surprised to find about
thirty head of sheep. Some of them looked like they should have been
sold ten years before. "Don't you ever sell any of your sheep?" I
asked. "No'm. There was a feller come here once and wanted to buy some
of my wethers, but I wouldn't sell any because I didn't need any
money." Then he went from animal to animal, caressing each and talking
to them, calling them each by name. He milked his one cow, fed his two
little mules, and then we went back to the house to cook breakfast. We
had delicious venison steak, smoking hot, and hoe-cakes and the
"bestest" coffee, and honey.

After breakfast we set out for home. Our pack transferred to one of the
little mules, we rode "Jeems," and Mr. Parker rode the other mule. He
took us another way, down canon after canon, so that we were able to
ride all the time and could make better speed. We came down out of the
snow and camped within twelve miles of home in an old, deserted ranch
house. We had grouse and sage chicken for supper. I was so anxious to
get home that I could hardly sleep, but at last I did and was only
awakened by the odor of coffee, and barely had time to wash before
Zebulon Pike called breakfast. Afterwards we fixed "Jeems's" pack so
that I could still ride, for Zebulon Pike was very anxious to get back
to his "critters."

Poor, lonely, childlike little man! He tried to tell me how glad he had
been to entertain me. "Why," he said, "I was plumb glad to see you and
right sorry to have you go. Why, I would jist as soon talk to you as to
a nigger. Yes'm, I would. It has been almost as good as talking to old
Aunt Dilsey." If a Yankee had said the same to me I would have demanded
instant apology, but I know how the Southern heart longs for the dear,
kindly old "niggers," so I came on homeward, thankful for the first
time that I can't talk correctly.

I got home at twelve and found, to my joy, that none of the men had
returned, so I am safe from their superiority for a while, at least.

With many apologies for this outrageous letter, I am

Your ex-Washlady,
ELINORE RUPERT.

V

SEDALIA AND REGALIA

_November 22, 1909._

MY DEAR FRIEND,--

I was dreadfully afraid that my last letter was too much for you and
now I feel plumb guilty. I really don't know how to write you, for I
have to write so much to say so little, and now that my last letter
made you sick I almost wish so many things didn't happen to me, for I
always wan