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Cookies In Her Pocket

by Julie Rogers
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   List Price: $27.00

Choose from smooth matte paper or Giclee Collectors limited editions on archival quality canvas signed by the artist.

Art prints are ordered by the dimension of the the shorter side. The longer side will vary proportionately to the original painting.

*Custom framing is also required.

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Cookies In Her Pocket

Margaret Alice McBride was only three years old when she came with her parents and four siblings in the Martin Handcart Company to Utah. Her brother, Peter Howard McBride, wrote of Margaret:
My baby sister and I were really hungry. Our teams gave out and died, and we were glad to eat the meat. I remember some men passed us one day and stopped to talk. They gave my baby sister some cookies. She carried them in her little pocket, and I was always with her and would tease for a bite. She would give me a taste once in a while, and it was so good. No cake I ever tasted since was ever so good. The exposure to cold, rain, snow, and ice, pushing carts all day, the scarcity of food and wood caused many strong men to perish.

Margaret's father, Robert McBride was among the strong men who perished. On the 19th of October, Robert made an estimated 25 trips across the Platte River, helping his family and others. It was a final sacrifice for Robert. Heber McBride wrote:
The next morning there was about 6 inches of snow on the ground. What we had to suffer can never be told. Father was very bad that morning; he could hardly sit up in the tent. We had to travel that day through the snow and I managed to get Father into one of the wagons that morning. That was the last we saw of him alive. . . . The next morning, the snow was about 18 inches deep, and awfully cold. While my sister was preparing our little bit of breakfast, I went to look for Father. At last, I found him under a wagon with snow all over him. He was stiff and dead. I felt as though my heart would burst. I sat down beside him on the snow, took one of his hands in mine and cried, ‘Oh, Father, Father!' There we were, away out on the plains, with hardly anything to eat, Father dead, and Mother sick and a widow with five small children, and not hardly able to live from one day to the next. After I had my cry out, I went back to the tent to tell Mother. To try and write or tell the feelings of Mother and the other children is out of the question.

1 Kings 17:11: Bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thine hand.

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