In the town of Middlefield, Colsego Co., N.Y., there lived at one time a family whose parents had come from England soon after their marriage and had since had eleven children born to them. It goes without saying that the twelfth, born March 4, 1850 was not very welcome. The mother had been in poor health for some time and a neighbor, an intimate friend, when she came to see her, exclaimed "I came to see a sick woman and a fussy baby and here I find you strong with a big healthy baby!" In large families, the older children seem to welcome a little one and tending the baby seemed a pleasure to dispute over so that the mother said "One take the baby and the other the clothes!"

It would be possible to imagine she thought them of equal value. When three years old, she went with the older ones to school one day. The teacher was a friend of the family and probably not very busy in a summer term, they took the child on her (?), curled her hair and told her to come every day. So it came about that she never could remember when she learned to read. In 1854, the family removed to the town of Metomen, Fond du Lac Co., Wisc. The journey from Milwaukee was made with wagons and it happened that the new home was reached from the west instead of the east. To this circumstance, probably was due the confusion of directions from which the girl never escaped. New York was always west of Wisconsin and the Atlantic and Pacific oceans exchanged places on her mind's pictures, even after she had circled the globe twice.

The new home was just the place for this large family. The farm consisted of 80 acres of prarie land and 80 of openings or light timber, with a creek crossing it whose banks were lined with spearmint and other wild herbs which were fringed. The woods had wild plums and hazel nuts. A fine grove of large trees was on the corner of the prarie 80 and the farm buildings reached close up to it. Here, we picked trillium and other wild flowers. Three barns, a fowl house and shieh sheds opened on the spacious barn yard. An orchard, planted from a nursery which Joseph grew from New York seed, was just east of the grove. Several large oak trees shaded the door yard and mother's large garden, surrounded by a picket fence for protection from bunnies, produced all kinds of berries, vegetables and flowers. The neighborhood was made of Eastern people and a fine district school with literary society, debates, recitations and a fortnightly (word?) called the "preal gatherers" are things remembered with pleasure. Teachers were not hampered by any graded system or curriculum of studies and ambitious pupils went through their books with a speed which would astonish a city teacher. Nor were they simply skimmed. There was great rivalry in the ssolution of problems in arithmetic, especially for this is the most valued study in the country school. Wading through deep snow or walking on the (word?) where drifts had drilled in the roads even with the fences, was no hardship and it took unusual weather, indeed, to keep even the little ones from school.

One winter there were notable revival meetings held on the school house, with Elster Dristol as the very efficient, successful evangelist. Several of the children werre converted. The youngest, 10 years of age, took her stand with the rest but on account of her (word?) was asked to wait until some later time for baptism, a great mistake, she always felt it to be.

After fifty years' absence, a visit to the old home was very disappointing. Germans have bought out all the old settlers. Not one family of our congenial neighbors remains. The face of the country has changed. It has become drier, so that the creek across the farm and the much larger one at Fairwater on which several of the family were baptized have been long dry. The oak trees in the door yard are done and the grove has grown thin and unthrifly(?). The heavy snows in winter are a thing of the past.

On account of Father's feeble health, the farm was sold in 1866 and the family, all that remained of it, went to live in Refon (?). Williams and Charles were sometimes at home but Rosina was the only one really living with the parents at that time.. The following February, after a week's illness with congestion of the bowels, mother passed away. The last words I heard her say were "Oh Heavenly Father, take me home!" She had been thrown from a wagon, (word?) three years before, where she and I wwere riding from an evening meeting in Fairwater with our neighbor, John Hargrove, and he foolishly raced with another neighbor in a road full of shimfs(?) and ran on to one. Mother's arm was broken and never set right. The shock and the constant pain in the wrist increased the stomach and bowel trouble which had troubled her before. I think she felt she would not live long. I spoke of some flour for the spring and she answered "Yes, if we live that long." She told one, one day, to cut a piece of her hair to use in her pin. She said her hair might turn grey suddenly. At that time, it had changed scarily and all over was a dark brown, almost black.

Father was very much broken up by mother's death and turned to me as his one reliance, and I was not yet seventeen. For three and a half years, I was hand and feet for my palsied father, washing, combing and feeding him, worst of all, cutting his corns and caring for his mustache. It was much worse for him than for one of course, and I look back now that I am myself an invalid, I marvel at any father's patience. Not at all a patient man when in health, I never heard him utter one grumbling word over his helplessness. The only pain he had was in the back of his neck. He seemed unable to hold up his head and the chords were strained. He walked up to the end, but so hard that persons unaccustomed to him would spring forward to catch him thinking he was falling and his hands were too palsied to hold a cane.

One year we spent in Mankau where he was pastor, then Josiah moved to Refon and helped care for father. He grew restless to be back on his farm, however, father needed the care of a man all the time, and he went with Josiah to Fairwater, and a Mr. Chafman, old and poor, but strong in body, became Father's attendant. I was thus released to return to school, a thing which I had longed to do. Three years before, i had prayed that the way might be opened for me to study again or else that the desire might be taken away. I opened my Bible to Ps. 37, 495, which seemed to be the comfor t I needed and I no longer fretted about it. Father paid my expenses, by my working for half my board, for three years, there refused to do so longer. I used borrowed money, living as economically as I could, for five years more. I remember that the year I felt it necessary to be most economical, I fad but one really good dress, and wore that every Sunday. Because so scrimped for dresses, I look more for (word?) with collars, cuffs, neckties and hair and was gratified to be told that one of the most fastidious young men in the school had remarked that "(word) Poalson always looked so nice."

After graduation in 1895, I taught in Floricon but begged off from any engagement at Christmas to go back and teach in the preparatory (word?) of Refon College. At the close of the year, I went at once to New York and with my brother Williams to the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia. After that, I cared for my brother's three motherless boys until his marriage in the late fall Frederica Camengo. I finished her year of school for her.

In the fall of 1898, I went to Burma. I had never before seen any of my traveling companions nor been out of my country before. I shall never forget my feelings when the ropes were thrown off and the (word?) of water began to widen which separated one from all I had ever known and loved began to widen. Two brothers, both faithful ministers of the Gospel, were there to see me off. Both have proceded one to the better land. When my boat nears the other shore, will they stand there to meet me as they stood on the wharf in New York to bid me "God speed?" Three days' sea sickness and a great storm were two of the events of that voyage. The first morning we were allowed on deck, the prettiest sight met our eyes. The great swells were covered with wavelets and "every little wave had its white caps on." Rainbows were skipping from one wave to another as the great (word?) brought them into the night light. A pretty omen it seemed as what would follow storms.
I visited my mother's old home in Caldecol, near Flighaus Feres, Northhampton shire and saw the room in which she was born and visited the old graveyard nearby and traced the names of ancestors on the moss grown stones. A cousin of my mother, William Gross, lived on the old farm. His father was my mother's oldest brother.

My mother's twin sister, Mrs. Richards, was still living in the nearby village ahd she could not bear me out of her sight during the two days of my stay. Her first husband was named Allen and cousins of that name still live there.

The rest of our journey was made in the slow old (word?) , whose captain hated missionaries and who fed us on sour bread, rancid butter and a variety of high meal. Of our party of seven, three - Mrs. Roberts, Miss Pembrose, and Mr. Elwell - passed on to the better land after only a short service. The rest - Mr. Roberts, Mr. and Mrs. Paushell, Bogenau and myself - still remained. We landed Dec. 5, just two months from the date of leaving New york. My first two years were spent in the Karen Hosen school in Passiem where I had charge f the newly formed high school. I was also very busy with the language. Rev. W.P. Price had come out to Dr. Clongh in India in 1899; finding he must either submit entirely to his semor's(?) will and wishess, fight or leave, he exchanged work with Rev. Imauley(?) of the Rangoon English-speaking Baptish church, allowing him to go to the work which he had preferred. In the fall of 1880, we were married in the Karen Theo (word?) chapel in Rangoon. Rev. C.H. Carpenter, with whom I had my home in Burma, officiated. He and Mrs. Carpenter were leaving the country on account of Mr. C's health. Later, they went to (word?), Japan, expecting to work for the aboriginal tribe of Aimes. Mr. C lived only two or three years. Mrs. C remained in the work for many years, but I think never gained access to the Aimes.

Our wedding journey was made on a large Burman boat with all our furniture and belongings, piled in front of the 6-by-6 ft. cabin. At that time, it took about four days to go up the Rangoon river to the Pegan canal, through the canal to to the Pillong river and on to Shwegym, which is situated on the Shwegym river a short distance aboe its junction with the Pillong. Rev. Norman Harris, who started the Shwegym mission and chose the site for the compound, was still there, and only waiting to introduce the new missionaries to the work, where he would return to america and retire. We arrived in time to go with him on his annual (word?) amonth the churches, most of which were nearer Loungoo than Shwegym and so a long journey away from the latter place. It was our Harris' custom to start out, each year, about two months before the annual associational meeting and make a round of the churches, ending with the one in which the association was held. At each willage, a contingent would attach itself to our caravan unit by the time we reached the meeting place, we were like the tribed going up to jerusalem to the Passover. We were greatly interested in these sons of the forest. Tehy would imitate the calls of the (word?) deer, of the apes in the tree tops, of the different birds and to carry and use my husband's shot gun was a treat indeed. We followed tigers' tracks for a long distance, sometimes and one night, when sleeping in an open gayal(?), the elephants were chained nearby to give alarm of the nearness of tigers, which they did over and over again. Each time they trumpeted, the natives would get up and build bigger fires. I stayed several nights in a village wherre the people were beating their houses, repeatedly, at night to drive away tigers, and a dog was carried away one night.

I had heard so much criticism of young missionaries for not taking the advice of their elders that I determined to be very good. On this trip, I look very littly more than my Karens had been accustomed to take for food. A small square box contained four "caddies." One of these was filled with tea, the other three with sugar. Bread, enough to last a few days, was taken, and when it began to mold, was cut into sliced and laid in the hot sun to dry. This was eaten, as long as it lasted with tea. When gone, it was accustomed to live on what the villagers furnished, rice, eggs and fowls. With no bread, butter, milk, fruit or vegetables, I came nearer starving than at any other time in my life. At the farthest mountain village, we found some (word?) traders, peddlers. I saw a sprig of roselle in one of their booths and asked to buy. The Karen man who was with me said "Does mama like that?" She does not need to buy it. Youngsters were sent down the mountain and brought back a bucketful each of white and red roselle which grew wild. The Lhams had sugar to sell and we saw empty bottles and the roselle was a great help during the rest of the journey. We traveled with two elephants and three (word?). One elephant's howdah was packed with books and medicines for the churches and association. The other carried our beds, cooking utensils with a seat for the Mama. On leaving a village, I used to step from the veranda of the chapel on to the elephant's head, then on to the howdah (elephant's saddle). If I had to get up en route, I had often to use my husband's "step ladder," stepping from his knee to his shoulder, there to the elephant's head. I would walk a long way, however, to find a fallen tree which could be used to mount them. A baby elephant furnished great amusement as I rode the mother, I had a chance to see the great creature perform all his kittenish tricks.

The Karen boys were determined to risle him and came very near (to) getting under his feet on several occasions. I could understand why an elephant born in captivity is almost sure to be a vicious one. One day, we were from daybreak until dark, expect for a half-hour for lunch at noon - on the road. The steps of the elephant give his rider a forward, sideways, backward movement of the body, with a clunk at every heavy footfall of the ponderous beast, and I was so tired and lame that where we caught sight of the village from the opposite mountain side, I wished it were possible to steal in and lie down without speaking to anybody. But there had not been a mama in that village for ten years and to have one visit there and also (word?) was a great event. They gave us an elaborate welcome.

The following fall, a little girl which died at birth was born in Loungoo, where we had been obligated to go because our doctor in Shwegym was afraid to undertake the case. . Probably the discomforts of the long journey in a native boat, bowed by an official's launch(?) were responsible for the little one's death and conditions which told against the mother's health always, afterwards.
Shwegym was, at that time, a very malarial station. We had malarial fever there and for several years afterwards. Our pupils lay ill with the disease, long bouts of them, week after week. My husband advocated removing the headquarters to some land on the railroad which was being built where it would be less malarial. There were no expensive buildings to sacrifice and the people were willing until the Harrises wrote out from America to them that the station was located in good faith in shwegym and should remain there. So we left. Our daughter, Eva, was born in Rangoon. She and her mother were both in delicate health and we went to the Miligiri hills for three and a half months, came back well and were designated to Moulwein.

A little more than a year later, we hurried off home to save the life of the little girl. It was on the (word?) of the rains and we seemed to be going through the ocean instead of on top of it for three weeks through the Indian Ocean! Never had the racks off the tables all the way and taking soup was usually an impossibility. We left our steamer at Port Said, took a skiff to Alexandriaso as to be no longer Ludite passengers, for it was a (word?) of cholera and we would have been quaranteened or were liable to be, at any point, although the plague of cholera was in Marseilles and Europe, this time instead of India. We spend several days at Count Papengowth's home on the island of Capri. Watermelon, which our host insisted on feeding Eva, brought her to the verge of the grave again and we hurried on to England. At Mrs. Luke's house for missionaries in Hastings, we nearly gave up hope, but a homeopathic physician gave her a menu which she could assimilate and she began to gain. Apple (?), raw beef juice, an American preparative, was an important item in her diet. When aboard the Atlantic steamer, both bottles with which we had provided ourselves, proved to be stale, and I was nearly in despair again. But we were on a large passenger steamer and I had the stewardess bring me the inside of a large roast of beef, each day. It was nearly raw and the juice of that proved just as good and more palatable to the child. She reached New York much improved but with great purplish boils on her body!

Rosina and Ernest are in the first row, with Fred and Eva in the 2nd. Grace is in back.

We went to my sister's home in Milwaukee where we remained until after Grace's birth in 1885. Although Eva had been a frail child at birth, and had the long, severe illness, later, she grew strong in America and when we took her back to Burma, at four years of age, she was as well as any of the children of the party. The tropics never agreed with her very well, however. I have known her to have over 100 small boils on (her) face and body at one time. We did not come home the next time on her account, though.
It was father's nervous breakdown in 1892. Eva had lessons with her mother for teacher, for the last three years of her stay. We seldom had any uninterrupted time for Karen visitors were always calling me away and it was hard on both teacher and pupil. She read her Bible to so good purpose. That, Miss Modisell used to say, when playing the Bible game, "I wish I knew as much about the Bible as Eva does." Her faith was simple and strong. She prayed for a little brother until one came and she told the doctor she should call him Freddie Willie. So no one had mentioned the name, one wonderedwhere she got it, but she had her way. He was named Frederick William. She then prayed for another brother until Ernest's arrival, when she seemed satisfied. In her tenth year, we came home and she entered fourth grade well prepared.
Grace had seen Eva studying when she and her brothers were playing, she study did not seem (word?) to her. She once told Miss Modisell that she would stay with her in Burma because if she went to America she would have to go to school and she didn't want to. She enjoyed school after she got started, however.

We went to Palestine and crossed the continent of Europe on our way home. If the children could have had that trip a few years later, they would have appreciated it. Eva took music lessons in Chicago and her teacher prophesized that she would make a fine musician because so faithful in practicing, but studies in school were of more interest to her and she did not become nearly as much of a musician as Grace, who was a less devoted student.
When I returned to Burma in 1894, the daughters were left in the home for children of missionaries at Morgan Park, then under the supervision of Mrs. Ella Loyola Dodge, who proved a good foster mother to them.

The girls were very glad when our return in 1898 reunited the fmaily. On Thanksgiving day, while the turkey was being carved, we took turns in telling what we were most thankful for. Grace said "I am thankful for this home." Her father bellowed, saying while tears filled his eyes, "I am thankful to be in it." I think he had a strong feeling that his time with us was short.

A threatened division in our Henzada mission took him back after only five months at home. He succeeded in stopping it but his life was the price paid. Completely broken, nervously and under orders from the civil surgeon in Rangoon to leave at once for America, he was finishing his preparations when he absent-mindedly took the wrong medicine. Discovering his mistake at once, he ran to the jail where the doctor gave him violent emetic, then took him to his home to watch him for several hours. The doctor said there could not possibly be any of the strychnine left in his stomach and he sent him home in his jinriksha. The shock proved too much for him in his weakened condition and he passed away two days later. He had a great longing to see his wife and children once more, but that reunion must come later. He was tenderly cared for by Rev. J.E. Cummings, Miss Larsh and Miss Peterson. It was estimated that more than 1,000 persons followed the body to its resting place in the English cemetery. Chinese, natives of India, Burmans and Karens, as well as the English community, came to show their love and respect.
The Karens asked the privilege of paying for a stone which I should select. It bears the inscription "I have fought a good fight. I have kept the faith." The doctor thought he would not have lived to reach home if he had started, so it was better that he was among those who loved him when the summons came.

A few months later, our house was found afire at 11 p.m. The loss, nervous strain were almost lost sight of my joy that we were called in time to save the children. Only a few minutes after they were called, I went upstairs to make sure all were out, and the smoke was there almost unendurable. That same night, a man told me that four children had recently been burned to death before assistance reached them, grandchildren of the minister, and my heart was full of thankfulness that we were all safe, that I thought little of the desolation of our home. There had been water in the cellar and later on in the parsonage, our cellar was again half full of water. Fre and flood seemed to pursue us. The first time the fire bell rang, I saw Ernest shaking and there found I was doing the same.
A year and a half later, out comfortable, pretty home, which we all so much enjoyed, was given us by William and Mary Lindsay. We spent 18 happy years there.

The Henzada Karens very promptly sent a request that I return to help in their school as soon as well enough; and as soon as I could leave my children, but duty did not seem to point that way until the twelve years were passed and the youngest of the children ready to enter college. My husband had applied for a pension before leaving America in 1894, a thing he should have done many years before, for he had been an invalid six years after leaving the army and always after, weaker nervously than he ought to have been. The pension was not granted then because he had left the country. After his death, I applied for a widow's pension and told Eva that if I got it, she could go to college. I did not get it, but the department looked up the record and granted $600 back pension for the time following his application until his death. My pension was granted later on after the law requiring a widow to make affidavit every quarter that she had not an income exceeding $250 per year, had been changed. Eva used $300 of the pension money and paid back $150 to Fred when he was ready for college. Grace used $300 and paid $150 to Ernest, so in a way, their father sent them to college. If there had been absolutely nothing to start with, they would hardly have had the courage to go. Eva worked for part of her board and made good standings in spite of the time required for work, so that she was graduated with 33 majors instead of the usual 36. She was also elected to the Phi Beta Kappa chapter of the University of Chicago. She over worked, however, and broke down in the middle of the next year while teaching in Wayland Academy, 1904-1905. She went to California the next year and there recovered her health so that she began teaching again.
Grace had one year of music before entering Kalamazoo College, from which school she graduate in 1909, taught one year in the high school in Beaver Dam and was married to Rev. D.C. Holtom, July 21, 1910. In September, they went as missionaries to Tokyo, Japan. Three dear little boys have been given them.

The boys each took a year to work between academy and college, Fred going with me to California and Ernest spending his year in North Dakota, teaching and canvassing. Fred graduated from Rochester University in 1911 and Ernest in 1913, both having earned a good part the money which they used in college.
Soon after his graduation, Fred was offered a place at Lindsay Bros., Minneapolis, and has remained there. He was married in June 1914 to Almeda Harman of Rochester, N.Y. Ernest won a scholarship in international law at Rochester to be used at Columbia University. He expected to take his Ph.D. but entered a government exam in Washington, D.C. in the latter part of 1914, passed and went to Peking, China as student interpreter. He finds the mastery of the Chinese language "a life-size proposition."

In 1910, as the last nestling had flown, I sold the home and prepared to go to Burma, thinking myself well enough to give five years work where a knowledge of the language would give me a chance to do more good than at home. I had made the selling of the house a sort of test saying that if it were not sold, I could not go. The first day that we really needed to know, the day after Grace's wedding, the house was sold and for a better price than I had dared to expect.
I was doubtful about the expediency of my going on account of my weak heart, but neither of the doctors who examined me considered that a sufficient hinderance. The event proved that my own impression was correct. Under the very trying conditions in Myannglebrin(?), my heart grew rapidly worse and I returned in 1913.
Eva gave up her good position in San Francisco to go with me to Burma. Her knowledge of the language when a child gave her a very good pronunciation though it took hard study to get the good mastery of the language which she gained. She was not well there and took three months to go with me as far as Japan. I returned and went to Battle Creek Sanitorium for seven weeks' treatment, growing constantly worse, then went to St. Petersburgg with William and Mary Lindsay and was in bed and not expected to live for many weeks.
Eva had been her mother's comfort during the year and a half since her return from Burma. The writer prays for Grace to endure until the end, bearing the cross until called home.

ADDENDUM

Our precious little Harold was a sunbeam in the home for nearly four years. Although a healthy, normal child in every way, several times, the thought crossed my mind that we should not keep him in our earthly home many years. One day, in the little Sunday School which I had with the children, the older boys were asking questions about heaven. Harold listened intently, then, with a bright smile and a happy little toss of his head, he said "I will go there." In his last sickness, when he thought he was going somewhere, I said "Yes, darling, you are going to that pretty place where Jesus and the angels are." He smiled a little and seemed pleased, only asking "Aren't you coming, mama?" At the last, with a little sound in his natural voice, which had been meakly before, he lifted his hands as if to be taken and was gone. I think he must hafve seen some one, whom he instinctively trusted, and who will care for him until his mother fulfills her promise to go too. I often picture him and his father waiting for me on the other shore. If only I can be of those who endure until the end?
Fred had even more of his mother's teaching that Eva, and was less disturbed by interruptions. He would wait until he saw that I was really paying attention to Karen visitors, then would fly off down the walk at racehorse speed. He learned to read Karen, too, and passed a government examination in it. Ernest wanted to study with the karen boys so had one here in the school. When we brought them home, Ernest entered second grade and Fred fourth, but werre ahead of their grades and always found graded school work easy. It was only after entering the academy that they learned how to study hard!
We went to Smilum(?) for the hot season of 1898, hoping that cool climate might restore my health. We ventured to go up to Ougelkina(?) on a newly build R.R. and had the novel experience of being sent in the (?) private car, through a fertile valey that had been entirely depopulated by raids of Karens. From (word?), we got passage on an official boat through the wonderful upper deple(?) of the Srauady(?), which looked as if some gigantic force had rent the mountains apart and made room for this stream to wind about between the broken edges.
The ride up the mountains proved far too hard for me, for some reason, the place was malarial that year. Miss East Sutherland, having a very dangerous fever, later on Mrs. Wm. S. Cellester, Fred was so filled with malaria that it took a winter at home to freeze it out and I returned worse that I went. It was while we were in (?) that the Spanish-American War broke out and the boys made wonderful fleets of ships from the (?) of a plant which grew there and had great battles, the only trouble being that both boys wanted to command the American fleet, for it always won. British people, who we men, sympathized deeply with us because "Theirs was an old fighting nation and America had no fighting army." They changed their tone later.
Dear Alice Ford was with us at (?) and Fred admired her sketches and wanted to draw landscapes at once. She was a real artist. A few months later, she married Dr. Harper and lived only a short time.
Soon after our return, the doctor said to my husband that he ought to take me home. He told me and I answered "We cannot go now in the rains and leave Miss Larsh(?) alone. I shall be better soon and can stay until the cool season." She told the doctor at the door next time he came and he exclaimed "Why, she hasn't any blood. She will slip away from us one of these days." We often wondered how Karens heard things but this was noised about and not one of them suggested that it might not be necessary to go. I never heard Karens cry as they did at our last woman's prayer meeting, when I gave my message.

Postscript

Written by Rosina's daughter, Eva Price

"If only I may be among those who endure unto the end." Wrote Rosina E. Price in her reminices in September 1915. Already an invalid for three years past, she had nearly two years of her trial yet before her, years when her ready pen, her skillful needle and all the books and reading material in which she took delight, must be put aside.
During most of those last year, even visits with dearest friends had to be brief and far between, because of the poor head that tired so soon. No wonder, that cut off from every kind of diversion and with the brain constantly under fed by the laboring heart, melancholy assailed her.
No one but those who have had some like experience can realize what she went through. Nevertheless, her worst fear, that she might lose her mind before the end, was never realized. The night before she left us, the sweet strong soul of her shone out from the wasted body as clearly as it ever had. None of us were expecting any sudden change and her thought was for all of us.
"Can't you sleep later to-morrow morning than you have been doing, Eva dear not? Just get a good rest," she urged as I kissed her good night. A little later as the nurse was rubbing her before leaving her for the night she said, "I must not let you rub me any more, poor girl! You are tired out." Those were almost her last words.
at 1:30 a.m., August 19th, she fell into a deep sleep from which she never wakened. Fred, Grace and I were with her when a little before noon the breathing grew quieter and quieter and ceased. So she passed over the grim river which we have so feared for her, as quietly and peacefully as one who has indeed enters into rest. She had wished that she might go in sleep and she had wished to have her children near when the end came. So fully were her wishes granted that to our halting, stumbling faith it was made clear that a Hand of Love had been guiding us all the time, even when we saw it not.

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