The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 18, 1900, Page 3

THE SUNDAY CALL. 3 ,Pfiipe;lbeé(épdapt of ’[T\artlya Washington Blipd and Helpless ip the Sierra Nevadas c > MARTHA IWASHINGTON \/\/ PACIEIC MRrs. MINERVA ABBOTS PRESENT HOME though tim It f the e we went stopping to see. left three miles down Hill trafl to find Mrs “Mrs. Minerva Abbott, Burnt Flat, we bott Placer County, Cal.” is the whole of it. Mrs. Abbott was at home. She has been at home these twenty years. She did not come to meet us—only the chickens and CAPE HORN, om THE CENTR e VIEWED FROM COLFAX the kitten did that her room. ¥ liv “I am 1 you have come to see me,"” Mrs. Abbott. The volce was pitched g 1 for weakness, but there was a tone of the Old South ringing somewhere even through its faintness. “It is s6 seldom any one comes down here that 1 greatly enjoy the calls of those who find the walk pleasant. Will you not be seated?”’ she added. Why did she add 1t? We were already seated, for Mrs. Vivian, her friend, had glven us chairs, Oh, I knew. The eyes did not see. for she does not leave rs is a long while to FIRST MOUNTAIN HOME OF MARTHA WASHINGTON'S GRANE N'=CE “The welcome that we can give a vis- ftor is o aple one, but it is sincere. Kentucl ays welcome the stran- ger within their gate: ou know."” “And you are a Kentuckian?" “I was born one, and although T left my old home when a little girl, I love Kentucky still and am proud to claim it as my ! Vg “Your home was near a historical re- I remarked, edging toward the glon, point. “My family was a historical family,” she replied, moving openly toward it. “And the family was" “That of Martha Washington. “Martha Washington, you remember, was the daughter of one John Dandridge, a Southern planter. He had another daughter named Mary. That Mary was my grandmother. “I know of the Dandridge sisters only by report, for I was taken away from the &outh when I was a very little girl. And Martha, of course, dled elghteen years before my birth. “In the days T was Minerva Connor. Father took his little Minerva with him vhen he moved from Kentucky to Ili- where he became one of that State’s t settlers. 1 suppose I taken to say a well-regulated good-by to my grandmother and aunts, but that I do not remember. “When father went to Illinols it was considered the unsettled West. We left the world behind us. Communication with friends and relatives was of rarest occurrence. “Those who were near and dear to us passed away as the years went on, and often we did not hear of the deaths un- til long after. I grew to womanhood and married and became the mother of seven children, and the old home people did not know of it. There are no such separa- tions In these days of steam and tele- graph, but the world was smaller then. “Why, no such sep who live hes T wonder should I say ' she broke off. *“I there are meet only bors? Thi tain homes the train p: =mell the sr out a little w were within “How did y v how to be s near lon hear s when [ w if the wo ome to choose for a home?" I asked, looking about th cabin. Its walls and floor were bare, its doo here were no trai sil- 1a fam- a por- v gentlem avy brown hair, high k and rufiled shirt Ith failed,” she replied cold, T think. So in 1 ornz ver c of the old s “My moved to California for a change of a As Czlifornia gold mines—they yield to cnly a few,” she said sadly a whole story in that little 1 could not for it. we lived near Folsom. My h oved for a time, but did net last. So about twenly years ago we moved up here into the Sierras. “We were poor. Coming here meant giving up what little we had, but there seemed no other way to save my life. Is it not strange that my life Is the only one that has lasted?” She cried as_old people cry—silently, without sobs. Youth is more stormy. “It seemed necessary to try mountain air, but we had to live a poverty-stricken Did you notice that 0ss the creek? the Slerras. we camse A tent would have ly more rickety no wonder it was elter for man nor for a we lived in it and a a patch behind 1t L plantation for the saks was far from being a t I loved it and s my strength ome with him, T J but I want- naged to bufld compared glass was ked and the to have & t took me a me ame upon me. old and blind, iere as well a h was and [ grew more an. discouraged. [ on or what I said or did when the hard was over I found one of my earrings missing. Some one had taken ar of my helpless- e curio r abroad, then? Ex- tinet- but rget that a true hostes at pres- said, with the il wording 1 parc itality. ured that I thank you for d stop in on your way back, she added. coming. will you not?" As I glanced back from the doorway I saw her lying against the pillow, feebls and old and poor. Shotld I find her if I stopped in on my way back? DRUSILLA SLEET.