We were stopping with a family named Crawford, who were friends of Hattie, and whose unremitting kindness will be a life-long memory.

We returned to them in deep despair, when we heard of Mr. Golly, a neighboring farmer, who was performing almost miraculous cures, and we at once took the stage and went to him.

A few moments conversation inspired us with confidence in the man, whose frank face was an index to his character, and whose sympathetic soul breathed through every intonation of his gentle voice.

He advised her to remain for treatment, assuring her, that if she was unable to pay, it would cost her nothing.

We were willing to remunerate if certain of cure, and, knowing the dread uncertainty of the case, this noble man revealed in his offer his true magnanimity.  I remained with her two months, when home demands became imperative, and I longingly left one who, through nine years of close and dear relationship had become a life link hard to sever.

With undying gratitude to good Mr. Golly, I left her confided to his fatherly care, knowing he could not prove recreant to the trust.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

    “There was a time when meadow,
    Grove and stream,
    The earth and every common sight
    To me did seem
    Appareled in celestial light,
    The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
    It is not now as it has been of yore,
    Turn where soe’r I may,
    By night or day,
    The things that I have seen
    I now can see no more.”

Upon our return to Chicago I found my husband so ill that he yielded to the advice of his physician to go to the Mineral Springs of St. Louis, and there being a heavy drain upon our finances, I felt it necessary to resume my travels.  Disagreeable as was the task, it was tolerable only for its benefit to loved ones.

Ida, the young daughter of my favorite brother, had just graduated, her laurels still green and her heart full of girlish enthusiasm.  With the sanction of her parents she kindly consented to accompany me.  Kindred ties are deep and strong, and her society was like a ray of sunshine in my clouded pathway.

Mr. Keep, the Manager of the North-western Railway, presented us with a general pass, and we started for the Lake Superior country, first visiting many of the beautiful towns of Wisconsin, among which was Peshtigo, then but partially rebuilt from its recent ravages from fire.  In canvassing we called at the house of Mrs. Armstrong, who kept a book, and asked us to call in the afternoon for the money.

During the day her little daughter had become so interested in the “story of the blind girl,” that she insisted upon going out to buy her a dress, which she presented in person.  Little Nellie’s gift of simple calico was as precious to me as if of silken texture and Tyrion dye, and “waxed rich” with the royalty of sympathy and love.