When the three months were out, which brought it to the 20th of November, I reminded the Doctor of his promise. “Yes, yes,” he said, “I have written to your son to come after you from Illinois; when he comes you can go.” I thought of the matter. I wrote to my folks to not come after me. I felt indignant that my friends should be required to come a thousand miles and spend a hundred dollars to accompany me back, when I knew I was just as capable of traveling alone as I ever was. I sent to a friend for money. He sent me a draft. I told the Doctor my friends were not coming after me; that I was capable of traveling alone, and that I must start by the 20th of December, as I did not want to stay through another winter. Besides, I wanted to be with my friends during the holidays. He tried to prevail on me to stay another week. I told him my clothes were packed in my trunk; that I had written to my friends that I should be there about that time, and I could see no reason why I should stay longer. I told the steward I must go to the city and get a few things before I started. I did so. The last supper was now ended that I ever expected to eat in that house, as I was to start at eleven o'clock that evening for the west. At the close of the supper, a call was made for a speech from me before I left. The call was sudden and I was embarrassed, as I had not spoken in public in two years and six months. My own voice was strange to me. I rose and addressed the company, about forty in number, they all seated at the table, with a few impromptu remarks. I referred to the length of time I had been there; that I had sat just two years in the same place at table, the changes that had taken place, the trials we had passed through, and encouraged them to hope on for their deliverance. I bade them all good-bye, with the best and most kindly feelings of sympathy, I trust, on both sides. When the hour to depart arrived, the supervisor and house steward accompanied me to the depot, carrying with them a box of the choicest kinds of eatables for my accommodation on my journey. A sleeping-car was engaged, the signal was given to move; I shook my old keepers heartily by the hand, bidding them good-bye with unfeigned good feeling, and shot out of their sight—took my berth, and waked up in the morning in Buffalo.