While she was crying in distraction, I wrapped my own tearful face in her skirts and prayed to God that I might grow up in a day--that He would make my arms strong so I could go to work at once earning money to replace the lost feather beds.

I was then not quite eight years old.

It was early in April, 1881.

Before the month was out I had found a job in the new country and was earning money.

I gave all my earnings to my mother.