They were in mother's work
basket in the dark room at Buffalo, were brought in it, through the
fearful storm on Lake Erie, to Michigan and saved through all of our hard
times in the wilderness. I have my piece yet, as a keepsake, and I think
my brother and sisters have theirs. After father's death, mother still
lived at the "Castle" and my sister Bessie, who took all the care of her
in her old age that was possible, stayed with her. All the rest of the
children did every thing they could for her comfort. She felt lonesome
without father, with whom she had spent nearly fifty years of her life.
She lived a little over three years after he was gone and followed him.
She was seventy-one years old, in 1873, when her voice was hushed in
death and mother too was gone.
We laid her by father's side in a place selected by himself for that
purpose. It is a beautiful place, about a mile and a half southwest of
where they lived and in plain sight of what was their home.
Long before this there was a voice of one often heard in prayer in the
wilderness, where we first settled, and that voice was mother's.
Father and mother believed in one faith and mother from her youth.
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