The
young men had cut down a pine tree and split the logs. The boys and
girls had gathered sacks of pine cones, stacking these pine sticks
over the cones, and it looked as though we were making a defense. All
the guests were assembled on the porches of their cabins and at the
log cabin and as soon as darkness came these cones were lighted and
fire crackers, pin wheels, rockets and red light flashed forth, a
never-to-be-forgotten sight of lights and shadows. The tall pines rose
in the background like dark sentinels guarding the happy spirits in
their nightly revels. It was after ten o'clock when the last shower of
rockets went up and lighted the heavens with the beautiful gold and
silver showers, a befitting close for such an eventful day of
enjoyment.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IN OAKLAND. SAD ACCIDENT. BRUSH AND EASEL. KIND FRIENDS.
In the first part of May my son, William, moved from Alameda to
Oakland and I left the Thirteenth street home and joined his family at
324 Tenth street, in one of the Tutt flats. We had hardly got settled
when in September my son was stricken with typhoid fever. He was taken
to the sanitarium. I was obliged to move to 212 Eleventh street and
begin anew my music and art. I remained there two years and over. I
then moved to 116 Eleventh street where I found an ideal studio in the
Abbott residence. There I remained until the earthquake, after which I
moved to my present abode.
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