I did not wait for the reply.  I fled out into the dark and made my way to the weird old tree-trunk in the back yard.  Thence, I could see the lights from the windows, and at times hear the sound of voices.  There, I could stand in the starlight and look up to the heavens.  I had been there before, but never in such a heartsick and forlorn condition.  I was too overwrought to think, yet had to do something to ease the tension.  I moved around and looked toward Jakie’s grave, then returned to the side of the tree-trunk which had escaped the ravages of fire, and ran my finger up and down, feeling the holes which the red-headed woodpecker had bored and filled with acorns.

A flutter in the air aroused me.  It was the old white-faced owl leaving the hollow in the live oak for the night’s hunt.  I faced about and saw her mate fly after her.  Then in the stillness that followed, I stretched both arms toward heaven and cried aloud, “O God, I’m all alone; take care of me!”

The spell was broken.  I grew calmer and began to think and to plan.  I pictured Georgia asleep in a pretty house two miles away, wondered how I could get word to her and what she would say when told that we would go away together from Sonoma, and not take anything that grandpa or grandma had given us.

I remembered that of the fund which we had started by hemming new, and washing soiled handkerchiefs for the miners, there still remained in her trunk seven dollars and eighty-five cents, and in mine seven dollars and fifty cents.  If this was not enough to take us to Sacramento, we might get a chance as Sister Leanna had, to work our way.

I was still leaning against the tree-trunk when the moon began to peep over the eastern mountains, and I vowed by its rising that before it came up in its full, Georgia and I should be in Sacramento.

I heard grandma’s call from the door, which she opened and quickly closed, and I knew by experience that I should find a lighted candle on the table, and that no one would be in the room to say good-night.  I slept little, but when I arose in the morning I was no longer trouble tossed.  I knew what I would say to grandma if she should give me the chance.

Grandpa, who had come home very late, did not know what had happened, and he and I breakfasted with the men, and grandma and the Steins came after we left the room.  No one offered to help me that morning, still I got through my duties before grandma called me to her.  She seemed more hurt than angry, and began by saying: 

“On account of thy bad conduct, Mrs. Stein is going to shorten her stay.  She is going to leave on Tuesday, and wants me to go with her.  She says that she has kept back the worst things that thou hast told about me, but will tell them to me on the road.”