n grieving anguish felt that we had,
and might not live to cross the summit.

She had watched the fall of snow, and measured its depth; had seen it
drift between the two camps making the way so treacherous that no one
had dared to cross it until the day before her own coming; then she
induced Mr. Clark to try to ascertain if Messrs. Cady and Stone had
really got us to the cabins in time to go with the Second Relief.

We did not see Mr. Clark, but he had peered in, taken observations, and
returned by nightfall and described to her our condition.

John Baptiste had promised to care for father in her absence. She left
our tent in the morning as early as she could see the way. She must
have stayed with us over night, for I went to sleep in her arms, and
they were still around me when I awoke; and it seemed like a new day,
for we had time for many cherished talks. She veiled from us the
ghastliness of death, telling us Aunt Betsy and both our little cousins
had gone to heaven. She said Lewis had been first to go, and his
mother had soon followed; that she herself had carried little Sammie
from his sick mother's tent to ours the very day we three were taken
away; and in order to keep him warm while the storm raged, she had laid
him close to father's side, and that he had stayed with them until "day
before yesterday."

I asked her if Sammie had cried for bread. She replied, "No, he was not
hungry, for your mother saved two of those little biscuits which the
relief party brought, and every day she soaked a tiny piece in water
and fed him all he would eat, and there is still half a biscuit left."

How big that half-biscuit seemed to me! I wondered why she had not
brought at least a part of it to us. While she was talking with Mrs.
Murphy, I could not get it out of my mind. I could see that broken
half-biscuit, with its ragged edges, and knew that if I had a piece, I
would nibble off the rough points first. The longer I waited, the more
I wanted it. Finally, I slipped my arm around mother's neck, drew her
face close to mine and whispered,

"What are you going to do with the half-biscuit you saved?"

"I am keeping it for your sick father," she answered, drawing me closer
to her side, laying her comforting cheek against mine, letting my arm
keep its place, and my fingers stroke her hair.

The two women were still talking in subdued tones, pouring the oil of
sympathy into each others' gaping wounds. Neither heard the sound o