full table always for whoever happened in to see us.

     When Thanksgiving came I planned to give the family dinner as I always had on holidays until Ida came in the family, when we took turn about. The doctor forbade it and said I was to send out the laundry and hire a woman to do the house cleaning. I was in too serious a condition to do any hard work. I rebelled about the Thanksgiving dinner until Charlie talked to me and said, “Margaret, you have enough Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners to your credit to last you the rest of your life. Now take a rest and let the rest of us have a chance to do for you.”

     I said to Dr. James, “Am I to sit with folded hands?” He answered, “Not at all! Get a few chickens to work with and keep you out-of-doors.” I submitted as gracefully as I could and found a few Rhode Island Reds and an equal number of Plymouth Rocks. I set an old red hen and she brought off fourteen chicks. This so delighted me I continued to set more hens and when spring came E.K. and I filled every corner on the place with setting hens. I kept this up several years and, sorting out the best, I soon had a wonderful flock of chickens. I advertised setting eggs at one dollar per setting and all I didn’t sell for setting I hatched with old hens. E.K. helped in all his spare time and we both were delighted with the work. I sold all the baby chicks I could hatch at two dollars per dozen. At one time I had the back yard full of nearly three hundred laying hens.

     For nearly eight years I enjoyed my chickens and besides all our eggs and chickens for the tale and what I was pleased to give away, we cleared over a thousand dollars. Not a very large profit but it had made me well and both of us contented and happy working together.

     At one time E.K. thought it would be profitable to raise a few capons. He sent away for instructions and a set of caponizing instruments. When they came he said, “I haven’t the nerve. Do you want to try it?” I followed the instructions and made dozens of capons and sold them all at sixty cents per pound. I really felt I was cheating as they were more fat than meat. My neighbor, Dr. Sweeny, asked me one day to show him how to do it. I got everything ready and started to tell him when he said, “No, you do it. I want to see done.” Think of performing an operation like that before the head surgeon of the Santa Fe Railroad! You are wondering if I did. Well, I did, and very successfully, though my hands trembled as no surgeon’s should.

     On July 14^th, 1923, Ernest and Grace had another little son and he too was named Terry, so we had two Terrys now. Jack stayed with me while his mother was ill. He liked it so well at our house he fought like a wildcat the night his father came after him. Knowing he was coming he had undressed at sunset, crawled into bed and went to sleep, thinking his Dad wouldn’t take him.

     Often I gave the children parties under the trees and they were very tractable and enjoyed the fun. Lamont and Neva had two little boys, Bobby and Jim. They always called us Grandpa and Grandma and took part in all the other children did.

     All the school children in passing loved to stop awhile for a swing or to play with the “teeter totter”. Not a child that came every molested a thing nor ever gave me any trouble. They would pick up their books and go quietly home if I requested it.

     I often had Anne and Nancy out to stay and they had wild times; so wild, in fact, the time came when I had to entertain them apart as there was no mischief that they would pass up if it meant a good time, and neither would have thought of it if they hadn’t been together. I used to call them “sedlitz powders” - it took two of them to fizz.

     I would sometimes give the children a Christmas party. They still remember once when we had a Christmas fish pond instead of a tree. Grandpa fixed a curtain across the corner of the living room and behind this curtain the gifts were stacked. The children were each given a little bamboo pole with a hook on a line. They would throw the line over the curtain and the excitement was intense as they all hooked something they had been wanting, that a knowing Santa Claus behind the curtain seemed to know about. All the children had Christmas trees at home so I liked to give them a change.

     Another time I asked them out for Christmas Eve and told them we would have candy and fun but no fish pond nor tree. They all came and were pleased as they arrived to find two little tub evergreens at the porch entrance lighted with Christmas candles and transparent pictures lighted in the windows. I may say here I think those two little trees were the first outdoor lighted trees in Fresno and now there are hundreds of them every Christmas. They were romping and having a wild time when a heavy knock at the door came. The door was opened and a nice fat Santa Claus walked in with a huge round package on his shoulder. He asked if there were any good children there. They instantly all claimed to be nothing short of angels. He said, “All right. I have a Christmas pie for you.” I had used a wash tub, covering it with heavy paper, and filled it with gifts with strings attached. Everyone first had to find the card with his name on the string, then all pulled at once. I don’t think they ever had more fun with a tree, and what a lark it was for Grandpa and me!

     Alex and Helen made several moves, once to Larkspur in Marin County. We made many visits to them. We were delighted when they came back to Fresno once more.

     When they moved back Alex and Helen came down in the machine and wired they were sending Alan and Nancy on the train and requested us to meet them. Thinking I would give Jack a treat, I took him for a train ride to Merced where we met and boarded the train, surprising the children. Other passengers told me that they had sat perfectly still, side by side, all the way. When Jack arrived the fun was on. They raced the length of the coach, jumped seats, and visited the water tank every few minutes. I had my hands full until I unloaded them at Fresno, and I counted that trip as one of my mistakes.

     We were looking for the Hammond family back from China in the early winter of 1923. While they were on their way home we got word from Harry that he had given up his work in Kauai and they were going to New York while he completed a course in Electrical Engineering. (Didn’t I have the goingest and comingest family?) This came as a surprise, but how pleased we were to see them. Harry and Billy were charming little fellows and we were very proud of them. The whole family had to be equipped with winter clothing. They had never lived where it was cold and Eva and the boys had never seen snow or frost, though when I asked Eva if she had seen frost she said, “Yes, once on a pipe in a meat shop.” I enjoyed helping them shop and they prepared to leave before Flora’s family arrived.

     E.K. sent out a man from the railroad office to fix up their tickets. He enquired of Harry if he was traveling “tourist”. Harry just about bowled him over when he answered, “Give me a stateroom for four to New York.”

     The Robbs went to San Francisco to meet the Hammonds and brought them down. Once more my ingenuity was taxed as to how we could make the Shantyette care for the excess visitors. Flora had asked me to have Grandma Hammond come out from Michigan and meet them at our place, as she was coming to spend a year with them in California. This made five guests, but by using the porch for setting up a bed we managed very nicely and enjoyed their visit until the first of April, when Earl was sent to Mare Island. Here we were welcomed as visitors the following summer and enjoyed all the military surroundings.

     Our investment with Dick failed to t urn out as expected. He became quite unreasonable and refused to settle in any way. With no proper security we lost about four thousand dollars. Lide took this to heart and isolated herself from all of us, much to our regret as we had only love for her. Eventually we were to understand the why, but at this time it was a mystery to us.

     On January 11^th, 1926, Ernest and Grace were made the parents of a little daughter and they named her Geraldine. Later we called her Gerry. She was a darling and grew into a beautiful child. Harry and Eva were almost envious, they wanted a little girl so badly. However, the Lord hadn’t forgotten their prayers and the following October 29^th, 1927, their little barbara arrived and joy reigned supreme in their home.

     In 1923 the final payments on the vineyard were due to start. The interest had been kept up regularly, the improvements had been carried out, a large house and implement shed built, electric pump added, and about twenty-five hundred dollars worth of irrigation pipe put in. We got a shock when the parties who purchased said they couldn’t make the balance of the payments and we had to take it back. There was nothing to do but get back the title and care for it once more until we could sell.

     With our property around Fresno and the return of the ranch we had an accumulation of about forty thousand dollars worth of property. This did not mean much as time went on. Nothing was selling at any price. The only income we had was E.K.’s salary.

     We spent about twenty-five hundred dollars trying once more to work the vineyard and keeping up the high taxes. The first year it came back we leased it unsuccessfully, not making enough to pay the taxes. By this time the raisin industry was pretty well shot to pieces. We advertised and did everything we could to sell the land, starting the price at eighteen thousand dollars and continually dropping it down.

     The next year, 1926, we hired a German, Paul Ruhlan, to work it by the acre as Harry had kindly sent me a thousand dollar bond besides paying for the getting back of the title. I borrowed money to pay the taxes and gave Harry a note for his bond. Paul was trusty and faithful and did good work, keeping the place like a flower garden, but there was no water in the ditches that summer and the grapes dried on the vines, only a few muscats being worth picking. Paul cured and sold these for ninety-five dollars. He called at the house and left me his personal check for the amount.

     Two days later we were horrified to hear he had set fire to his house, then shot himself, burning with the building. We were not able to collect on the check as he left no bank balance. When I had last talked to him he had said, “The ‘Walley’ is going to hell”. I decided he knew what he was talking about.

     Quite desperate the next spring, I hired Leslie Dart to work the place for seventy-five per cent of the crop and advance him two hundred and fifty dollars for the pruning. He did a poor job, sold the crop and pocketed the money.

     Up to this time I kept my nerve and wouldn’t give up, but could now see it was no use, and my blood pressure was soaring. We had no money to go on with the work nor to pay taxes, which had increased to an unjust taxation. We defaulted on taxes and the land was sold to the state, never having been mortgaged - a rare thing in the Valley in those years. E.K. had been justified in wanting to throw it up. My sticking to the ranch had equaled his sticking to Arkansas. We still had the Van Ness and Yale property and a five acre place joining the Fig Gardens north of Fresno all paid for.

     When Ernest’s little Terry, whom we called “T.” to distinguish him from the older Terry, was a baby I was not well enough to give him much care, and did not enjoy much of his babyhood. As he grew older, however, he became a special favorite and was often with me. He was entirely different from our wild Jack, being quiet and thoughtful, and though happy he rarely smiled. He has now reached the age of fourteen but I never knew him to get into mischief. Almost as soon as he could walk he loved to dance and began costuming himself in any old material we would give him. He was always happiest when dressing up. He developed a strong artistic sense and found beauty everywhere - in sunsets, pretty clothes, flowers and pictures - and loved to improvise dances and songs.

     Of course he was ridiculed by Jack and boys of his own age. This never distressed him, as he was impervious to all criticism. I recall one day, when he was about four, his mother put him on the street car to come out and spend the day with me. I met him at the car and as he came out the conductor and everyone on the car were laughing, but he was unsmiling as he came forth in one of Nancy’s old dresses, carrying a reticule and a parasol. The dress came below his knees and he wore heavy boy shoes.

     One Christmas when he was still quite small Ida made him a dancing costume of red organdy with little bells on the points of the skirt. As he opened his gifts and came to the box containing Ida’s gift, he brushed all other presents aside and attired himself in the costume. He danced the whole evening and never stopped until he was exhausted.

     One of the sorrows of his life was that he didn’t get the golden curls that Jack had and hated. When Gerry was old enough to be a playmate they were very congenial and quite inseparable. He loved pretty clothes and when old enough to go to town alone would spend hours looking at dress shop windows.

     He solicited all his friends for their old silk clothes, hats, ribbons and accessories. Gerry was his model, standing on a box while he draped clothes on her. He was fascinated with the theater and movies and would work by the hour making puppets and building a stage with draperies and lighting effects.

     One time he was trying to get a telephone number. His mother asked him whom he was trying to get. He said, “I’m trying to get George Sharp, the manager of the Wilson Theater. I want to ask him if any of the chorus girls leave any of their old clothes there to please put the name of Eby on them and I will call and get them.” Jack was furious, as he was afraid they would think he was the Eby asking.

     Terry never hesitated to ask for anything he saw and wanted. Observing some beautiful tulips in a florist’s window he went in and asked for a tulip. “What do you want of it?”, the clerk said. “I want it for my sweetheart.” “Well, I guess you had better have it then.” and picked a choice one for him.

     One day his teacher met him in one of crazy outfits crossing the town to visit with Anne. She was quite horrified. The next afternoon she kept him after school and told him that he must never dress that way again and tried to make him say he wouldn’t He refused to promise. She had him sent to a psychology teacher. After watching him for a while the psychology teacher said. “Leave him alone. He knows what he wants and will develop into something different than an ordinary child. We can’t all have ditch diggers and common laborers.”

     He was always a good student and made passing grades. For a while he sang nicely and was once the leader in a school opera. He would sometimes organize a theatrical troupe with neighborhood children and they would be happy for hours playing in the back yard.

     Once in a while there would be an effort to get him interested in other ways but it always failed. He has a cousin who was educated in New York and abroad who gives radio skits and has a studio in Oakland. She is very interested in him and sends him many costumes. She urges his parents to educate him in the line he loves. She says they cannot find help enough in her work with the artistic sense he has, to plan scenic effects and design drapes.

     During his first year at Junior High he developed a slight deformity of the chest and the doctor ordered him to have no physical exercises. His principal, Mr. Wilson, who understood and loved him, put him in a sewing class. He did excellent work and learned to design his own patterns. During the year he made Gerry several dresses and completed a white summer suit for himself. He still makes his own pajamas and shirts. His chief interest now is in Hollywood and the theater. We have yet to see what he does.

     In Jack’s last year of High School he became interested in Biology and planned a hunt for snakes and hoped to add a live rattlesnake to the school collection. In the spring of the year they are plentiful in our mountains. He, with three other boys, went for an all night camping trip, hitch-hiking to the mountains about fifty miles from home. When they reached Bass Lake the other boys decided they would make camp and go no further. Jack decided to go on about four miles and camp by himself where he expected to find the snakes. He arose early, got his breakfast and with a stick to poke under the rocks he went sniffing around the rock piles. When he noticed the peculiar odor that comes from a den of snakes he ran the stick under a pile of rocks. A fine specimen stuck out his head. Jack made a loop and slipped it over its body. The snake wiggled partly out of it and Jack, in his excitement, reached down to adjust the loop and like a flash the rattler struck, biting Jack at the base of the thumb. As soon as he realized he was bitten, Jack started for his camp a few rods away. He sought his knife but couldn’t find it. Boy Scouting had taught him what to do. And he did it. He broke a glass jar in which he had his butter, and with a broken piece he criss-crossed slashes deep into his palm. He sucked the blood as long as it would flow. His heart was palpitating and he knew he would have to have help.

     He started back to the boys’ camp four miles away. It was a hot day. When his heart got to racing too fast he would rest in the shade, then go on. When he reached the camp the boys were no where in sight. He hurried to the Lake where he saw two men making ready for camp. They proved to be well-known friends. They hurried him into their car and hastened to the CCC camp, hoping to find a doctor, but were unsuccessful. Next they stopped at North Fork with no better luck. Some miners offered him whiskey but he knew better than to accept. Nothing to do but get him home as quickly as possible as he was getting pretty dopey. At home, they located a doctor who wasn’t out of the city for Sunday, and he was given the serum, though the doctor said he had already saved his own life. Next day he was around with his arm in a sling no worse for his adventure. I felt worse than he did for the shock of seeing him brought in in that condition gave me a shock that lasted for days.

     It was at four o’clock in the morning of November 16^th, 1925, that I was called from my bed long distance to hear Earl’s voice. He called to tell me of the birth of another son, Thomas Harry. They were living in Vallejo at the time. They had wanted a girl, but were proud of their boy. Flora used to say all they had to do to get a trip was to have a baby. When Tommy was six weeks old Earl was ordered to Quantico, Virginia. They were to sail via Panama to New York in January.

     We all went to San Francisco to see them off. We went aboard the transport “Cambria” and visited until the whistle blew for all visitors to go ashore. We stood on the pier and watched them sail away once more.

     It being in the winter they encountered heavy storms at sea. Once a large wave came through the port hole into Tommy’s basket, soaking him well. They found it very hot going through the Canal and Tommy cried each time the whistle blew, which was frequently as they passed through the locks. They encountered one of the worst Storms of the year off Cape Hatteras. I was naturally keeping track of the shipping news and was pretty anxious. They soon left New York for Quantico, where they established their home for a year while Earl attended and Officers’ School.

     I had always thought I would like some day to visit Virginia. As Ida and I were both able to get passes, I suggested to her that she and I take a trip to the Southland and visit Flora. She was delighted to accept. We made all our plans but before we could execute them a telegram came from Flora, “Earl ordered to China with Expeditionary Forces. I’m leaving for Fresno.” That knocked out our trip but what a pleasure to have Flora and her little boys with us. She left Harriet at school in the East.

     Terry was five and little Tom over a year old. We enjoyed having them with us and they enjoyed their little Fresno cousins and the nice big yard. Tom was just learning to talk. He dropped his R’s and everything he said amused us.

     When the warm weather came Flora sent for Harriet and they went to Vallejo and rented a cottage for the summer. When school opened they came back to Fresno and rented a place near us, Harriet and Terry both entering school. In November word came that Earl was returning and they went to San Francisco to meet him. As he was suffering from stomach trouble he was ordered to the Mare Island Hospital for treatment, and they lived a short time in Vallejo. Then he was retired and in 1926 they moved to San Diego and bought a nice home and are still living there. Once more we were by ourselves. We were both reaching old age. E.K. had never thought of it until he was handed a blank to fill out for his retirement pension. He was sixty-eight years old and would have to arbitrarily retire at seventy. It seemed to come to him like a shock. He was still enjoying his work. About that time some changes were being made in the Yard Office and the position he held was to be combined with some other work. This practically took away his job.

     He had seniority over all the help and could pick any job he wanted but it gave him the feeling of having been shoved one side. He came home pretty blue. I comforted him the best I could, although I didn’t understand what it was all about. He took a few days off to size up the other positions and decided to take the work of assistant station master where he would have charge of the gates and look after the incoming and outgoing passengers. What he had considered to be an “ousting” proved to be a great kindness to him; but it took the shippers some time to be reconciled to his loss.

     Though his hours were from four P.M. until midnight, he rather enjoyed them for it gave him practically all day at home. He was out of all the Yard Office confusion and his work was mostly outside. He was meeting people in his work and enjoying them. I asked him to tell me the most amusing thing that had happened during each day, which added to his interest in the traveling public, and many is the human interest tale he had to tell.

     I would spend many of the long evening with Helen or at Ernest’s. I always managed to get home ahead of him as he couldn’t bear to come home and find me gone.

     Dad left us at the age of eighty-six years (November 25, 1924). He was still running his newsstand with candy added and went to work up till the Saturday before he died Tuesday. We used to object to his working but he was happy doing something, though he didn’t make any money. I kept him in street car coupons and often paid a candy bill for him. I felt Charlie was helping with other bills, too.

     He suffered with auto-intoxication which caused him to have convulsions. When I would hear the telephone ring in the night I knew it was Ida calling for help. Charlie worked nights so she would be alone. We kept no car and I would ‘phone Ernest. We have always called Ernest slow, but he would be out to the house for me before I could get dressed. He was always there in an emergency. Many is the time Ida and I worked all night with Dad and held him on the bed. In the morning he would be up to breakfast and reading his paper as usual, not half so all in as Ida and I were.

     Dr. James, E.K., Helen and I were with him when he died. He was the only person E.K. had seen pass away. He remarked, “I will never fear death again, and hope my end will be as peaceful.” Flora came from Vallejo to be with us at the funeral Jim and wife also came from Monterey Park

     E.K. had written Harry he was to retire in 1929, and spoke of how he disliked the thought. Harry began planning right away and begged him to figure on coming to Maui when he was through, and he would find something for him to do to put in his time. He said, “The rest of the kids have ha you and Mamma a long time and now it should be our turn.” They were very proud of their little Barbara Jane and were anxious for us to see her, as they really thought there never was a child like her.

     E.K. was pleased at the idea of going and it gave him something pleasant on which to plan. Realizing the condition of our health, and fearing at our advanced ages that it would be hard to adjust ourselves to a change from California and old friends, I doubted the wisdom of the move. When I said as much he seemed so set back and disappointed I immediately decided, come what would, he should have his way. He was gradually losing flesh and I could see that he was failing from day to day. I still had to keep him on starvation rations and life held so little for him besides his work.

     When it was decided we were to go Helen insisted that I learn to swim so that I might enjoy the water over there. I was sixty-two, but she had me go to the Y.W.C.A. with her and she taught me to swim before I left.

    The seventieth birthday arrived January 10^th, 1928. For twenty-five years there had been a bottle of whiskey unopened in the house that E.K. had been promising the boys at the office he would open on that date. Owing to what the Railway Company called “Rule G” I thought it not safe to pass liquor around at the office. I suggested I give a birthday banquet and he could serve it at home. It would be the first time liquor had ever been served at our table, but this was a most unusual occasion. He invited the fellow workers he cared for most. Ida helped me and we gave them a chicken dinner with all the trimmings. Everything we could think of that was good we piled on the table. The place cards were a good photograph of himself.

     A reporter had got next to his retirement and called to get official facts. A good picture of him standing at his gates was published and a very nice article written up in the Fresno Republican. It told of his fifty-two years of railroad service and of never having lost a day’s work on account of illness nor for any misdemeanor, a record of which one could be very proud. There was also a very good editorial in one of our papers. An article was sent into the Associated Press, which was published in all papers at home and abroad.

     Many of our local friends sent him cigars, flowers, and cards of congratulation. Callers came to express their good wishes. Our mail was increased by letters from all parts of the country from those who had read the Associated Press article and had known him in the past. Being very modest and retiring, he was quite overwhelmed.

     The mean at the office also took up a purse of sixty-five dollars and bought baggage which they presented to him for his Hawaiian trip. He discovered everybody was his well wisher. It was wonderful for him to live to see this demonstration as it could have done no good after he would be gone. I was very happy for him and felt that he deserved it all.

     For forty years E.K. had carried four thousand dollars Fraternal insurance that expired at the age of seventy. This distressed him a great deal and once he said, “Mamma, I didn’t die soon enough.” As if money compensated me for a day of his precious life. I begged him to never mention it again.

     The Robbs once more had to move and settled in South Gate, California. How we hated to see them go for Helen called often to keep us cheerful and the children were with us much of the time. Nancy was a live wire, but Grandpa insisted on discipline. Once he gave Alan a spank when they were having a racket. Nancy quit scrapping long enough to face him and say, “It is none of your business to spank Alan.” Pretty saucy for any one to speak to him that way and he gave the young lady a spank. They were staying all night. The next morning she crawled up beside him on the breakfast nook seat, put her arms around his neck and said, “Grandpa, I know you didn’t mean to be cross, for you were just tired.” Forgiving little soul!

     When they left Fresno I was put in charge of their pets until called for - cat named Kate that belonged to Alan, and a cunning little bull terrier that Nancy had won in a letter contest at the Kinema Theater. He was named for the Theater and called Kinnie. I did not prove a good custodian. I allowed Kinnie to run out, and being a valuable little thoroughbred, he was stolen. We advertised in all the papers and put in a most pathetic plea on the radio, but we never got him again. I am not sure yet that I am forgiven.

     When they sent for Kate, Grandpa fixed a box for her and we sent her by express. When the driver called for her she howled loudly, and in trying to get out she thrust her paw through the slats. She looked as if she were waving a good-bye and it gave me a desolate feeling as I thought “She is the last of my Robb Family.”

     We began to prepare for our second Hawaiian trip. We took a trip to South Gate and San Diego to visit and the partings were much harder than the time before.

     When Harry had completed his electrical education in New York he took his family to Florida. It was at the time of the big real estate boom and he thought there might be a good opening for him so they started for the land of golden dreams. When they arrived they registered at a fine hotel and after dinner went for a walk. While walking along the road a huge snake crawled across their path. Eva had never seen a snake, there being no reptiles in the Islands. It gave her a terrible fright. They went back to the hotel. The heat was suffocating. They retired, but not to sleep for the mosquitoes were legion and no one could rest for fighting the pests. Harry bought tickets for Fresno the next morning.

     He investigated business prospects throughout California. Before settling any place Eva became homesick and they sailed for their Heavenly Isles. They had just arrived in Honolulu when Harry was called into the office of Alexander and Baldwin, plantation agents for the Islands, and for whom he had worked on Kauai. They consulted him about his plans which were not very definite. They asked him if he would go to Maui, the second largest island of the group, about one hundred miles away, to take charge of the large power house. This was right in his line. They were soon settled in Hamakaupoko and enjoying plantation life once more. At the successful completion of the power house he was put in charge of the electric system of irrigation for the Maui Agricultural Company. This was were we were to visit them.

     Before leaving we rented our house furnished. I was not to break up our home entirely. We sent the piano to Anne and if we didn’t come back it was to remain hers. I gave Nancy the beautiful camphorwood chest which Earl had had made for me in Peking. I scattered about many of my things that had been dear to me for years. But what are material things?

     Friends were kind and we were entertained and given many gifts. We were to sail March 14^th, a few days before my birthday of the sixteenth. Ida gave me a lovely birthday party, ahead of time, inviting those friends I held most dear. All this attention warmed our hearts, but we left feeling a great heartache.

     We were invited to spend the last night in California at Mr. And Mrs. Terry’s in Oakland. Before we retired Ernest called us long distance from Fresno to say “good-night”. It was a custom of his to always telephone us good-night and see that we were all right before we went to bed. Dear old Ernest! Always devoted!

     The Terrys took us to the pier the next noon and helped us with our baggage, staying to see us off. Our ship was the Matson liner “Sierra” sailing to Australia. Just before sailing, Minnie Hazard, an old Michigan friend, came bringing a pretty your niece, Margaret Murphy, and presenting us with an armful of gorgeous red roses. Margaret had never visited an ocean liner so we took her about and she was thrilled with everything, wishing she could stow away in our wardrobe. Envy was is her soul, as it was in so many others who would like an ocean trip.

     It came time to sail and we were glad to have friends on the pier to whom to throw confetti. We stood at the rail on the rear deck as we passed through the Golden Gate, E.K.’s arm comfortingly about my shoulders. We watched the cliffs and old Mt. Tamalpais disappear and wondered if we would ever see them again.

     We went down to dinner later. E.K. had asked me to let him oversee his diet as he didn’t want to be conspicuous at the table. After dinner I hurried to my cabin and history repeated it self. I thought, “Oh, if those people who envied us could see me now.” By the time we reached the Farralones I was in bed and asleep.

     Morning came with bright sunshine and sparkling waves. Spring was in the air. A few gulls still circled the ship. After a brisk walk on deck we went below to take our appointed places at the breakfast table. At the head of the table was the ship’s surgeon, who courteously arose and made us acquainted with the other guest at our table. There were an army officer with his wife and fifteen year old son, on their way to Pago Pago, and a young Englishman, traveling for an education. The doctor, I think, had been in every port in the world. All the way across he entertained us with tales of the sea. He had been in shipwrecks and a fire at sea. He had buried the dead from the deck and delivered many babies on board.

     Incidentally, I may say he was the greatest eater I ever saw. He went right down the menu card from beginning to end. My heart ached for E.K. sitting next to him, watching the food disappear. He would look pleadingly at me, then glance at some forbidden food so wistfully I would nod my head. The last day out the doctor caught him dropping a saccharin tablet in his coffee. He said, “Well, I see you are a diabetic patient.” E.K. answered in the affirmative and he said, “You should be at the Captains table as he too is a victim and a special diet is set for him.” WE learned the Matson Company would provide a diet for any trouble on request. Their service was most perfect anyway in every way.

     By the time my birthday arrived I was over all seasickness and we were both enjoying the trip. A birthday cake of huge proportions was brought to our table on that date, beautifully decorated. When buying a ticket one’s birth is recorded so they have the date and always give the guest a pleasant surprise. They also presented me with a pretty pencil and an engraved picture of one of their ships.

     We made this crossing in six days. A fine library was in lounge. For other entertainment there were a tank for swimming, shuffle board on deck, dancing, horse racing, movies at night, and much betting taking place. Nothing exciting happened. There is always one fire drill in crossing. When we met a Matson liner there would be an exchange of whistles for a salute and we would all crowd the rail to watch it go by.. One afternoon I awoke from a nap to realize the engines had ceased their steady beat and we were idly rocking in the waves. E.K. was sleeping and I called him to go on deck with me and find out why we had stopped. When we reached the rail we found everybody watching sailors take two stowaways from the “Malolo”. They had boarded the ship at Honolulu and were being returned there. We watched them climb the ladder onto our boat and we waved to the “Malolo” as she headed for San Francisco. When nearing land I enjoyed standing on deck watching the flying fish.

     I had not noticed them on our other crossing.

     When we landed at Honolulu the band was playing, the pier was crowded, everyone with a lei on his arm for some friend arriving. From out the crowd we saw Eva’s sister Mable smiling up at us with leis for each. A sweet thing, Mable! What a warm and loving greeting she gave us! We left in a taxi for Manoa Valley, a beautiful part of Honolulu where Mrs. Hastie now had a lovely home and was living with her two daughters, Mable and Janet. We had to wait there two or three days to get a boat for Maui.

     Mae and Elmer each had a car and there was nothing worth seeing on the Island of Oahu that we weren’t taken to see. We visited Pearl Harbor and the Fort, saw the Mormon Temple, pineapple fields and canneries, visited the Museum, the Aquarium, Waikiki Beach, and the tombs of their departed royalty. Mae gave a small teaparty at the Royal Hawaiian. Janet pinned orchids on me, the first I ever wore.

     Mable planned to go to Maui with us. Passengers usually made the trip at night on one of the Inter Island steamers, but for a special price there was a day trip on the Calawaii, an old made over transport. We decided on the day trip. We left Honolulu at eight o’clock in the morning and were properly lei-ed by the girls. I recall how nice E.K. looked in a white silk pongee suit, white shoes and a panama hat. After rounding Diamond Head we proceeded close to the shores of Molokai and sailed for hours in full view of their lovely mountains which attained a height of sixty-five hundred feet. At sea the weather was beautiful and sunny. On the mountain tops heavy clouds rolled and we could see the rain fall up there. This produced the grandest falls, dozens of them, that leaped from the clouds, thousand of feet, to the ocean. They came in perfect torrents. When striking an obstruction the spray would be like a sparkling cloud and produced a like effect when reaching the sea.

     We passed the Leper Colony and were close enough to see the pier and buildings, with a large United States flag flying from a tall mast. The colony is closely confined in a place completely surrounded by mountains and the sea and is closely guarded to avoid the escape of patients.

    Late in the afternoon we passed the end of Molokai and Maui lay in front of us. The outline of the Island is the exact shape of a woman’s head and bust - the smaller part, the head, containing the west Maui Mountains, over six thousand feet high, with green growth to the top. The connection that joins the larger part of the Island to the smaller, the neck, is seven miles across. The large section is the complete extinct crater of Halaakala (It took me weeks to learn to pronounce that, so you don’t need to try). As we gradually approached the Island I mused, “I wonder what our life will be like in our new home.”

     The Island lay before us exactly like a map. The crater stretched directly up from the sea to the top, which was ten thousand feet high, and shaped like a cone. The little settlements lay at the base, and sugar cane was in the background like a checkerboard, different shades of green, according to age, giving this effect. Sugar cane requires eighteen months to reach maturity so it is planted at different times to keep the harvesters busy the year around. Back of the cane came rows of pineapples which stretched miles up the crater. The higher background was forests, then the crest of the crater.

     We were greeted by Harry’s whole family and Eva’s sister Maile and her little son Jack. Dear little Barbara, two and a half years old, was placed in my arms and I felt such a thrill of love for the little darling that I thought, if for nothing else, our trip was worth while. I did not wonder Harry was crazy about her. She had brown curls tumbling down over her shoulders, wonderful blue eyes, and olive skin, almost an exact replica of my Helen at her age. I could have loved her for that alone.

     Harry’s home was about fifteen miles from Kahalui, the port where we landed. Maile and Al lived about half-way between. We were delighted with Harry’s house set in about five acres of beautiful grounds, all nicely cared for by plantation gardeners. Their lanai (a glassed in porch) faced the sea.

     Harry was much interested in radio and had a powerful set. He had learned the code and had his license to operate. He belongs to the Naval Reserve and lately the government made him United States radio operator for the Island of Maui, to be called in an emergency. He was able, during Byrd’s trip to the Antarctic, to often pick up messages from them. One Saturday night he called me to listen to the Sunday church services in Australia and New Zealand, a day ahead of us on account of longitude. He often got a program for me from China or Japan.

     I had made only one stipulation in agreeing to come to Maui, which was that we were to have a place of our own in which to live. Harry looked out for that and had secured the most charming little home a short distance from his place. It was perfectly furnished, from sheets to teaspoons. The furnishings were owned by someone who had gathered beautiful things from all parts of the glove.

     I was set back a peg when Harry said he had secured a Japanese maid for me. Me, who always loved to do my own work! When I objected he said, “Do you think I would let my mother do her work in Hawaii? You would lose face.” I learned to hear that expression often.

     Harry had secured the position of a sort of night caretaker about the plantation for his dad, with a nice little salary attached. He went to work about seven P.M. and came in sometime towards early morning. His work was to watch for fires and report by time clock at different parts of the plantation. The hostler always saddled and bridled a horse and tied it to the gate for him, but he wouldn’t use it as he preferred to walk.

     We unpacked our trunks and settled down to enjoy plantation life. Harry and Eva did much to make our stay comfortable. Eva had her own car and took me shopping and calling. She gave a large party for Mable and me and I was continuously asked to teaparties, which made up a large part of their social life. Al and Maile were devoted to us and drove up to Harry’s often when we would all meet for the evening and have enjoyable times.

     We learned to love their little Jackie as well as if he belonged to us. He worshiped Grandpa and always brought him something - sometimes a papaya, a pineapple, mangoes, or an avocado, but always something. He wouldn’t leave for home until they could find Grandpa so he could tell him good-night.

     Harry, Junior, and Billy spent lots of time with me. Harry had just been given an airgun and he often climbed over the hills in his bare feet looking for game, mostly minah birds. Billy was of the most attractive and happy little boys I ever saw. The night we arrived Harry, Junior, put his arm around me and said, “Grandma, I am glad you have come for I think you will understand boys.” His other grandmother had five daughters and no sons. I often had the boys come to eat hot cakes for breakfast, and sometimes they would stay all night, making a bed on the floor with cushions, of which there were plenty.

     It became almost a rite each Sunday morning for all the family to come up the hill for a call. They would bring us a huge basket filled with hibiscus blossoms, no two alike, Eva’s garden was supposed to have over one hundred varieties.

     We were made acquainted with all the neighbors and friends and each one vied with the other to do something nice for us, trying to make us love their country. Not a morning came that I didn’t find a donation on the porch; namely, a cocoanut, papaya (of which Grandpa was very fond), avocados, pineapples of bananas. Mrs. Taylor, a near neighbor, each morning had her gardener make up a boquet of choice flowers and bring it to me. Mrs. Baldwin, another close neighbor, would send her Jap girl over with cream or buttermilk. It was strawberry season and often we were given buckets of choice berries. In spite of all this attention and kindness, I would feel the gnawing of nostalgia.

     E.K. slept daytimes and I was alone a night. I was not afraid and never locked the doors. In fact, our front door was never closed while we were there. One neighbor told me if I heard queer noises at night to just think they were rats. I remembered that and no matter what the noise was I would turn over and go to sleep. There are no poisonous insects in the Islands. (I was once bitten by a centipede with no ill results.) Cockroaches scurried everywhere. They were about two inches long. I also had spiders that one could scarcely cover with a saucer account of the long legs. I never molested them as they went about eating mosquitos and moths, catching them easily with their long legs.

    The weather was ideal; nothing could be more perfect; never warm enough to perspire and never any coolness to cause discomfort. I never saw a heating stove while I was in Hawaii. There was usually a soft trade wind blowing which kept up a rustling in the palms. There were no heavy rains, but daily there were misty showers while the sun still shone.

     There were always white fleecy clouds scurrying swiftly across the sky in the wind. Sometimes we would ride at sunset and as the sun’s last rays shone on the clouds the boys and I, sitting in the back seat, would use our imaginations and would see all kinds of animals, giants, etc., formed by the clouds, My memory of those back seat good times is quite vivid, and I can still hear Eva telling us to “Pipe down.”

     As we were in the Torrid Zone the days remained about equal length with the nights. We had no twilight and darkness would descend quickly. I never saw such darkness. It would be impossible to get around in it without a flashlight or a lantern, But the moonlight! It was wonderful, almost like day. We were able to see lunar rainbows when it was shining and a rain at night.

     The per cent of white people was about twenty to eighty of the mixed races. A school across the road from Harry’s was filled with Orientals and not a white child in it. The Government controls the schools and they are exceedingly up-to-date. Harry’s children went nine miles on a train to attend a school that each child was selected to attend as the better class of pupil.. This did not exclude the Orientals, but they had to be first class. Harry, Junior, graduated from grammar school while we were there.

     We were taken on many pleasure trips about Maui. Many people went up to Halaakala, but after leaving the road it was a ten miles horseback ride to the Crater. The government has since built a fine road, with a low grade, right to the crest, which is ten thousand feet altitude. One Sunday we took our lunch and went up about five thousand feet to Ulapolakua and spent the day. It was the only place in the Islands where some perfectly gorgeous poppies grew. From where we ate our lunch we could see the large Island of Hawaii with its smoking volcanoes, also Lanai where the Dole pineapple plantations are, Molokai, and Kahoolaue; also one other little crescent shaped island. All it contained was a lighthouse.

     The flowers of Maui were beautiful, among them the poiciana tree, so solid with bloom it looked like a huge red umbrella, and the tulip tree with bloom like clusters of tulips. Some avenues were bordered by the shower trees. There bloom comes in many colors and the blossom looks about like a bunch of our Thompson grapes, hanging so thick that that is where they get their name of shower trees. We were fortunate in being there when the night-blooming cereus bloomed. Harry would call and get me at night to go and see a large stone hedge that was completely covered. The blossom after dark would be as large as a good-sized dinner plate and all closed in the morning. A gorgeous vine called the Mexican creeper crept all over the canyons. It had a flaming red bloom. I have since seen it blooming in San Diego, where it is called “chain of love”.Orchids bloomed freely with care. I once saw a orchid with twenty-six blooms on one stem.

     With so little to do, it was hard to fill in my time, and E.K. was not much company as he slept daytimes. The house contained a fine library. The owner being a traveled and educated man, the selections were good. It contained all the poets and I never read so much poetry and so many religious books in my life. I pieced quilts, wrote letters, and made silk lingerie by hand, but I grew restless. Eva was busy with her home and society, but I often had lunch with her.

     We were living up the crater about a mile from the ocean. Its roar as it dashed against the cliffs always filled my ears at night. I could see it from every window in my house. We were located on the shoulder of the lady’s bust, according to Maui outline, so had a view of the harbor as the boats came around the points. As I became more homesick I almost disliked the ocean when I thought of all that water between me and home! It seemed to me no one thought anything about the ocean over there, but they loved old Halaakala!

     At first I didn’t understand, but I learned 5to love it too. There was little change to the ocean, but the old crater was never the same. As the sun arose in the morning the mists would come up in clouds from the opening and with the sun on them, the effect was like the volcano in action. As the sun climbed, the shadows changed and kept changing. Clouds always floated over the top. We were on the west side. There was always one of the misty showers at sunset which caused a rainbow to form a circle over the mouth of the crater. It was so beautiful it was almost weird. I have always regretted I did not get to visit there. The opening is about seven miles across, or twenty-five miles around the crest, and t3wo thousand feet deep. Many go into the crater to hunt wild boars and wild goats.

     The east side of the Island is covered by black lava formations where the lava flowed over two hundred years ago, but never since. It is the largest extinct crater in the world.

     Mrs. Baldwin, the wife of the plantation superintendent, lived two doors from me, and her mother and sister Mary in the house between. We became very intimate and I loved them dearly. The mother, Mrs. Fleming was nearing ninety and had nearly lost her eyesight. Also she suffered from varicose veins. Here was my chance to do a good deed each day. Having had so much experience with Mother’s limbs not even a surgeon could rival me putting on a bandage. Each morning I went over and did what was so hard for her to do. When she was all fixed up comfy she would get out the books she loved and I would read by the hour to her. It was like having my own mother back again, and helped to make me more contented.

     Many of the books I read were histories of the different groups of Islands in the Pacific. She had come to Hawaii from Scotland over forty years before and had helped make some of that history. What she could tell of her own experience helped to make the reading, more interesting.

     Both Mrs. Baldwin and I had to eat our lunch alone, so she would often beg me to come and share her lunch with her. She had a grand home with everything lovely in it, and two Japanese servants, so it seemed very luxurious to eat at her table with servants to wait on us.

     We were enjoying ourselves very much one day when the ‘phone rang. It brought word that her sister Mary had had an accident and to come at once. Mary was principal of all the Paia schools. She had stepped on a rock which threw her knee out of joint and the fall broke her hip. She was taken to the hospital and a special nurse came from Honolulu. After a short while, though still in a cast, she was able to be left alone while the nurse rested in the afternoon, but the hours were long and lonely. I gladly volunteered to spend them with her.

     She was delighted to have me and her accident was a good “break” for me. Harry would call for me immediately after lunch, taking me to the hospital, then pick me up when he was through work at four. It was the beginning of one of the most delightful friendships I ever made. We read, turn about, many interesting books, and interesting discussions followed. She seemed to love me as I did her and her greeting was always so warm; and, like a child, she hated to have me leave her. The time came when she was able to leave the hospital and she could soon handle her roadster. Our intimate friendship went on uninterrupted. We would take a lunch, some books and a blanket to lie on on the ground and spend the day together, often going up Ioa Valley, one of the loveliest spots in the world. The Islands are full of traditions and history. Mary told me Ioa Valley meant the “Valley of Blood”, as the Ioa River had flowed with blood during one of the historical battles between the Hawaiian kings. Our friendship still continues and Mary has twice visited me in California.

     We received word from California that Charlie was in the government hospital at Palo Alto for an operation on his hip. This didn’t help my homesickness any.

     E.K. would look pretty tired in the morning and I worried for fear he was doing too much. One morning he came in looking so grey and wan I asked him what was wrong. He said he had lifted a typewriter and it seemed to do something to his heart. I hastened down to Eva’s and asked her to take us to the hospital. When the doctor examined his heart he asked if I cared if he called in another doctor. This alarmed me and I decided I didn’t want him to die over there so far from home. It was not hard to persuade him we better be getting back. We had been there only six months and he had promised Harry he would stay a year. A promise was a promise with him and he hated to break it. We had cost Harry nothing, as we had bought our own tickets and fully paid our way, so we were not in honor bound to stay.

     Harry asked his dad to plant a tree to memorize his visit to Maui. A Japanese took up a good-sized royal palm and dug the hole for it. E.K. planted it and patted in the dirt. The neighbors called to see it done and were quite interested, old Mrs. Fleming most of all. It was near her yard and she said she would never let it get dry. She is now ninety-five years old, but she still loves the tree and give it an occasional wetting.

     Mary Fleming planned to have him plant one for her at her school grounds. She was preparing an entertainment and part time holiday, but we left unexpectedly and too soon.

     Mrs. Baldwin gave a luau for us in a long open air dining room. Every one was so kind and yet how happy I was to be going home..

     Harry felt badly that we could give up Hawaii for California but when he saw we wanted to go he helped us to get ready and we went to Honolulu. After riding in those old Inter Island tubs we enjoyed the ride over in one of the palace ships that had been put on this run, called the “Hualalai”. When Harry and Al accompanied us to the boat “I had asked Eva and the children not to come) I bade them good-bye and asked them to go and not wait on the pier. I just couldn’t stand it. As I wanted Harry go down the gangplank I felt it was the last time we would ever see him. I felt my heart was breaking and I had no tears for relief. He was such a darling! His father never did see him again.

     We felt a great sadness in bidding our good Hastie friends good-bye as they accompanied us to the “Sonoma” and watched us leave. The “Sonoma” was the sister ship to the “Sierra” on which we had sailed down. When we entered our cabin we found books, candy, flowers and a beautiful picture of Hawaii, all from our Honolulu friends, and a lovely boquet made upon on an Hawaiian fam from Eva besides steamer letters. On board we found many of our traveling friends who came down with us on their way to Australia, and were now returning to San Francisco.

     We prepared for dinner and as we came into the lounge we were being paged by a cabin boy. He said we were requested to come to the office of the head steward. The steward informed us that Captain McMannus requested we be seated at the Captain’s table. This is considered a great honor and we couldn’t refuse but wondered why we were so favored. We decided the reason must be on account of E.K.’s railroad service. However, E.K. wished often we had taken a table more secluded. He was very depressed and the gay crowd did not appeal to him. At dinner most of the men dressed in evening clothes and the ladies in formals. Diamonds were much in evidence. Those things didn’t bother me but he felt conspicuous in his dark blue business suit. I was very proud of him just as he was. He kept quietly by himself all the way home - not very well and not very happy.

     There had been a World Convention of physicians and surgeons at Sidney, and many of the doctors and their wives were returning on this boat. I met the world’s greatest anaesthetist and the doctor who cleaned up Panama, and many nationally prominent surgeons and physicians, and enjoyed very much doing so.

     My heart leaped with pleasure when I arose the last morning out to find our friends, the gulls, had to come to meet us. We were nearing California! Our ship had to go into quarantine and one lady had to be taken care of who had gone insane on the trip. As a day’s time is long between Australia and San Francisco, this trip it happened to be Saturday. The woman was an Adventist and it had actually driven her insane and she had to be confined.

     I had hoped some of our folks would be at the pier as we came in, but not a familiar face was in sight. We had to have our baggage opened and searched at the dock, which takes some time. At last we started for the gate at the end of the pier and before we reached there we heard some one shouting to us. We found Ernest, Grace, Terry, Ida, Anne, and Mrs. Terry. All of them were so mad because they had had to wait behind the gate account of maritime laws regarding an Australian ship. They could see us, but couldn’t get to us. Little Terry pinned a bunch of violets on my coat and was so happy to see us, while Anne fairly jumped up and down.

     Mrs. Terry invited us all to a duck dinner at her house in Oakland, but Charlie had insisted we come right to Palo Alto. Ida and Anne had an apartment and were staying there too. Ernest crowded us all, except Mrs. Terry, in his car and we drove to the hospital. We found Charlie up, but still on crutches. After a good dinner, which we were able to get at the hospital, we left with Ernest for home.

     As soon as we were rested, we decided to visit the Robbs and Hammonds before settling again in the Shantyette. We went to South Gate and had been there less than a week when I made a mis-step in the dark and was unfortunate enough to get five fractures of the arm and shoulder and a dislocation of my arm. It proved to be a pretty painful accident for I had to be taken to the hospital for X-rays and the surgeon had to do the work with no anasthetic on account of my blood pressure. I had my arm and shoulder in a cast for six weeks. The doctor had told me he would try to give me at least a seventy-five percent arm again, but his skill proved to be excellent and I recovered the full use of it.

     After the cast was removed we went to San Diego and enjoyed a good visit with the Hammond family, though while there I had a spell of uremic poisoning, caused by my broken bones, that left me in a bad physical condition.

     We went back to Fresno and as Ida’s house was not being used we went there to stay. I seemed to be getting worse and weaker all the time. Being quite discouraged I asked Dr. James if there wasn’t something he could do to brace me up. In his solemn, professional way he said, “No, Mrs. Eby. You will never be any better.” Not being willing to give up even then, I asked him if he would send me some Lugol’s Solution, a remedy that had always helped my thyroid condition. This he did, and though it is seven years since then, I got better and never called him again. I transferred my patronage to Dr. Mizener who had done so much for me at South Gate.

     A few months later I was so much better that when our tenants moved out we went back to the dear old Shantyette again, but not to be as happy as we always had been. Ernest’s and Charlie’s families did much to keep us cheered and when we would get too blue Flora and Helen would insist on visits from us. It was not hard to see that their dear father was slipping gradually from us.

     E.K.’s pension kept our personal wants supplied but the high taxes and street work required so much ready money that all the children helped keep them up. Charlie and Ida would call and try to slip a check in my hand, but I would give it back and thank them, telling them it was the children’s place to attend to that. Ida often got up a good dinner, observing our diets closely, and would have us over. They were determined to help in some way.

     One inquisitive friend, who wondered about our expenses and where the money was coming from in the present depression, was quite relieved and satisfied when I told her we had made some excellent investments in our youth and were now receiving large dividends. She little guessed it was my four blessed children of whom I spoke.

     It was a cold winter and we bought lots of coal to keep the house nice and warm as E.K. was cold very much. Quite often Charlie would drive over with a sack of coal on his bumper and when he dragged it off and left it on the porch, he would say, “Dar you. Try to hand that back.” He loved E.K. devotedly and E.K. looked for Charlie’s visits with pleasure for he was able to keep him up on all the latest railroad gossip.

     Charlie came over one day and thoughtlessly entertained him by telling what he had had to eat the night before at a lodge meeting. He said, “We had hot biscuits and hone with country sausage and coffee. Oh, boy!” When he left E.K. said, “I would give anything to be able to eat a meal like that.” I surprised him by saying, “That is just what I am going to give you for dinner.” I set it before him and told him “Go ahead, eat all you want.” I felt one carbo-hydrate jag wouldn’t kill him and I was going to take the hungry look out of his eyes once more. He enjoyed it to the last biscuit and I’m glad I gave it to him.

     While we were having a visit at Helen’s, Jim’s wife called me to the ‘phone one day and asked me if I could come over to their place in Monterey Park as Lide was there. I had not seen my sister for over eight years and I was thrilled to go. Pauline added, “You will find Lide in a terrible state. She brought Dick down to Sawtelle Hospital last night a raving maniac, accompanied by the Inyo County sheriff and a deputy.” Immediately we went over and I was shocked to see my brave sister so stricken, but I was so happy to once more hold her in my arms.

     The secret was out! She had been carrying her load and living with a madman for over eight years. What we had called crookedness was a form of insanity. I can’t forgive her for shunning us as she did for we would have been glad to help. Her life had more than once been in danger. She tried to hide her sorrow and shielded him until it came to where the people in their vicinity warned her that if she didn’t put hin in safe keeping they would. God alone knew what she had passed through. We all felt it was not fair to us to have let us misjudge him instead of trying to help. The authorities at the hospital told her he was hopelessly insane. She fixed up affairs there and went back to the desert alone and with no money. Dick lived three years in that condition.

     During those years she took charge of everything on the ranch with the help of a young man she had found wanting a job. She managed to slaughter the cattle and dress them. She would take her little Ford truck and go out to pick up the calves in the springs, carrying them in her arms, and she did her own branding. She fought the Indians away from her cattle.

     She had charge of a branch County library and all classes of men came there to read by her fireplace and to secure books. She fixed up a box on the back of her car for books and did a circulating library business, going to the mines and cattle camps.

     Every one loved and admired her and no one ever molested her. She was a character that fitted into that desolate desert country and she brought cheer wherever she went. One time she had to dress a pig that a man had ordered. In dressing it she did a poor job of scalding the bristles and she amused us by saying she took a safety razor and shaved the whole pig.

     Once I said to her, “Have you a gun to use if someone should come to make you trouble?” She answered, “There is a whole arsenal over in that corner but I can say ‘sic ‘em’ a heap sight quicker than I can fire a gun.” She still had old Ben, the blood hound, for a body guard and she fearing nothing with him hear.

     At just dusk one night she heard a rap at the door. Ben growled; she was alone. As she opened the door a big buck Indian stepped in. When he saw Ben he grabbed Lide for protection. She asked what he wanted. He pointed to her well-stocked cupboard and said, “Heap food. Me hungry.” She fed him and gave him a chair by the fire. Later she fixed a bed for him on the porch, and he was gone when she got up in the morning. When she was telling me I exclaimed, “Weren’t you frightened?” Nonchalantly she said, “No, but I was so dark mad because he wouldn’t talk to me.” Poor dear! That told how lonely she was.

     When Dick died she sold the ranch and cattle and drove out of the desert on a truck loaded with dynamite. She applied for a pension as Dick was a Spanish War veteran. After some difficulty she got the pension and back pay and, with her cattle and ranch money in government bonds, is comfortably fixed, though broken in health. I recently visited her at Atascadero, one of the prettiest places in California. She is companion to a dear old lady in a pleasant home, very happy to still be of some help in the world.

     My chronicle would not be complete if I didn’t tell of a little excitement that Nancy and Alan caused soon after they went to South Gate. One Sunday they wanted their mother to take them to Long Beach. Alex was busy at the factory and Helen didn’t want to go. She told them to put on their skates and go out for a nice long skate. She was busy and forgot about them. As lunch time arrived she called but they were no place around. After a while she began to get uneasy for they had never run away. She ‘phoned Lex who came, and a general search was instituted and local police informed. No one had seen them and as they had not eaten a full breakfast Helen knew they would be getting hungry.

     Alex searched the river bed where itinerants had a colony and drove up and down the avenues. Night was coming on, so he drove into the Los Angeles police station and reported their absence. He told them he feared they were kidnaped as he was sure they would return home if they were not being held some place. The police became interested and at once got busy, sending their homicide squad in many directions.

     A cold wind came up as night approached. Helen said she never so dreaded to see the sun set. They had not worn anything to keep them warm. All the neighbors were as excited and frantic as they were. Darkness came down.

     About eight thirty they came limping in, Alan ahead. They were cold, dirty, hungry and tear-stained. They hadn’t been lost for a minute, as Alan knew the way home. What really happened was as follows: They skated till tired, then started to walk to Long Beach. When they got to Signal Hill they decided they had better turn back. They walked until Nancy’s feet blistered. Alan wrapped his handkerchief about them. On they trudged until Nancy suggested, “Let’s sit down on the curb and cry. Maybe some one will ask us what is the matter and take us home.” They were on busy Long Beach Boulevard. Sunday traffic was thick but no one paid any attention to them. Alan had a happy idea and said, “Let’s ask the service man at the oil station for a nickel to ‘phone Mother.” The man said, “Go to a fire station and ‘phone.” He must have been pretty heartless. Discouraged, they kept going until they reached home. They had traveled twenty-two miles.

     They were put in a hot bath, then to bed. Nancy wasn’t able to gt up the next morning; Alan did, though pretty lame.

     Alex asked Nancy, “What did all this teach you?” She said, “It taught me never to do it again and how many peanut sellers there are on Long Beach Boulevard.” Probably some of those peanuts would have tasted pretty good.

     E.K. kept up but was losing strength. His heart was failing. Many times at night I would awaken and listen to find if he were still breathing. Twice he fell in the bath tub, striking the back of his head. Soon after he was trimming shrubs one hot March day. I watched him pretty closely all the time and went out to see what he was doing. I saw two men picking him up. My heart nearly stopped beating. He had fallen and couldn’t get to his feet. They carried him in the house and from that day he seemed dazed. My anxiety was so intense Ernest insisted on bringing us to his house the tenth of April.

     Harry had not realized his father was so ill. When he did he gave me a radio station in Fresno and asked me to try to send a wireless every day. I knew one word “come” would bring him home. I did not thing it best to send for him. It would have been small comfort to him as his father would not have known him, but I longed for his comforting presence. I believed in mental telepathy when we received a letter written by him on the day that we went to Ernest’s the ten of April. When it came I read it to his dad and tried to make him understand. I think I did for he said, “I have always been so proud of that boy.” I think the letter well worth passing on. (See next page)

          Hamakuapoko, Maui

           April 10, 1932

     Dear Momma and Papa:

     I wonder why it is so hard for me, and I suppose for everyone, to say the things we really thing and feel. I have thought for a long time that some day I would sit down and write and tell you just what I thought of you. I think I would like my boys to do this for me some day if they think as well of me as I do of you.

     I suppose as we grow older we naturally give more thought to our parents and can really begin to appreciated them about the time when we no longer have them. I wonder, Papa, if it ever occurs to you just what a real success you have made of your life. I can’t see where you have failed at any point. You have a clear conscience and can face the world and have faced it that way for seventy three years.

     You gave Mamma and four kids a real happy home and ; one I think none of us can ever remember with anything but pleasure. You gave us all the education we were entitled to from your hands, and the real heritage from you, I think, is our unbounded health.

     You started us in life with no taint in our blood for a handicap.

     You never built up a fortune, but had you done so, I can’;t think of any of the above things I would have been willing to sacrifice for the sake of it, and no doubt, some sacrifice would have been necessary.

     I think, no doubt, that seeing the way you always treated Mamma in our home has made for a pleasant married life for us, as we surely reflect in our later years what we learn in our youth at home. As for you Mamma, you were a mother in a million. When I think of what we have do with these days, and what you had to do when we were kids, I don’t see how you did it, but you made a real home and fed and clothed us as well as any one in town. I guess you were just a natural mother and worked hard to make us all happy and hereby succeeded.

                                                                                                Love, from Harry

     We sent for the robbs and Hammonds three times before their father was gone. The weather was bad that spring and they took some hard trips over the Ridge, once in a snow storm.

     He passed away just noon, May 3^rd, 1932. His going was a lovely passing of a lovely spirit, just each day one day nearer heaven; no pain and no knowledge of the passing. The last few days before he went I was ill with a bad cold and nearly as dazed as he. I stood alone by him as he drew a last tired sigh and was gone, hungry for the last time. I couldn’t grasp it. After forty-seven years with him at my side, how could he leave me now? It seemed almost strange the next morning to see the sun come up just as usual and the same people passing to their work as if nothing had happened.

     Our friends were many and all so kind. When Flora and Helen returned to their homes they insisted on taking me with them. I stayed but a few days. There were papers to sign and other business. There was plenty of insurance to settle everything and pay the children for their help and some left.

     I planned to keep on living at the Shantyette. I fixed it up, bought a few new things and planned to get a couple of college girls to live with me. I had my cupboards full of groceries and my bed made up, expecting to stay alone until I found some girls, but Ernest wouldn’t allow it. He drove out and took me to his house. I felt I shouldn’t be stubborn for I knew I would be an anxiety out there alone. I gave in as graciously as I could. I never did stay there again, renting the place furnished.

     Since then I stay with the children, very welcome and quite happy. Sometimes I am accused by members of the family of being a worrier. I deny the charge! It is only because I try to shield each one with the abundant love I have for them, and when I can’t it grieves me. I love them beyond all reason. They are now my life.

     I compare myself to a shuttle, just weaving back and forth. The pattern woven is made up of threads of devotion. The Southern Pacific Railroad gives me courtesy passes to travel any place I want to go in the United States, Canada, Mexico, or on Atlantic boats between New Orleans and New York, but all I require is my pass between San Francisco and San Diego. I don’t care to get further away from those I love.

     Passing back and forth on the train I see many things and people of interest. I rode all one day with Edith Fellows in my car. She is the charming little twelve year old movie actress. I found her very sweet and amusing, and she gave me her autograph for each of my grandchildren interested in such things.

     An experience that the children still laugh about happened one day while I sat opposite a tired mother and her fretful child. I watched sympathetically while the child was shaken, spanked and finally slammed down in the seat so hard that I must have shown my disgust by glaring fiercely at the mother. She exclaimed, “now if you are not good I’ll have that old woman over there bite you!” Was my face red?

     I pass from home to home and consider myself very blessed. Wherever I go there are children. How I love them all! At Charlie’s and Ida’s there is dear little Anne - always sweet and full of life. She gives me her affection in abundance, but can’t quite forgive me because I am Aunt Margaret instead of Grandma to her. That I think dates back to their childhood, when Nancy refused to allow her to call me Grandma.

     At Helen’s there are always Nancy and Alan. I have been nearer to them I think than to the rest, and have seen them through every illness they ever had. Once when Alex was very ill and it was thought he had smallpox, Helen warned me not to come near. I told her, “Leprosy couldn’t keep me away if they were ill and needed me.” I was allowed to rock and cuddle Nancy from the first and how Nancy and I loved it! When ill she always insisted that I come and hold her. When Nancy insisted she insisted!

     Once when about ten years old she had formed the habit of taking Kate to bed with her. When Kate was not to be found at bedtime Nancy set up a cry “I want Kate” and she kept it up to the distress of their near neighbors. She admits driving more than one tenant out of the duplex next door by her yowling. But how we all adored our darling Nancy!

     She is gifted with a talent that runs to painting babies and children and is passionately fond of all little folks. She always has craved a baby sister and had been told when she is good enough they will get her one. Evidently she isn’t good enough yet. For some time she satisfied her desires by loving and caring for Dickie Shaner, one of a large family near them. She would bathe and dress him when he was little and sometimes take on his brothers, Phil and Bob, too. This suited their busy mother just fine, and I am sure Mrs. Shaner is one of Nancy’s greatest admirers.

     No one greets me with a harder hug than Alan. I am made to feel he is as glad to see me as I am him. He is quiet and studious and so kind and courteous to everyone. He is taking a pre-medical college course.

     Helen and Flora give every attention to my diet and health. Two years ago I had another light stroke at Helen’s house and the care and attention she and Alex gave me once more brought me back to comparative health. Alan and Nancy were alone with me when I was stricken, which gave them a bad fright. Later I thought some of taking a trip East and asked Nancy if she would like to go with me. Her answer was, “What would I do getting into Chicago with a dead grandmother?”

     When I finish my visit at Helen’s (she now lives in Pasadena) I take the train for San Diego, where I am always met by Earl, Flora and the two boys. Their warm greetings fill my heart with gratitude and pleasure. It is like a long vacation there. We drive to the mountains, down into Mexico, to Coronado, picnic on the beach, and Earl often asks me to ride to the Marine Base where I am always interested in the military activities. We visit the waterfront and see the warships come and go. I saw the “Macon” and “Akron” before their fatal disasters. We watch the airships practice in the sky. I once watched four hundred en masse fly over the Exposition. Not a day passes that I don’t ride out in the salt air and sunshine. All this helps to keep me well and comfortable.

     The Hammond home is run on schedule - everything neat, orderly and on time. Flora is a wonderful mother. Helen and I concede her to be the most perfect one in the world.

     One time, feeling a little depressed, I said to Flora, “Sometimes I think I might as well pass on. Why am I waiting?” With the Irish glint in her eye, she slowly shook her head and said, “And you’re such a good dishwasher!” My sentiment didn’t take and I don’t practice it any more.

     Her fifteen year old Terry is my largest grandson, six feet tall and weighs one hundred and seventy-four pounds. Of course I am very proud of him. He is a great reader and plays the flute. He helps me into the car and out, and watched my footsteps with tenderest care to keep me from falling.

     Tom is the joy of all of our lives, hopping and jumping all day long; writing poetry and advertising slogans, always doing something original, running errands, and willingly and sweetly is at my beck and call. He is now learning to play the trombone. I can’t imagine what the Hammond home would be without Tom.

     He is a great child to memorize every ad or billboard that he sees, and he applies the slogan to daily affairs. He had heard the family remark I wasn’t very well and in a nervous condition. Once when I arrived to visit them I found an ash tray on my dressing table with a match and a Camel cigarette. When asked about it, he said, “Camels were good for the nerves.” He once wrote me a cute valentine verse and I’ll give it here:

                               Oh, Grandma dear, I love you,

                               And I’m glad when you’re around.

                               And when you leave, my heart just sinks

                               Right down into the ground.

     When Ernest thinks I have been away long enough he begins to urge me to return home. Fresno is still “home” to me. I go back and find a complete change from where I have been. Their house is large and comfortable but noisy and full of confusion. I enjoy the hubbub and I think it does me good. I am always met at the train by two cars, Charlie’s and Ernest’s, and am nearly pulled to pieces while Anne and the Eby kids scrap to see in which car I’ll ride. No doubting my welcome there.

     Terry and Gerry will have my room clean and orderly, with a boquet on the dressing table. Once Terry had put a plat of his own make of doughnuts on the dresser, regardless of my diet. They call me the “candy” grandmother as I always carry candy home. Once I took home candy imitation gold coins bought at the Exposition ans as I passed them out to all the neighborhood youngsters I felt like Death Valley Scotty with his twenty dollar gold pieces for tips. What fun I have with them!

     Shy little Gerry hangs onto me jealously and once asked me not to kiss the little Foin girls who lived next door when they came to greet me as I was not their grandmother.

     Terry would always call me to his room the first night of my arrival and when I kissed him good-night it always touched me deeply when he said, “Grandma, I have needed you and am so glad you have come.”

     When I came home one winter I interested Terry and Gerry in the Congregational Sunday School and they were baptized at Easter, in 1934, by Dr. Henderson.

     Ernest takes his father’s place with me and is such a comfort. Some one said one day, “Ernest wears himself out trying to make other people comfortable.” Grace is one of the most comfortable people to live with that I know - always calm and good-natured, and lets me go according to my own sweet will.

     Jack’s greeting is always noisy, and, like Nancy, he always tries to do or say something to shock me before I have been home many minutes. When I went home last year he had something real to hand me. He had been having a high school romance with Georgia Casey, a girl in his class. They graduated together. Jack was offered three scholarships - at U.C., San Jose and Fresno State. He had belong to the football team and won the title of “All Valley Center.” He entered Fresno State but was so much in love he couldn’t settle down to work, and decided to get work and marry. He and Georgia were eighteen years old. The family all loved Georgia, who is a very lovable and capable girl, but Ernest and Grace tried to make them realize they were too young to take on such a responsibility. They could have prevented it by refusing to sign their license application, but Jack left college, found a very good position in an electric company, and told his dad,

If you don’t sign for me I’ll go to the next county and falsify my age.” Ernest was a darling through it all. When he found how useless it was to try to make Jack wait he left us one day with tears in his eyes, saying, “Well, here I go to sign my boy away.” Georgia had no home of her own and Grace kindly invited them to have the wedding in Jack’s home. It was all arranged and a very pretty wedding with about thirty guest took place. After a honeymoon up north they came back and settled in a little furnished flat and are decidedly happy and get along beautifully. My sympathy was always with them for I believe in youthful marriages.

     Not having been to visit them for seven years, I am cheated of much of the childhood of Harry’s children, but keep in very close touch through Harry’s and Eva’s letters, besides frequent kodak pictures. Billy still has a love for cattle and horses and buys a horse or calf any time he can save enough money. He has his own brand and dreams of when he will be a cattle rancher. His greatest pleasure is to get in on a roundup. He goes around with high-heeled boots and is a perfect Kanaka with his broad-brimmed hat trimmed with a lei. Barbara is developing into a pretty young lady and is a great pleasure to her dad. She is interested in the boat he is building and enjoys being with him. Big boy Harry has just completed two years at the University of Hawaii, at Honolulu, planning to be a chemical engineer. At present we are anticipating the pleasure of seeing him as he is on his way across the ocean to enter a school in the East to complete his course. He will visit us before going on to college.

     The year after E.K. left me I called at my oculist’s one day to have my frames adjusted. He said, “Maybe I had better look at your eyes.” His examination showed I had potential cataracts. This came as a shock to me, but he gave me some drops to use in them, and I am faithfully and painfully using them and praying my sight will last as long as I do. I do not worry about it for I know there will be kind hands to lead me if it is every necessary.

     Three years ago Eva’s health broke. The doctor ordered a rest and change from family cares. Leaving the children home, they booked on a freighter, the “Mauna Loa” and left for California. A freighter gives fine accommodations, but only for about sixteen passengers, and it takes about ten days to cross. This makes a nice quiet rest period. I received word they were coming while I was visiting in San Diego. It was six hundred miles to San Francisco, but I left right away to be there to greet them, going up on a sleeper on the “Owl”. I registered at the Stewart Hotel and found the boat wouldn’t be in for another day.

     The marine strike was on and the next morning when I got to the pier no one was allowed on the docks. The boat was already docking. I went to the office to see if they would let me through the gates. I had to tell them who I was and whom I was meeting. One of the Matson officers said, “Wait until I get my uniform on and I’ll take you out.” Harry and Eva were very surprised to see me as they knew I was supposed to be in San Diego. We all spent the day pleasantly in the City and the next morning left for Fresno.

     After a few days there they left for Helen’s at Huntington Park and later went to San Diego to visit the Hammonds. They invited me to go with them but I was feeling so badly because I didn’t have my own home in which to entertain them that I stayed home cross and disappointed.

     When they returned to San Francisco they took an apartment until the strike was settled enough to get a boat. Their freighter was tied up and couldn’t move. Harry urged me to come up and I invited Ida to go with me. We stayed at the Stewart Hotel and visited back and forth a few days, then returned home. My last glimpse of my boy was in the Ferry Building as he looked back over the heads of the crowd and waved good-bye. Ida said, “Margaret, you are a brick to be so brave when he leaves you.” I said, “No, I’m not. My tears are simply congealed and my emotions are choking me.” He finally got reservations but had to take another ship and go by train to Los Angeles to take it. I am happy to say Eva recovered her health and in her last letter said, “I am so well now.

     One evening, March 10^th, 1933, Ernest had his radio on and the announcer said, “Huntington Park schoolhouse burning and many lives lost in earthquake in Long Beach and surrounding area.” Helen was still living in South Gate, which joins Huntington Park and is not far from Long Beach. We were instantly alarmed and eagerly listened for further news. Of course we all recall the disastrous shake. We didn’t get word from Helen until two o’clock that night when she managed to get a ‘phone connection. She said they were safe and staying in their cars in the front yard. The chimney was down and everything in the house in a mess. The shocks kept coming and in the morning they left everything a drove to San Diego. In a day or so they returned and straightened things up but were pretty earth-quake-conscious.

     They moved that summer to Huntington Park. I was visiting at their home in October when another strong quake shook that quarter at one o’clock in the morning. Much damage was done and many buildings, damaged in March, went down. We were well shaken but no damage done at the house.

     I must tell what has become of Harriet. She took a nurses’ training course at the San Diego County Hospital with post graduate courses in Los Angeles and San Francisco. Later she went to Honolulu and nursed in the Queens Hospital a year. She has recently returned home and is flashing a diamond. She met her man in Honolulu. He is a Matson engineer and I’m hoping they will soon marry and have their own home. They expect to live in San Francisco.

     For several years Ernest’s family and the Robbs have each rented a cottage at Anaheim Landing a few weeks in the summer and all enjoy it so much. A gala event each year is when the Hammonds drive from San Diego and we are all together for an Eby family reunion; everybody there but Harry’s family.

     Nearly all the time during our stay in the Shantyette, I was fortunate and happy is possessing a neighbor, Mrs. Belle Brown, thirteen years younger than I, and who was one of the most delightful friends of my later days.

     She was beautiful and wholesome, possessing considerable wealth, and a fund of jollity and good cheer.

     Checks from Mines, Cattle Ranches, gas, and oil wells filled her mail box but money had lots it’s savor for her. She feared, after many unpleasant experiences, that her money was the chief attraction in gaining friends and she had come to California out of the surroundings of Oklahoma to make a new life.

     Though possessing more than one home in the East, she purchased a modest little cottage, trying to obscure her wealth and with her books and fine Auto she prepared to enjoy life with her two sons, Billy and Fran, both in High School. Her husband, a man twenty years older than she, remained in Oklahoma to manage the property. As we lived next door, we were attracted to each other and she soon learned her money did not impress me nor make me care more for her, but her congenial spirits gave me a great uplift when Life was sliding down the scale for me.

     We spent hours together and rode all about the country, visiting and laughing like two school girls.

     She was well read and delved into all the sciences, ‘ologies, politics and religion and poured them out on me, knowing I usually had a come back, not always agreeing with her, and the fight would be on. Being restless, she would go away weeks at a time, but would be glad to get back and once more we would be deep in arguements or discussing the latest books and current events. She would spend months at their gold mine in Northern California and would hunt in the mountains, but still she didn’t find the true source of happiness.

     Last year I sold the lots where the old Shantyette stood. A doctor bought the place to build a fine home. I hope he enjoys his fine home as much as we did our little home of no pretension. Jim’s health was failing when E.K. went, and for five years he was an invalid. I went often to see him and he finally died January 21^st, 1937. He is now resting in Forest Lawn at Glendale.

     One day recently a friend had secured complimentary passes to the M.G.M. studio. He invited Helen and me to go. We were glad to accept as it is very difficult to get into those places. A guide conducted us about and we saw much of interest. We witnessed one play in the making and saw the “San Francisco” earthquake and “Romeo and Juliet” sets and Ziegfield Follies Building. Also many scenes were fully explained to us. At a school on the grounds we saw Freddie Bartholomew and “Our Gang” all playing at the recess hour. We were interested in seeing Clark Gable close at hand. We were taken in the sewing rooms and saw a building that contained a million dollars worth of furniture which was used on sets.

     When being conducted over the lot I thought of the first moving picture I ever saw. It was in 1904 and was part of a vaudeville show. It was a boy fishing on a river bank and another picture of fire horses coming towards us and looked as if they would jump off the stage. I had never heard of them before and I excitedly told my family about it when I reached home.

     I didn’t see any more until we were in Arkansas. They were exhibited in cheap little buildings and cost a nickel a show, and were called “Nickelodeons”. Mary Pickford was then the big attraction in juvenile parts.

     A few weeks ago Alex and Helen were invited to take a “courtesy” trip on one of the new Western Air Line planes. They had never been up before and were quite thrilled, coming home filled with admiration and told me all about the wonderful ship and the service rendered. It recalled to my mind the first time I ever saw an airship, several years ago in the early part of the century, but I don’t remember the date. The first air meet held in the United States was at Los Angeles. When leaving there two of the flyers, Lincoln Beachey and Glen Martin, came to Fresno to hold a meet. Many people went to the Fair Grounds and paid fifty cents to see them land and take off for a circle around that part of the city. I happened to be spending that afternoon with a friend in the country. We heard her son, who was working in the vineyard, shouting to us and we hurried out to see why. Beachey’s airship was coming down to make a landing in an alfalfa patch right in front of the house. He had lost his way to the Fair Grounds and came down for directions. We all rushed to the plane and examined it with great curiosity. The show had been brought right to our door. I still have to have my first experience in an airship.

     I think I shall now bring this life tale to a close. I believe that I have had more than my share of happiness, as I count happiness, and am duly grateful. Now past my allotted time of three score and ten, I am facing the Western sun; the shadows are growing long, and I know not when the darkness will come. Perhaps there is still work for me to do. “No ride is over till the last yard is run.” May I have the courage to go on and never fail those I love.

     Oliver Wendell Holmes has said: “We cannot live on dreams. We are lucky enough if we can give a sample of our best, and if in our hearts can feel it is nobly done.”

     As it was Helen’s request I have written these memories I shall expect her to write the finale. If her words are as sweet as she has always given me it will be a grand eulogy.

                                                                       Margaret C. Eby

                                                                              San Diego, California

                                                                                        September 17^th, 1937

Continued in a diary in my portfolio.

                                                                          Fresno, California, June 2, 1940.

     When I closed this life history of mine, nearly three years ago, I thought there cannot be much more to tell. However I am comparatively well, and life still holds much of interest for me. Loved ones have passed on, marriages have occurred, and another generation has started.

     Three years older! Yet I do not feel any older than I did at the close of my summary. One of the strange things of life is that during our youth we look forward to old age as something terrible to contemplate, and with a feeling that all happiness must end at some dividing line between youth and old age. I do not find it so. Peace and contentment, tempered with understanding, come to us with the advancing years, and we become kinder in our judgement. It is less effort to forgive the sins and weaknesses of others. We dwell less on the thought of death, the inevitable, and almost forget to wonder how soon the door will open for us and leave us exploring on the other side.

     Perhaps the indifference and calmness with which I am viewing death is explained by the fact that I will be leaving three generations to follow on, all good, sturdy and moral stock. I feel that in some mysterious occult way my life will go on in theirs, thus defying Death.

     Tomorrow and the day after remain the same to us older ones and we continue to plan. One old lady I knew, eighty four years of age, used to solicit blocks for quilt making from all her friends saying, “When I get old I am going to piece them.” Old age was not a reality to her, though her years were many.

     Age seems to produce its own anesthesia. In our youth each blow coming t9o is es delivered with exquisite agony; the loss of one we have loved; financial losses; disappointment in friends we have trusted; and affairs of the heart. With the advancing years we learn to know what these things are just part of life. Nothing fills us with despair any more because we know that nothing is final. Dawn always follows the night, so, age is a time of calm philosophy, of hope that whatever is, is best.

                                            “Living our best today

                                              From other times no pain we borrow,

                                              Since yesterday ‘today’ has been,

                                              And so will be tomorrow.”

     I have never kept a diary, but I enjoyed so much writing the events of my life that I decided to keep up recordings of interesting happenings occurring since. Unfortunately, I lost the records during some of my travels and am forced to spur a fading memory to continue, but here goes.

     The marriage of Jack and Georgia produced my first great grandchild who was born November 30^th, 1937. I was in Fresno to greet his arrival. He was named Bud Scott Eby for Jack’s grandfather Scott.

     Shortly before his arrival I received word from Harriet, asking me if I would meet her in San Francisco and attend her wedding to Leo Wallace. Her father was not well and she was leaving alone to meet her young man. I hastily shopped for a wedding gift and was met by the happy pair at the Ferry Building.

     They had rented a small apartment and I stayed with Harriet until the wedding took place at St. Luke’s Church, San Francisco, November 8, 1937. A young man from the Australia was best man and I signed all the papers and gave the bride away. After the wedding I left for Napa to visit with a friends of Harriet’s, Mrs. Bradley, who had come to be present at the wedding.

     When I returned to Fresno word came that Earl was in the hospital following a serious operation for stomach trouble. Flora wrote, asking me to come to her, but I was down with one of my high blood pressure attacks and couldn’t leave. However, Earl made a good recovery so all was well.

     After a winter visit to Helen in Pasadena, I was still there in March 1938 when the worst flood in the history of California took place. Rains came in cloudbursts and the rainfall was excessive in the mountains, causing all rivers to overflow and millions of dollars worth of property was destroyed, but only small loss of life took place. The flood reached from Santa Barbara to San Diego and from Riverside to the ocean. Mountain homes were washed away, bridges went out, all highway traffic was abandoned and wire and mail communication was cut off, the radio kept the people informed and gave warnings as dams broke and the water level increased. The damage about Pasadena was serious, but though our streets ran ful it never was so bad that we couldn’t wade out. Radio reports gave us the news Fresno was under water and many homes flooded under nine and ten feet of water. Knowing the lay of the land, I knew our folks were safe. The Santa Ana River covered an area fifteen miles wide and was still at flood height when I left Pasadena for San Diego near the end of March. Bridges were gone, highways were covered four or five feet deep with sand, and as so many orange groves were flooded halfway to tree tops, oranges floated every place. Our train was routed on temporary rails on higher land, and though we made slow progress we arrived safely at San Diego.

     While still visiting Flora in April, word came that Aunt Lide had suffered a stroke where she was staying in Atascadero and Ernest was sent for to get her and take her to his home. He and Grace brought her home and cared tenderly for her till she had more strokes and died April 19, 1938. I was ill at the time, and the doctor would not allow me to attend the funeral, so I was obliged to stay quietly at Flora’s and grieve for the best sister in the word.

     When I returned to Fresno in October, Grace was in bed threatened with an operation. I took over the household and relieved Ernest’s anxieties somewhat and Grace was taken to the Burnett and successfully rallied from an operation. We soon had her home and gaining nicely.

     The following Spring, while I was south on my usual visitations, word kept coming that Charlie was not well and seemed to be suffering harder attacks with his asthma, so I went home and found him very seriously ill. He was soon taken to the S.P. Hospital at San Francisco where pneumonia developed and he died May 17, 1939. He was brought home for the services and laid in the row with Dad, Mother and Lide, leaving me the only member of the family and quite heart stricken and bereft of my precious brother. It was a hard blow for me to overcome. I had never thought that Charlie would leave me. All our hearts ached for little Anne. For the first time her devoted Dad had failed her.

     During the previous fall, Harriet was expecting a little one, and as Leo was away at sea, and she was pretty miserable, she urged me to come to her for a visit at her little apartment in San Francisco. We had a pleasant time together going out to dinner and shopping, visiting Mrs. Bradley at Napa and riding over the new bridges. We saw Treasure Island lighted up, though the Fair had not yet opened. Harriet was booked to sail for Honolulu in January to meet Leo and I left just before Christmas. The night before I was to leave I made a mis-step on some stairs and got a badly sprained ankle, but was soon able to get home. While still in San Francisco, I made an interesting visit to the San Francisco Women’s prison, at which Harriet’s mother-in-law was matron.

     Harriet returned from Honolulu, and her baby boy was born in San Francisco, June 5, 1939. He was given the name of John Hammond Wallace. Later Harriet moved to San Diego, but took another trip to Honolulu to meet her husband.

     In September 1939 Harry Jr. Went back to Hawaii with a chemical engineer’s degree in his pocket, and Billy came to the Coast and entered. California Polytechnic School at San Luis Obispo. He was so homesick his parents had to give in and let him return to Maui at Christmas, and enter school in Honolulu. These ocean trips, back and forth, gave me an opportunity to see my grandsons again and they are both interesting boys.

     Harry put a diamond on a Baltimore girl’s finger before returning home, so will be sending for her soon. Latest reports say she is to sail from San Francisco September 27^th.

     Harry Sr., after working four years on a boat, launched it last year and had quite a celebration. He is head of the Sea Scouts and as they had all helped in the building of the boat it was a big day for them and about five hundred of their members were there in uniform. And guest flew over from Honolulu, to take part in the exercises. Barbara broke a bottle on the bow of the boat and christened it the “Maliko”. Harry enjoys his sailing trips to the other islands and he and Bobby get a great thrill out of these trips, but Eva and Bill get seasick and do not care to go. Instead, Harry has purchased a mountain home for Eva and she is charmed to plan and fix up the place where they expect to spend week ends.

     For the last three years Helen had been pretty miserable and finally was put to bed last summer for a rest cure, but she grew worse and an operation for goiter was decided on and performed on October 5, 1939. It was a success, but she was a pretty sick girl. I stayed with the family and helped out until she was once more able to take over the household.

     As I look back over the family history, I can’t help noticing what a large part surgery has taken in palliating our troubles and in each case has been very successful.

     As the years pass and the children get older, they seem to get more interesting, and as their interests are my interests I keep alive in their affairs.

     Nancy’s art developed to a point where she entered Los Angeles Art Center School for a semester and she was delighted with the work, but had to gain more money and quit to work in a ceramics studio.

     Finances held up Alan’s college education along medical lines and he associated himself with the Pasadena Community Playhouse, and is working along dramatic lines and stage management.

     Terry Hammond is just finishing his first year of college.

     Harry Jr. Is assistant chemist in the largest sugar mill in the world, situated in Maui, Hawaii.

     Billy is still attending school, but keeps his interest in cattle and horses.

     Jack, Georgia and little Bud never cease to be interesting in their activities. Jack recently threw up his job and left for Alaska. He got as far as Seattle and ran out of money and bummed his way home on a freight. He had a terrible experience of seeing a young man, who was a box car traveler with him, cut in two by the wheels of the train.

     All the other children are happy in school, and coming along fine.

     One of the recent and interesting trips I have taken was to Yosemite last month with Ernest. We took the side trips to the big trees and Glacier Point before entering the Valley. There was lots of snow and the river and falls were at their best, perfectly wonderful. To reach the Valley, we passed through a solid granite tunnel nearly a mile long.

     Once more this brings me up to date, and at the present time, June 5, 1940, we are in the turmoil of War, War, War! Wondering when, where and how it will end. May God bring the mad Hitler to a halt and save our civilization is the daily prayer we are all breathing.

                                                                          Pasadena, California, July 25^th, 1941

Well, here I am again, and another milestone has been passed. The year has been quite uneventful, no births and no deaths, but two marriages and much traveling about.

     In June of 1940 Earl was called into the service again and the family left for Keyport, Washington, where he reported for duty in July. I spent the biggest part of that summer in Pasadena, but visited Harriet in San Diego from August 31^st to September 4^th.

     We were all very happy when Nancy accepted Philip Monroe on July 26^th and received her ring on August 6^th.

     During the summer Jack was very ill with encephalitis, and both Jack’s and Ernest’s families were in quarantine. However, he made a good recover and the family spent their vacation as usual at Anaheim Landing where I spent a week with them. I returned to Fresno September 13^th, in time for Ernest’s and Anne’s birthdays on the 15^th and 16^th of September.

     In late August Harriet was called to New York to meet Leo and she and little John flew from San Diego to New York.

     In the latter part of September I left to visit Flora and family in Keyport. The trip was uneventful but very pleasant. Left Fresno at 4 o’clock in the morning and reached Seattle the next afternoon where Flora and Earl met me. We crossed Puget Sound on the ferry to Bremerton, then drove ten miles to Keyport. Everything was so different from California and had the semblance of Michigan; rafts of logs on the Columbia River, large saw mills and beautiful forests. I found Harriet and little John visiting there, as Leo was in Seattle while his boat was in dry dock. The Hammonds had beautiful quarters, a large two story home all nicely furnished.

     Keyport is the location of the Navy Torpedo Station, and everything is very military. A high fence surrounds the station and we all had to carry passes to get in or out. It is located right on the sound, and the grounds are very beautiful, with green lawns, flowers and lovely trees. The Olympic Mountains gleam on the west with their snowy tops and Mr. Ranier stands out boldly on the south. We took some nice trips around the surrounding country, going through the country where the sea stories of “Tugboat Annie” were laid. We crossed the Tacoma Narrows Bridge just ten days before it fell into the sound, and were thrilled at the swinging motion we got in riding across . It would twist until cars ahead of us would disappear out of sight. Realization of danger did not come to us.

     While I was at Floras Harry Jr. was married on October 5^th. His bride, Miss Dorothy Niewerth of Baltimore, accompanied by her parents arrived in Pasadena, and after bidding her parents good bye she sailed alone for Hawaii, being met in Honolulu by Harry. They were married next day in Hamakuapoko at a church wedding planned by Eva with thirty guests at the church and a large reception at the Eby home, where Hawaiian decorations were use and a quartet of Hawaiian singers entertained for the guests. Dot was dressed in pink silk and a short veil over her face. They had their honeymoon at Olinda at the Eby mountain home.

     Late in October I received a telegram from Helen, saying that Nancy had set her wedding date for November 2^nd and asked if I could come. I left that night for Pasadena, stopping over one night in Fresno, and arriving in Pasadena November first. I found everybody busy but happy and expectant. Phil was so overcome with happiness he was in a complete daze, and Nancy just sparkled with joy. The wedding dress had just arrived and Nancy made the veil that evening. At 6 o’clock the next morning she came in and crawled into my bed with all her loveliness and sweetness and we had a good visit. The wedding took place in the early afternoon at the Church of Our Savior in San Gabriel with Dick Lusk and Don Smith as ushers. The day couldn’t have been lovelier, a soft, hazy autumn day. The sun shone so prettily through the stained glass windows, and large baskets of chrysanthemums rested on the alter. Dr. John Atwell was the minister and Clarence Kellogg the organist. An estimated two hundred guests were present. Soft organ music preceded the ceremony which was followed by the Lohengrin march when Nancy entered the church on her father’s arm, preceded by Jean Rypinski as her bridesmaid. Jean was dressed in rose satin with a Juliet cap and veil and looked stately and beautiful, carrying a large bouquet of chrysanthemums. Nancy’s dress was white brocaded taffeta, made with long Basque, bouffant skirt and short train. Little lace mitts covered her hands and met the three quarter length sleeves. A tiny lace cap held the sheer veil that fell over her face. She wore the pearls that Phil had given her and carried a small white prayer book with white knotted ribbon, a gardenia and bovardia. Phil met her at the altar, accompanied by his older brother Albee as best man. The services were very impressive and beautiful and at the end Phil lifted her veil and kissed his wife, and the bells of the little church rang out as the organ played the out going march. They held a reception on the terrace outside before going home where the Monroe and Robb families were gathered afterward for refreshments. The left soon for Laguna Beach where they spent their honeymoon in a small apartment. Bob ben Ali took moving pictures at the church and home. After their return they started house keeping in an apartment out on No. Lake Ave.

     Shortly afterward I left for Fresno and stayed until after Christmas, going down to Pasadena in February. Ernest and Grace came down in March and took me home on my birthday. Just after Easter I developed a cough that became worse and I became quite ill with coughing, fever and a mounting blood pressure. Ernest and Grace gave me the best of care, but Dr. James had to be called in. Helen became worried and came to see me but I have begun to get better by then, and tho weak for sometime I gradually improved. I stayed in Fresno until after Gerry’s graduation from Junior High School and Terry’s from Senior High School on June 13^th. Terry accompanied me down to Pasadena on June 18^th, as he was branching out in the world to look for a job in Hollywood.

     In April Harry Jr. Who had joined the National Guards was ordered to officers’ training camp at Fort Benning, Ga. Dot came too and joined her parents in Baltimore. Harry brot his car and they drove across the continent. As they were ordered back to Maui again in July I was able to meet them and get acquainted with Harry’s wife, a very sweet girl, as they visited the Robbs before sailing, Dot returning on the “Lurline” and Harry sailing on a transport.

     I should have mentioned that Jack left Fresno in May and secured electric work with Douglas Aircraft Co. In Long Beach, and they established their home there where Helen and I visited them and found Bud growing into a nice big boy,

     After a months search Terry found a job in a fabric and draper house in Los Angeles. This brings me up to date. The war is still raging and no peace in sight. I wonder if I’ll live to see the peace the war torn world craves.

                                                                     Pasadena, August 20^th, 1942

     The last entry in this book was written July 25^th, 1941. More than a year has gone by, and I am still with my loved ones. I will add a page to this year book. To continue, I left Los Angeles in August for Keyport to spend a few weeks. Travel was so congested I had to travel without the use of a sleeper and arrived in Seattle rather tired, but happy to be met by Flora and Earl at the Seattle station. After crossing on the ferry and riding out to Keyport we were met by Tommy and Terry with a war welcome, and I was very happy to see them all. After a few weeks of pleasant visiting, I left the latter part of September for Fresno.

     The letter announcing my arrival had been delayed, so I reached Fresno at 2:00 A.M. and found no one to meet me, quite an unusual experience for me. The telephone brought Ernest and Grace down, and I was soon tucked snugly in my own bed. The fall weather is so beautiful in Fresno I enjoyed staying there, basking for hours on the sunny porch each day, and seemed to gain strength.

     I left a few days before Thanksgiving for Pasadena, and found the Robb and Monroe families all in a joyful state of expectation, as a little one was coming to Nancy and Philip in February. Nancy was so well and happy. Her baby came on Valentine’s Day, February 14^th, 1942, a little girl, who was named, after much discussion and several changes, Virginia Leigh Monroe. We decided to call her ‘Leigh’, which is her father’s middle name. How we all love her!

     Meanwhile we became embroiled in war, following the attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7^th, 1941. President Roosevelt declared was the following day, and things seemed to change over night. We had long been lulled with a false peace, and did not think this could happen to us.

     A cablegram came from Harry, telling us of their safety. Harry Jr. Was in the army and stationed on Maui. Everyone was soon busy and doing anything they could to help. Eva was placed in charge of the Red Cross; Harry Jr. On active duty, Dot went to work for the Navy, Bill took a war job that didn’t interfere with his cattle raising and Bobby took charge of forty children at the playground. Air shelters were built, and all homes had to be blacked out a sunset with no one allowed on the streets after dark. An air raid shelter was built at Harry’s station out of an old tunnel that had been used to carry water under the mountain. When the first air raid alarm sounded the tunnel was filled with mostly Japs before the siren quit blowing. Also when the gas masks were passed out the Japs headed the line to get theirs. While I was here in Pasadena, we had two blackouts, so I got an idea of what it is like. We sit on the porch and watch the search lights seek the ships in the sky at night. On my birthday Ernest and Grace drove down and took me home with them, and I enjoyed the Fresno spring.

     The first of June I was invited to spend a week with my dear old friend, Martha Gannon, at her home in Bakersfield. I was entertained very nicely by the different members of the family and then proceeded to Pasadena.

     I found the Robb home quite desolated with the family cut down to two. After making several vain efforts to get into the war and being rejected account of being below the minimum weight, Alan was finally inducted into the army on May 1^st. He was first taken to Monterey Presidio and then to Fort Know, Kentucky, where he was put into the Medical Corps and made a first class private. He was so interested and loved the work and wrote us the most charming letters, then all at once they ceased coming, and we thot surely he had been sent abroad. No so; last Sunday he phoned long distance to tell us he was sick in the hospital with a bad case of poison oak, and his eyes had been swollen shut.

     We had one marriage in the family this year. Billy Patton and Anne, after being engaged five years, decided to get married in spite of the fact that Billy was still going to an air training school at Bishop, and expected to be taken into the U.S.S. air force. Billy had to have the consent of his boss, who was in Los Angeles, to get married, so they decided to lose no time for a three day license and medical examination and left Fresno at 5:50 a.m. for Los Angeles, then drove back to Tonopah, Nevada where they were married at 1:30 a.m. the following morning, July 10^th, 1942. After they were married they could not find a decent place to stay in that ghost town, so turned around and drove back to Bishop, having driven over 900 miles with no sleep for twenty four hours. Here they rested two days then came home by way of Yosemite. Billy is still in school and Anne is working and living at home.

     This morning brought me a card from Harriet, saying she was in Portland, having gone there to see the new ship, ‘Jonathon Herrington’. Launched. Leo has been promoted to Chief Engineer and will be placed on this boat. He does not know what his run will be, but he has been running between San Francisco and Honolulu since the declaration of war.

     We have recently been enjoying a visit from Geraldine, and a few days ago drove her down to Long Beach where she will visit Jack’s family, and she will enjoy the beach with Georgia and Bud. Jack is electrician at Terminal Isle shipyard. Terry has changed positions, and is now supply clerk at the State College in Westwood.

     Alex is very busy working at the Rocky Mountain Products Co. Daytimes and long hours at night in his own factory.

     Philip is working for the Gas. Company, but is seriously considering joining the Officers Reserve Corps, and Nancy and Baby may have to come home to live.

     The Hammonds are still at the Torpedo Station. Tommy had the misfortune to break his wrist again quite recently. Terry has become engaged to Helen Barnes, a sweet girl with whom he has been going since living at Keyport. They do not plan to marry until the war is over.

     Our baby has brought so much new interest into my life that it is a pleasure to go on living, but I notice my strength is failing, and I do not want to live to be a burden.

                                                                       Pasadena, August 29^th, 1945

     Times moves along, and once more I am here to continue the story of my life. As usual, the chronicle consists of moving about. After making the previous notes in Pasadena, I left that city in September and after a short stopover at Fresno I left for my annual visit with Flora early in November. Once more I was unable to get reservations, owing to the wartime traffic. Our train leaving at 4:00 A.M. was blacked out so entirely Ernest had to use matches to find me a seat which I was lucky to get. To relieve a varicose condition I was wearing a new elastic stocking. As I could get no sleeper and was obliged to sit up the entire distance to Seattle, my limbs swelled to such proportions that the stocking cut off the circulation and a blood clot formed in one limb, causing thrombosis. Flora and Earl were as faithful as usual, and met me in Seattle. They called a doctor soon after reaching Keyport. I was immediately put to bed, and kept there for a month with my foot elevated. It would have been quite a hardship except everyone was so kind and considerate. Flora was Devotion itself, and Tommy waited on me very kindly, doing the most of the climbing of the stairs with trays etc. Kind neighbors called, bringing in candy, magazines, good books, flowers and other little treats. My room was pleasantly situated where I could see the ferry come in from Paulsbo, see the officers come and go from their quarters and watch the gorgeous sunsets in the Olympic Mountains. I had a radio and the attention of a charming doctor, all conducive to comfort and entertainment. After being allowed to get up I enjoyed trips into Bremerton and the nightly movies. I did a little Red Cross work, but was not much help, as I couldn’t thread my needle, and felt my work was not very satisfactory.

     While there the Wallace family visited us twice and spent Christmas with us. Leo was running between Alaska and Seattle, and Harriet and Johnny made the trip up from San Francisco whenever Leo was in port.

     Terry had been enlisted in the Army, and was stationed at Seattle, so we saw him often.

     In January I was treated to a real blizzard, the wort in many years; mercury down close to zero and snow nearly two feet deep. Traffic was practically at a stand still, with all schools closed for two weeks and nearly all business closed, owing to transportation facilities being crippled. Fort Lewis sent portable kitchens and a company of negro soldiers to help clean up Seattle. Bremerton could not get shovels so had to wait for the thaw to come and it was the messiest place I ever saw. Cars were snowed in right where they stood when the storm struck them.

     It was some time in January that Eva’s letters began telling of Harry Sr. Not being well, but assuring me he was just tired and needed rest. Everything was being done for him, and he was in the care of three good doctors. On February 1^st an operation was performed for gall bladder trouble. He got better and got up around, but was taken back to the hospital hopelessly ill, with no chance of living over two months. I was kept in ignorance, and dear Eva bore the burden and kept me filled with hope.

     I returned home in February, and was able to get reservations out of Portland so had a comfortable trip home. I came down to Pasadena early in March and we were surprised to have Harry Jr. Arrive for a visit. He is a First Lieutenant and had brought to the Coast a company of one hundred twenty nine men, and had a twenty day leave. While here on April 10^th, a cablegram came, announcing the death of his father, my dear Harry. Unfortunately the message was delivered by phone, and I was the one who had to take it. It was quite a shock to me.

     Eva bore up bravely, and has been such a comfort to me with lovely letters and telling me, though the trouble was malignant, he was kept free of pain with narcotics until the end. He was cremated, and his remains buried on the side of old Haleakala in a beautiful spot, which I had visited. Eva keeps the letters coming.

     The plantation was very generous to her. She is well cared for financially, and has the comfort of Bobby and Billy at home.

     No one knows how I miss my boy, and silently grieve for him. He was so devoted and never failed to send me a weekly letter. I can’t rebel at his death too hard, as the Lord has been good to me. My circle of children was never broken by death before. Many mothers are grieving for their sons, so I am only one of many with a sad heart.

     Jack and Georgia are still living in Long Beach where little Bud goes to school. He is a nice little boy. Jack is wiring ships at Terminal Island.

     Last spring when I visited them overnight I stayed with Bud while Jack and Georgia went out to a movie. There was an air raid signal given and we were blacked out for over an hour before the ‘All Clear’ signal was given.

     I have been made very anxious lately over Eva’s health as she recently flew to Honolulu for treatment and has been in the hospital.

     Dot is still in Maui. She stayed to be a comfort to Eva, but Harry was to have sent for her to come East soon. When last heard from, Harry was in North Carolina, but his location is not definite.

     Terry Hammond is in Africa and in charge of the records of his battalion. He is enjoying the strange country and has good food and plenty of fun going to the beach.

     Terry Eby had to be hospitalized so often with hay fever, throat trouble, etc. that he is being sent home with a medical discharge from the Army.

     Alan has had two furloughs and how happy we have been to see him! He is very interested in his work, and feels he is learning a lot that will be of future use to him if he decides to on with a medical education. Most of his company has gone overseas, but he is retained to lecture and instruct at Camp Campbell, Ky.

     Phil enlisted in the army last November and left for Fort Knox. Nancy and baby came home to live. Phil attended Officer Candidate School, graduating as a second lieutenant in July, and was given battle training. He came home on a furlough in March and was given a ten day leave in August. This did not give him time to come home, so it was planned to have Nancy go to Chicago and meet him where they have been spending a delightful vacation. We have the baby, who is a perfect delight to us. Nancy went back with Phil to Kentucky. He is still at Fort Knox, but doesn’t know how long he will stay. Nancy may stay awhile with him if they can get accommodations.

     The war is at its height with more nations becoming embroiled each day. Russia is doing her best to finish the Germans and we are closing in on the Japs. I hope before I add to this book again that it will all be over and the world settling into a lasting peace.

*Note–The following was written in Margaret Cowley’s own handwriting.

     Born July 6, 1944 in Fresno

Robert Michael Patton son of Wm and Anne Patton.

     Married

Robert Irvin and Geraldine Barbara Eby- in Fresno Calif. September 7, 1944.

Sept. 18-1944

      Afternoon, and I’m just leaving for St. Luke’s Hospital-

Expect to be operated on by Dr. Kraft tomorrow morning-

   Here is hoping.

Ernest arrived this morning and all is well.

 Sept. 30

       Returned from St. Luke’s by ambulance and stayed in bed one week. Had an attack of gall stones Oct. 9. Quite severe.

     April 13-1945 Pasadena-

          Since writing the above I have spent the winter at Ernests, being pretty well while there.

On March 21^st I came down to Pasadena. Was apparently quite well and next day rode over to the library and was overtaken by a stroke while in the car. Helen called an ambulance and I was taken to Memorial Hospital in pretty bad condition where I remained for six days.

         Returned home Mar 29 and while we were eating dinner April 2 Nancy received telegram message of Phil’s death- Mar. 21

       Oh what a shock to all of us! We are all so grief stricken and Nancy, God bless her, is wonderful and helps us all. Alan who is in Italy will be so heart broken.

      I can’t understand why I am left and Phil is taken. I would so gladly give my life for Phil.

      I realize I am failing fast and trust I won’t live to be a care to those I love. Will close this with a prayer.

                        Heavenly Father, we thank thee that

                        thou hast not left us to grope in darkness-

                        We thank thee for thy word

                        Which is a lamp unto our feet

                        And “a light unto our path”

                                                            Amen.

Note from Bonnie K. Gorman: Margaret continued to travel between her children’s homes until her death March 30, 1947, at age 81.