was important, so I kept a stiff
upper lip and said of course I wouldn't mind. But the thought of a
Christmas alone chilled my heart. I tried to be jolly, and gave my
repertory on the mouth-organ, which promptly stopped all activities on
the part of the round-eyed Queenie MacKenzie. But all that foolery was
as forced as the frivolity of the French Revolution Conciergerie where
the merry diners couldn't quite forget they were going to lose their
heads in the morning!

_Sunday the Thirteenth_

Not only is Duncan gone, but Queenie has also quite unceremoniously
taken her departure. It arose from the fact that I requested her to take
a bath. The only disappointed member of the family is poor old Olie, who
was actually making sheep's eyes at that verminous little baggage.
Imagination falters at what he might have done with a dollar's worth of
brown sugar. When Queenie went, I find, my mouth-organ went with her.
I'd like to ling chih that Indian girl!

_Wednesday the Sixteenth_

It was a sparkling clear day to-day, with no wind, so I rode over to the
old Titchborne Ranch with my little jumper-sleigh. There I found
Percival Benson in a most pitiable condition. He had been laid up with
the grip. His place was untidy, his dishes were unwashed, and his fuel
was running short. His appearance, in fact, rather frightened me. So I
bundled him up and got him in the jumper and brought him straight home
with me. He had a chill on the way, so as soon as we got to Casa Grande
I sent him to bed, gave him hot whisky, and put my hot water bottle at
his feet. He tried to accept the whole thing as a joke, and vowed I was
jolly well cooking him. But to-night he has a high fever and I'm afraid
he's in for a serious siege of illness. I intend to send Olie over to
get some of his things and have his live stock brought over with ours.

_Sunday the Twentieth_

Percy has had three very bad nights, but seems a little better to-day.
His lung is congested, and it may be pneumonia, but I think my
mustard-plaster saved the day. He tries so hard to be cheerful, and is
so grateful for every little thing. But I wish Dinky-Dunk was here to
tell me what to do.

I could never have survived this last week without Olie. He is as
watchful and ready as a farm-collie. But I want my Dinky-Dunk! I may
have spoiled my Dinky-Dunk a little, but it's only once every century or
two that God makes a man like him. I want to be a good wife. I