Billy and I might never have played together as we did, if my brother-in-law had not taken his wife to San Francisco and left me in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Packwood.  Their chief aim in life was to please their baby.  She was a dear little thing when awake, but the house had to be kept very still while she slept, and they would raise a hand and say, “Hu-sh!” as they left me, and together tip-toed to the cradle to watch her smile in her sleep.  I had their assurance that they would like to let me hold her if her little bones were not so soft that I might break them.

They were never unkind or cross to me.  I had plenty to eat, and clean clothes to wear, but they did not seem to realize how I yearned for some one to love.  So I went to Mr. Choreman.  He told me about the antelope that raced across the ranch before I was up; of the elk, deer, bear, and buffalo he had shot in his day; and of beaver, otter, and other animals that he had trapped along the rivers.  Entranced with his tales I became as excited as he, while listening to the dangers he had escaped.

One day he showed me a little chair which I declared was the cunningest thing I had ever seen.  It had a high, straight back, just like those in the house, only that it was smaller.  The seat was made of strips of rawhide woven in and out so that it looked like patchwork squares.  He let me sit on it and say how beautiful it was, before telling me that he had made it all for me.  I was so delighted that I jumped up, clasped it in my arms and looked at him in silent admiration.  I do not believe that he could understand how rich and grateful I felt, although he shook his head saying, “You are not a bit happier than I was while making it for you, nor can you know how much good it does me to have you around.”

Gradually, Billy spent more time near the ranch house, and learned many of my kind of words, and I picked up some of his.  Before long, he discovered that he could climb up on the hopper, and then he helped me up.  But I could not crook my fingers into as good a spoon as he did his, and he got more milk out of the pan than I.

We did not think any one saw us, yet the next time we climbed up, we found two old spoons stuck in a crack, in plain sight.  After we got through using them, I wiped them on my dress skirt and put them back.  Later, I met Mr. Choreman, who told me that he had put the spoons there because I was too nice a little girl to eat as Billy did, or to dip out of the same pan.  I was ashamed and promised not to do so again, nor to climb up there with him.

As time passed, I watched wistfully for my sister’s return, and thought a great deal about the folks at grandma’s.  I tried to remember all that had happened while I was there, and felt sure they were waiting for me to pay the promised visit.  A great longing often made me rush out behind a large tree near the river, where no one could see or hear me feel sorry for myself, and where I would wonder if God was taking care of the others and did not know where I lived.