ur extemporized granaries,
and helped themselves to grain. They were welcome to it under the
circumstances, but in obtaining it they had broken in the windows, and
had mixed glass with it to such an extent that it was unsafe for food
until we had picked it all over, grain by grain. This process was our
daily occupation and amusement. I distinctly recall the scene in our
dining-room, when all the available members of the family were seated
around a long pine table, with a little pile of wheat before each,
replenished from time to time from the large heap in the center,
working away industriously, conversing cheerfully, telling interesting
and amusing stories, singing songs, never complaining, but all
manifesting a feeling of gratitude that we still saw before us what
would support life, for, at least, a while longer; and taking heart
and strength to endure, in the hope that before this, our last
resource was exhausted, we should receive our long expected supplies,
which were somewhere on the way to us. This wheat was boiled, and
eaten with salt, the only seasoning of any kind we had; no butter, no
milk, no meat, nothing, and yet we never can forget the intense relish
with which our children partook of it, one of them remarking, on one
occasion, "Mother, how good this wheat is; I wish you would write to
Ann Arbor and tell the boys there of it; I don't believe they know." A
little child was teaching us, and the amount of strength and comfort
imparted to us by such a manifestation of perfect contentment,
gratitude and trust can never be computed in words. We realized in
those days, as never before, the full force and beauty of the
Icelandic custom: living in the midst of dangers seen and unseen,
these people, we are told, every morning open the outer door, and
looking reverently up to Heaven, thank God they are still alive. So
when with each returning day we saw our children safe and well, our
first feeling was, gratitude that the Eternal God, who was our only
refuge, had not removed from underneath us His everlasting arms.

The nearest settlement of any kind was "Swan River," on the
Mississippi, but we were so completely blockaded with snow, that no
team could possibly get through. Two or three times during that
memorable winter, our oldest son, a boy of eighteen years, made the
trip on snow-shoes, at the risk of his life, to get our mail, and
learn, if possible, something from our supplies. The round trip was a
three day