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 want to tell you.  Many things have happened since I last wrote, and Zebulon Pike is not done for by any means, but I guess I will tell you my newest experience.

I am making a wedding dress.  Don’t grin; it isn’t mine,—­worse luck!  But I must begin at the beginning.  Just after I wrote you before, there came a terrific storm which made me appreciate indoor coziness, but as only Baby and I were at home I expected to be very lonely.  The snow was just whirling when I saw some one pass the window.  I opened the door and in came the dumpiest little woman and two daughters.  She asked me if I was “Mis’ Rupit.”  I told her that she had almost guessed it, and then she introduced herself.  She said she was “Mis’ Lane,” that she had heard there was a new stranger in the country, so she had brought her twin girls, Sedalia and Regalia, to be neighborly.  While they were taking off their many coats and wraps it came out that they were from Linwood, thirty miles away.  I was powerful glad I had a pot roast and some baked beans.