entering heaven. I remember also the doctors com-
ing on board to examine us, and I can still see a line
of big Irishmen standing very straight and holding
out their tongues for inspection. To a little girl
only four years old their huge, open mouths looked
appalling.

On landing a grievous disappointment awaited
us; my father did not meet us. He was in New
Bedford, Massachusetts, nursing his grief and pre-
paring to return to England, for he had been told
that the John Jacob Westervelt had been lost at sea
with every soul on board. One of the missionaries
who met the ship took us under his wing and con-
ducted us to a little hotel, where we remained
until father had received his incredible news and
rushed to New York. He could hardly believe that
we were really restored to him; and even now,
through the mists of more than half a century, I can
still see the expression in his wet eyes as he picked
me up and tossed me into the air.

I can see, too, the toys he brought me--a little
saw and a hatchet, which became the dearest treas-
ures of my childish days. They were fatidical
gifts, that saw and hatchet; in the years ahead of
me I was to use tools as well as my brothers did,
as I proved when I helped to build our frontier
home.