have been able to write you only scraps of notes
heretofore, but now that we are quite settled I can tell you about our
new home. We were at a hotel for a week, as long as I, the family
banker, felt that we could, afford it. At the end of that time, by
walking the streets from morning till night, looking at every house
with a sign "To Let" on it, and taking mamma to see only the desirable
ones, we found a humble spot to lay our heads. It is a tiny upper
flat, which we rent for thirty dollars a month. The landlady calls it
furnished, but she has an imagination which takes even higher flights
than mine. Still, with the help of the pretty things we brought with
us, we are very cosy and comfortable. There is a tiny parlor, which,
with our Santa Barbara draperies, table-covers, afternoon tea-table,
grasses, and books, looks like a corner of the dear home sitting-room.
Out of this parlor is a sunny bedroom with two single brass bedsteads,
and space enough to spare for mamma's rocking-chair in front of a
window that looks out on the Golden Gate. The dining-room just holds,
by a squeeze, the extension-table and four chairs; and the dot of a
kitchen, with an enchanting gas-stove, completes the suite.

We are dining at a restaurant a short distance off, at present, and I
cook the breakfasts and luncheons; but on Monday, as mamma is so well,
I begin school from nine to twelve each day under a special
arrangement, and we are to have a little Chinese boy who will assist in
the work and go home at night to sleep. His wages will be eight
dollars a month, and the washing probably four dollars more. This,
with the rent, takes forty-two dollars from our eighty-five, and it
remains to be seen whether it is too much. I shall walk one way to
school, although it is sixteen squares and all up and down hill. . . .

The rains thus far have been mostly in the night, and we have lovely
days. Mamma and I take long rides on the cable-cars in the afternoon,
and stay out at the Cliff House on the rocks every pleasant Saturday.
Then we 've discovered nice sheltered nooks in the sand dunes beyond
the park, and there we stay for hours, mamma reading while I study. We
are so quiet and so happy; we were never alone together in our lives
before. You, dear Peggy, who have always had your family to yourself,
can hardly think how we enjoy being at table together, just we two. I
take mamma's coffee to her and kiss her on the right cheek; then
f