e in her care of the others, but the rag baby "Gloriana," who
had found a home in Jim Carter's cabin at the Ridge, living too far for
daily visits, was brought down regularly on Saturday afternoon to Mary's
house by Jim, tucked in asleep in his saddle bags or riding gallantly
before him on the horn of his saddle. On Sunday there was a dress
parade of all the dolls, which kept Mary in heart for the next week's
desolation.

But there came one Saturday and Sunday when Mary did not appear, and it
was known along the road that she had been called to San Francisco to
meet an aunt who had just arrived from "the States." It was a vacant
Sunday to "the boys," a very hollow, unsanctified Sunday, somehow,
without that little figure. But the next, Sunday, and the next, were
still worse, and then it was known that the dreadful aunt was making
much of Mary, and was sending her to a grand school--a convent at Santa
Clara--where it was rumored girls were turned out so accomplished that
their own parents did not know them. But WE knew that was impossible to
our Mary; and a letter which came from her at the end of the month, and
before the convent had closed upon the blue pinafore, satisfied us, and
was balm to our anxious hearts. It was characteristic of Mary; it was
addressed to nobody in particular, and would--but for the prudence of
the aunt--have been entrusted to the post office open and undirected. It
was a single sheet, handed to us without a word by her father; but as
we passed it from hand to hand, we understood it as if we had heard our
lost playfellow's voice.

"Ther's more houses in 'Frisco than you kin shake a stick at and
wimmens till you kant rest, but mules and jakasses ain't got no sho, nor
blacksmiffs shops, wich is not to be seen no wear. Rapits and Skwirls
also bares and panfers is on-noun and unforgotten on account of the
streets and Sunday skoles. Jim Roper you orter be very good to Mizzery
on a kount of my not bein' here, and not harten your hart to her bekos
she is top heavy--which is ontroo and simply an imptient lie--like
you allus make. I have a kinary bird wot sings deliteful--but isn't a
yellerhamer sutch as I know, as you'd think. Dear Mister Montgommery,
don't keep Gulan Amplak to mutch shet up in office drors; it isn't good
for his lungs and chest. And don't you ink his head--nother! youre as
bad as the rest. Johnny Dear, you must be very kind to your attopted
father, and you, Glory Anna, must lov your k