When our little children were ill with scarlet
fever, how grieved they were to witness their sufferings; especially as
we watched Virginia, waiting, as we expected, to receive her parting
breath. How strongly they were contrasted! that fair child, unconscious
even of the presence of the many kind friends who had watched and wept
beside her--and the aged Sioux women, who had crept noiselessly into the
chamber. I remember them well, as they leaned over the foot of the bed;
their expressive and subdued countenances full of sorrow. That small
white hand, that lay so powerless, had ever been outstretched to welcome
them when they came weary and hungry.
They told me afterwards, that "much water fell from their eyes day and
night, while they thought she would die;" that the servants made them
leave the sick room, and then turned them out of the house--but that
they would not go home, waiting outside to hear of her.
During her convalescence, I found that they could "rejoice with those
that rejoice" as well as "weep with those that wept." The fearful
disease was abating in our family, and "Old Harper," as she is called
in the Fort, offered to sit up and attend to the fire.
Pages:
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40