Monday, Jan 31, 1881 Still only three above zero this morning. I took a walk over to the cemetery. The snow was very deep and unbroken about our lot and the silence and the whiteness of the winter slept above my dear Gertrude. My father brought me over the river and I caught the St. Louis train, very late and have just reached here with all the sad and lonely feelings that meet me when I return. It is a grey day and looks like snow.
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