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took the hands of the immigrants. Bonfires were blazing all along the shore, where the wet people hastened to dry their drenched garments. In five minutes the friendly doctor in his cap and cloak seemed like an old acquaintance, meeting them there as a matter of course. " Go right up to the fort to dinner," said Dr. McLoughlin. Some went up, glad again of the shelter of a house and a civilized meal.
The indoor servants were busy, sweeping, replenishing fires, dusting clothes; but at a word from the Governor all turned in to wait on the multitude of guests.
"And what did you have for dinner?" was asked of one now white with eighty years.
"Salt salmon and potatoes, hot biscuit and tea. It was a splendid meal, the best I ever ate, and we were thankful to get it."
"And did Dr. McLoughlin eat with you?"
"Oh, no, he stayed all the time at the river-bank watching the boats come in. It was raining hard, and the wind blew his long white hair around his shoulders, but he would not leave the boats. After dinner we went on up the Willamette, but the last we saw was Dr. McLoughlin, there in the rain, watching the boats."
"How the wind howls! "said Dr. McLoughlin that night.
"T is time noo to lock the gates," answered the old gatekeeper, pulling down his hood and buttoning up his great capote.
"Leave them a little, Bruce. Some one else may come. 'T is a stormy time for immigrants. I am sorry for those poor families that went up the river."
All day, and into the night, and for days thereafter, Dr. McLoughlin stood by the river, never for a moment relaxing his vigilance, personally superintending the
