hand, she led us into the house, seated herself and
drew one of us to each side, then requested the Governor to read the
letter again. We two did not understand all it said, but enough to know
that it had been written by our own dear aunt, Elizabeth Poor, who
wanted Governor Boggs to find her sister's three little orphaned girls
and send them back to her by ship to Massachusetts. It contained the
necessary directions for carrying out her wish.

[Illustration: POST OFFICE, CORNER OF CLAY AND PIKE STREETS, SAN
FRANCISCO, 1849]

[Illustration: OLD CITY HOTEL, 1846, CORNER OF KEARNEY AND CLAY
STREETS, THE FIRST HOTEL IN SAN FRANCISCO]

Grandma assured the Governor that we did not want to leave her, nor
would she give us up. She said she and her husband and Jakie had
befriended us when we were poor and useless, and that we were now
beginning to be helpful. Moreover, that they had prospered greatly
since we had come into their home, and that their luck might change if
they should part from us. She further stated that she already had
riches in her own right, which we should inherit at her death.

The Governor spoke of schools and divers matters pertaining to our
welfare, then promised to explain by letter to Aunt Elizabeth how
fortunately we were situated.

This event created quite a flutter of excitement among friends. Grandpa
and Jakie felt just as grandma did about keeping us. Georgia and I were
assured that in not being allowed to go across the water, we had
escaped great suffering, and, perhaps, drowning by shipwreck. Still, we
did wish that it were possible for us to see Aunt Elizabeth, whom
mother had taught us to love, and who now wanted us to come to her.

I told Georgia that I would learn to write as fast as I could, and send
her a letter, so she would know all about us.

We now imagined that we were quite large girls, for grandma usually
said before going away, "Children, you know what there is to do and I
leave everything in your care." We did not realize that this was her
little scheme, in part, to keep us out of mischief; but we knew that
upon her return she would see, and call attention to what was left
undone.

Once, when we were at home alone and talking about "endless work and
aching bones," as we had heard grown-up folks complain of theirs, we
were interrupted by a bareback rider who did not "tie up" under the
live oak, but came to the shade of the white oak in front of us at the
kitchen door. Afte