Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

THE OLD FARM 73
ing. It seems she was telling mother of a bundle of woolen
yarn she wished her granddaughter Rachel Cole to have, and
then she added a number of bequests; but this is the only item
I can recall. After she was gone I asked what it was that made
grandmother cry, and mother told me that poor grandmother
thought that she was going to die, but that she often felt that
way; and our mother spoke in such an assuring manner that
I thought little of it. Not long after this, as she was stepping
out of our back door she had a hard fall and hurt her breast,
but this was not thought to be serious. I have wondered
since if this accident might not have been a remote cause of
what followed.
One cold, frosty morning in October the old people were up
early and had old Fannie hitched to the little Jersey wagon.
Our father, a hired man and Brother Will were to go to the city
to do some trading that day, and they started out with our
grandparents, who seemed in good health and spirits. Old
Fannie was a balker and had one of her unfortunate moods.
When she reached "Acorn Hill," or "Raymond's Hill" as it
was called, our folks had to unload and walk up the little
steep pitch. Our father was walking by his mother's side
when she suddenly cried out, "Oh, that old pain in my heart!"
and dropped to the ground. When father stooped to assist
her she was breathing a deep, apoplectic snore. He ran a
short distance over the field to Dr. Beach's, but on his return
she had passed away. This was about sunrise; mother was
getting breakfast for us and we were still in our trundle-bed
when father came in all breathless, his face red from his haste.
Opening the door he leaned back against it and delivered the
astonishing news, "Mother's dead!"
Thus upon October 31, 1843, occurred the first tragedy of
our lives — the lesson of death that sooner or later all must
learn. At once mother made the house ready to receive the
lifeless form of our grandmother. Neighbors came, bearing
her body on a bier they had hastily prepared. I can never
forget that home-coming nor the awful majesty of her appearance
as she lay there wrapped in her shawl with her hood still
tied over her beautiful white hair. I noticed that the blood