It was our habit, as children, to always meet father when he came home
at night, and when we all ran to meet him the youngest always received
the first attention, being taken in his arms, and the others clung to
his coat and skipped alongside, chatting as fast as we could until we
entered the house. Words cannot express the joy of the meeting after
more than two years' separation. When mother realized that father had
come at last she was like one dazed and could not move. The children
in their happiness were surrounding the long lost wanderers. At last
father spoke, with tears of gladness in his eyes, "Where is Mary, your
mother, my children?" We had monopolized his attention and poor mother
was neglected for the moment. As soon as we had realized the oversight
sister Mary beckoned us all away and we gradually disappeared and left
the two to enjoy their happy reunion. After a half hour had passed,
and while they were softly conversing, we gathered in the main room
and, clustering around sister Mary, we began the song--
"Home again, home again from a foreign shore,
And oh it fills my soul with joy to meet my friends once more."
Rev. Mr. Woods and family were more than surprised to find such voices
among us, and their appreciation was so genuine we gave them one of
our dear old German hymns, a favorite of father's also.
[Illustration: First Presbyterian Church, Washington street, Stockton,
California, built in 1849, the first Protestant church in California.
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