The box and letter were put at father's place on the dinner table and after he was seated he noticed it. Putting on his glasses he said, "Children, what have we here. It is not my birthday." Not a word was said while he read the letter, then he opened the box and saw the bright golden slug. He laid down his glasses and looked over at me and said, "So Rosana Margaret, it was by your cheerful handiwork that the last burden has been lifted." I quietly lifted up my face and said, "Father, Tilly helped me and we are glad you won't have to trouble any more." He then lifted up his hands and said, "Let us ask God's blessing." If prayer is the soul's sincere desire, uttered or unexpressed, then I think the offering on Abel's altar was not more acceptable before the Lord than was the prayer of my most reverent father as he prayed for a blessing on his family, far from the scenes of his early life and all that went to make him happy when he and mother went hand in hand out into God's vineyard to do God's work, he as an ordained man of God and she an ideal minister's wife who never faltered in her duty through the roughest pioneer days in the swamps of Illinois to the last journey to California to build up the Church of God even here in the farthest west by the Golden Gate. All that was mortal of these two faithful pilgrims rests in the new cemetery in Stockton, always united in life and in death were not divided: "What's this that steals, that steals upon my breath, Is it death? is it death? If this be death, I soon shall be From every sin and sorrow free. I shall the King of Glory see, All is well, all is well." (Father and mother's last hymn.) CHAPTER FIVE BOSTON. DEDHAM CHOIR, 1858. THE CIVIL WAR. FAMOUS MUSICIANS. RETURN TO CALIFORNIA. SANTA CRUZ. In January, 1859, I accompanied my husband to Boston to visit his relatives. My son George was seven months old. My husband realized my voice was more than ordinary and as he was a fine tenor, and also a good pianist, he desired that I should have the best advantages that could be procured, so once more I made the pilgrimage of the ocean and the Isthmus. We arrived at noon in New York in the midst of a heavy snow-storm--gloomy, cold and raw--snow everywhere. I remained in the depot while my husband attended to our baggage and secured the tickets for Boston, and we left New York at three o'clock in the afternoon. Blockades of snow twice stopped our train and shovel ploughs had to be used. On the following day, taking rooms at the nearest hotel and having been made comfortable, my husband sought his relatives. On his return at four o'clock in the afternoon we went to the home of his uncle, William Lincoln, on Chestnut street, who had been my husband's foster father after the death of his parents. Here we remained until we moved to 120 Charles street, afterward moving to Dedham, where Mr. Blake was made a fine business offer.