But Abe, her son, was to find it.

That was why she had been shown those pictures.
Once again she looked through the door into bright sunshine.

It was a place that she knew beside the Ohio she remembered the tall poplar clump.

She did not see the Jacksons' farm which stood south of the trees, but there was the Indian graveyard, which as a little girl she had been afraid to pass.

Now it seemed to be fresh made, for painted vermilion wands stood about the mounds.