My mother suffered so severely that in the morning she could hardly see.

We were all frightful sights, but I do not remember that even the stinging misery of that night kept me from sleeping soundly.

I could always sleep, never knowing "horrid night, the child of hell." Our friends in Pittsburgh had been anxiously waiting to hear from us, and in their warm and affectionate greeting all our troubles were forgotten.

We took up our residence with them in Allegheny City.

A brother of my Uncle Hogan had built a small weaver's shop at the back end of a lot in Rebecca Street.