Diary of a refugee . atway, and who will kindly take the letters fromone post office to another, leaving them at hisconvenience. We have an occasional excite-ment in an encounter with the much dreadedtarantulas, but we get out of their way asquickly as possible, for they are difficult tokill, and the bite is generally fatal. In spite of our efforts to make our woodenshanty even habitable, we find it is not a question of money, for we haveplenty, but the necessary materials are notto be had at any price. We are gratefulfor any distraction, even the smallest incidentis made much of
Diary of a refugee . atway, and who will kindly take the letters fromone post office to another, leaving them at hisconvenience. We have an occasional excite-ment in an encounter with the much dreadedtarantulas, but we get out of their way asquickly as possible, for they are difficult tokill, and the bite is generally fatal. In spite of our efforts to make our woodenshanty even habitable, we find it is not a question of money, for we haveplenty, but the necessary materials are notto be had at any price. We are gratefulfor any distraction, even the smallest incidentis made much of. So we enjoy the excite-ment of sending men on horseback in everydirection to the country stores within twentyor thirty miles to hunt for shoes, as we are allsadly in need of them. One of the searcherscame back very triumphant, as he had foundone pair in a country store twenty miles away,but as they asked him seventy-five dollars forthem, he hesitated about bringing the shoes;he was promptly sent back to fetch GENERAL ULYSSES S. GRANT DIARY OF A REFUGEE 41 Great was the excitement when he returnedwith the shoes. As they were of a small sizewe all wished that our feet might not provetoo large! It was an anxious moment whenour turn came to try them on, but I am gladthat they fit one of the girls, whose prettylittle feet made her the Cinderella of the oc-casion. Our only neighbor is the young girl that Ispoke of before, who came here alone withher wounded brother. TOWN OF FAIRFIELD. A month later,I opened you, my dear little book, to pourout the despairing cry of a broken-heartedmother. Since I last wrote, I have sufferedtoo much to be able to record it. Now I feelthat I must, that perhaps it will help me, andI want to write an account of what my bravelittle daughter has done. James was away. He had come here onbusiness, when someone riding through thecountry brought a letter to the ranch, as he 42 DIARY OF A REFUGEE had been well paid to deliver it. The let-ter was from a
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