From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
I am home. We came back a week ago but I couldn’t write anything because I was so busy talking. I had to tell everyone about Lake Tahoe and the beautiful Hotel and the lovely clothes everyone wore and the fish and the Donners, and in the middle of it my father had to leave. We saw him off just exactly the opposite of the way he arrived. He was on the Ferry with us when we went to Oakland, and we came home without him. I tried to be sad because I knew that I was supposed to be, but I couldn’t be, and on the boat coming back I overheard my Grandmother say to Alma, “What a cold little thing she is.” Alma said that I wasn’t, but I guess I am.