Tuscarawas County Poor-house,
Near New Philadelphia, O., March 25, 1896.
MR. EDITOR:—Your letter asking more about Betsy Gaskins received. I will tell you all I know. Whether Betsy Gaskins is living or dead I cannot say, and I never will know, though what I do know I never can forget.
The strange things I have seen since I last wrote you are mysteries that can only be guessed at; they cannot be solved.
Betsy had been growing worse every day till the night of that terrible storm. The rain and sleet and snow, the wind and hail, made it one of the most dismal nights I ever saw. The roaring in the woods on the hill back of the poor-house sounded like a storm on the ocean. In every direction cattle and sheep were bawling. It was so cold, and the noise, I suppose, kept them awake.
That night Betsy was worse. She had smothering spells that it seemed she would die in, and her suffering was terrible. I couldn’t leave her, though my baby was fretful and kept awake till after ten o’clock. I was with her almost all the time.
I had let the window down from the top to let in fresh air, as she seemed to need it. I had no light except what came in over the transom of the door from the hall.
It was about two o’clock that I was sitting there all alone. Betsy seemed to be getting worse very fast.
“Pushing back the hair of the sick woman, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.”