Grandpa brought the news home, “California is ours.  There will be no more war, no more trouble, and no more need of soldiers.”

Yet the women felt that their battles and trials had just begun, since they had suddenly become the sole home-keepers, with limited ways and means to provide for the children and care for the stock and farms.  Discouragement would have rendered the burdens of many too heavy to carry, had not “work together,” and “help your neighbor,” become the watchwords of the day.  No one was allowed to suffer through lack of practical sympathy.  From house to house, by turns, went the strong to help the weak to bridge their troubles.  They went, not with cheering words only, but with something in store for the empty cupboards and with ready hands to help to milk, wash, cook, or sew.

Grandma was in such demand that she had little time to rest; for there was not a doctor nor a “medicine shop” in the valley, and her parcels of herbs and knowledge of their uses had to serve for both.  Nights, she set her shoes handy, so that she could dress quickly when summoned to the sick; and dawn of day often marked her home-coming.

Georgia and I were led into her work early, for we were sent with broths and appetizers to the sick on clearings within walking distances; and she would bid us stay a while at different houses where we could be helpful, but to be sure and bring careful reports from each home we entered.  Under such training, we learned much about diseases and the care of the suffering.  Anon, we would find in the plain wooden cradle, a dainty bundle of sweetness, all done up in white, which its happy owner declared grandma had brought her, and we felt quite repaid for our tiresome walk if permitted to hold it a wee while and learn its name.

[Illustration:  MISSION SAN FRANCISCO SOLANO, LAST OF THE HISTORIC MISSIONS OF CALIFORNIA]

[Illustration:  RUINS OF THE MISSION AT SONOMA]

We were sent together on these missions, in order that we might help each other to remember all that was told us; yet grandma had us take turns, and the one whom she commissioned to make the inquiries was expected to bring the fuller answers.  Sometimes, we played on the way and made mistakes.  Then she would mete out to us that hardest of punishments, namely, that we were not to speak with each other until she should forgive our offence.  Forgiveness usually came before time to drive up the cows, for she knew that we were nimbler-footed when she started us off in happy mood.

Each cow wore a bell of different tone and knew her own name; yet it was not an easy task, even in pleasant weather, to collect the various strings and get them home on time.  They mixed, and fed with neighbors’ cattle on the range, and hid themselves behind clumps of trees and other convenient obstructions.  Often grandma would get her string in by the main trail and have them milked before we could bring up the laggards that provokingly dawdled along, nibbling stray bunches of grass.  When late on the road, we saw coyotes sneaking out for their evening meal and heard the far-away cry of the panther.  But we were not much afraid when it was light enough, so that imagination could not picture them creeping stealthily behind us.