I can only say that the experience instilled in me a lasting terror.
The fear of being parted from my parents and from my brothers and sisters, then implanted in my soul, has borne its fruit in after-life.
Finally mother found the boys in a rescue home for lost children.
Brother David, curly-haired and red-cheeked, had so appealed to the policeman who found them that he had made application to adopt the boy and was about to take him to his own home.
After finding the children, mother stood on Broadway and, gazing at the fine buildings and the good clothes that all classes wore in America, she felt her heart swell with hope.

And she said aloud: "This is the place for my boys." Every one had treated her with kindness.

A fellow countryman had lent her money to pay the hotel bill, telling her she could pay it back after she had joined her husband.

And so we had passed through the gateway of the New World as thousands of other poor families had done.

And our temporary hardships had been no greater than most immigrants encountered in those days.
I later learned from a Bohemian of the trials his mother met with on her first days in New York.