She appeared proudly happy; but a flame of embarrassment burned my cheeks, as she handed him the picture wherein I showed to such disadvantage, with the question, “Now, doesn’t she look lovely?” and heard his affirmative reply.

Upon the clock lay a broken toy which had been mine, and in childlike ecstasy she spoke of it and of others which she had kept ever near her.  When invited to go to luncheon with us, she brought first her bonnet, next her shawl, for me to hold while she should don her best apparel for the occasion.  Instead of going directly, she insisted on choosing the longer road to town, that we might stop at Mrs. Lewis’s to see if she and her daughter Sallie would recognize me.  Frequently as we walked along, she hastened in advance, and then faced about on the road to watch us draw near.  When we reached Mrs. Lewis’s door, she charged me not to smile, and clapped her hands when both ladies appeared and called me by name.

As we were taking leave, an aged horseman drew rein at the gate and dismounted, and Mrs. Lewis looking up, exclaimed, “Why, there is Mr. Brunner!”

It did not take me long to meet him part way down the walk, nor did I shrink from the caress he gave me, nor know how much joy and pain that meeting evoked in him, even after he turned to Mr. Houghton saying fervently, “Do not be angry because I kiss your wife and put my arms around her, for she is my child come back to me.  I helped raise her, and we learned her to do all kinds of work, what is useful, and she was my comfort child in my troubles.”

My husband’s reply seemed to dispel the recollections which had made the reunion distressing, and grandpa led his horse and walked and talked with us until we reached the turn where he bade us leave him while he disposed of Antelope preparatory to joining us at luncheon.  Proceeding, we observed an increasing crowd in front of the hotel, massed together as if in waiting.  As we drew nearer, a way was opened for our passage, and friends and acquaintances stepped forth, shook hands with me and desired to be introduced to my husband.  It was apparent that the message which we had sent to grandpa early in the day, stating the hour we would be at the hotel, had spread among the people, who were now assembled for the purpose of meeting us.

Strangers also were among them, for I heard the whispered answer many times, “Why, that is little Eliza Donner, who used to live with the Brunners, and that is Mr. Houghton, her husband—­they can only stay until two o’clock.”  The hotel table, usually more than ample to accommodate its guests, was not nearly large enough for all who followed to the dining-room, so the smiling host placed another table across the end for many who had intended to lunch at home that day.

Meantime, our little party was seated, with Mr. Houghton at the head of the table, I at his right; grandpa opposite me, and grandma at my right.  She was supremely happy, would fold her hands in her lap and say, “If you please,” and “Thank you,” as I served her; and I was grateful that she claimed my attention, for grandpa’s lips were mute.