Lovingly, he then drew me to his side, saying, “Never mind, mein Schatz (my treasure); let grandma and Georgia keep this, and when that pictureman comes back, grandpa will sit for his picture, and thou shalt stand at his knee.  He’ll buy thee a long gold chain to wear around thy neck, and thou shalt be dressed all in white and look like an angel.”

Being younger than grandma, and more fond of amusements, he had taken us to many entertainments; notably, Odd Fellows’ picnics and dinners, where he wore the little white linen apron, which we thought would be cute for our dolls.  He often reminded grandma that she should teach us to speak the high German, so that we might appear well among gentlefolk; and my cherished keepsakes included two wee gold dollars and a fifty-cent piece of the same bright metal, which he had given me after fortunate sales from the herds.  But dearest of all is remembrance of the evening long ago when he befriended us at Sutter’s Fort.

Still, not even those tender recollections could longer hold in check my resentment against the influences and associations which were filtering through that bar-room, and robbing me of companions and privileges that I valued.  More than once had I determined to run away, and then desisted, knowing that I should leave two lonely old people grieving over my seeming ingratitude.  This question of duty to self and to those who had befriended me haunted my working hours, went with me to church and Sunday school, and troubled my mind when I was supposed to be asleep.

Strange, indeed, would it have seemed to me, could I then have known that before my thirtieth year, I should be welcomed in the home of the military chief of our nation.  Strange, also, that the young Lieutenant, William Tecumseh Sherman, who when visiting in Sonoma, came with his fellow-officers to the Brunner farm, should have attained that dignity.  Equally impossible would it have been then to conceive that in so short a time, I, a happy mother and the wife of a Congressional Representative, should be a guest at the brilliant receptions of the foreign diplomats and at the Executive Mansion in the city of Washington.  Is it any wonder that in later years when my mind reverted to those days, I almost questioned my identity?

Georgia’s return from Mrs. Bergwald’s before Christmas gave me a chance to talk matters over with her, and we decided that we must leave our present surroundings.  Yet, how to get away, and when, puzzled us.  Our only hope of escape seemed to be to slip off together some moonlight night.

“But,” my sister remarked gravely, “we can’t do it before Christmas!  You forget the white flannel skirt that I am embroidering for grandma, the pillow-slips that you are hemstitching and trimming with lace for her; and the beautiful white shirt that you have for grandpa.”

She was sure that not to stay and give them as we had planned, would be as bad as breaking a promise.  So, we took out our work and hid ourselves to sew a while.