This marriage, which was solemnized by Alcalde John Sinclair on the fourth of June, 1847, was approved by the people at the Fort.  Children were anxious to play with us because we had “a married sister and a new brother.”  Women hurried through noon chores to meet outside, and some in their eagerness forgot to roll down their sleeves before they began to talk.  One triumphantly repeated to each newcomer the motherly advice which she gave the young couple when she “first noticed his affection for that sorrowing girl, who is too pretty to be in this new country without a protector.”  They also recalled how Perry McCoon’s launch had brought supplies up the river for the Second Relief to take over the mountains; and how finally, he himself had carried to the bereaved daughter the last accounts from Donner Camp.

Then the speakers wondered how soon Elitha would be back.  Would she take us three to live with her on that cattle ranch twenty-five miles by bridle trail from the Fort?  And would peace and happiness come to us there?

[Footnote 14:  See Appendix for account of the Fallon party, quoted from Thornton’s work.]

CHAPTER XVIII

“GRANDMA”—­HAPPY VISITS—­A NEW HOME—­AM PERSUADED TO LEAVE IT.

We were still without Elitha, when up the road and toward the Fort came a stout little old woman in brown.  On one arm she carried a basket, and from the hand of the other hung a small covered tin pail.  Her apron was almost as long as her dress skirt, which reached below her ankles, yet was short enough to show brown stockings above her low shoes.  Two ends of the bright kerchief which covered her neck and crossed her bosom were pinned on opposite sides at the waist-line.  A brown quilted hood of the same shade and material as her dress and apron concealed all but the white lace frill of a “grandma cap,” which fastened under her chin with a bow.  Her dark hair drawn down plain to each temple was coiled there into tiny wheels, and a brass pin stuck through crosswise to hold each coil in place.  Her bright, speaking eyes, more brown than gray, gave charm to a face which might have been pretty had disease not marred it in youth.

As she drew near, her wonderful eyes looked into our faces and won from our lips a timid “Good morning, grandma.”

That title, which we had been taught to use when speaking to the aged, was new and sweet to her, who had never been blessed with child.  She set the basket on the ground, put the pail beside it, and caressed us in a cheery way, then let us peep in and see what she had brought especially for us.  How did it happen?  That is something we were to learn later.  Such luxuries,—­eggs, bread, butter, cheese, and milk in the dear little tin pail!

Seeing how thin and hungry we looked she gave each a piece of buttered bread before going with us to our neighbor’s house, where she left the food, with instructions, in broken English, that it was for us three little girls who had called her “grandma,” and that we must not be given too much at a time.