hat Eloise is a name I have
bestowed upon the young lady who is visiting
the Whites, in exchange for the compliment of
her having given my name to her dog. He is a
lank, sneaking greyhound which never leaves her
side, and was called merely Senor, when she
brought him to Mexico. Now she has added
Tremonti to his title. She herself is baptized
Eliza. She is a pretty, kittenish little thing,
deathly afraid of cock-roaches and
caterpillars, devoted to frills and fetching
furbelows, and fond of taking picturesque poses
in the moonlight with the slinky greyhound. No,
her voice is not to be compared to the Little
Colonel's, but it is sweet and sympathetic,
very effective in ballads and simple things. We
sing together whenever I happen to drop in at
the doctor's, which is several times a week,
and I am indebted to her for many pleasant
hours, which are doubly appreciated in this
desert waste of a place.

"Now will you answer a few questions for me?
Who is this Pink Upham who is 'doing everything
to make the winter pleasant' for you? What is
his age, his business and his ultimate aim in
life? Is he the only available escort to all
the social functions of Lone-Rock? You never
mention any other. Don't forget what I told you
when I said good-bye in Bauer, and _don't
forget what you promised me then_."

Mary was in the kitchen when that letter was brought in to her. She had
just slipped a pan of gingersnaps into the oven, and was rolling out the
remainder of the dough to fill another pan. Not even stopping to wipe
her floury hands, she walked over to the window, tore open the envelope
and began to read. When she came to the end of the postscript she stood
gazing out of the window at the back fence, half buried in the drifted
snow. What she saw was not the old fence, however. She was gazing back
into a sunny April morning in the hills of Texas. She was standing by a
kitchen window there, also, but that one was open, and looked out upon a
meadow of blue-bonnets, as blue as the sea. And outside, looking in at
her, with his arms crossed on the window-sill, was Phil. There was no
need for him to write in that postscript, "Don't forget what I told you
when I said good-bye in Bauer." She had recalled it s