I must stop right now before you get so tired you will not answer.  With much love to you from Jerrine and myself, I am

  Yours affectionately,
    ELINORE RUPERT STEWART.

XXI

A LETTER OF JERRINE’S

     February 26, 1913.

DEAR MRS. CONEY,—­

I think you will excuse my mama for not writing to thank you for black Beauty when I tell you why.  I wanted to thank you myself, and I wanted to hear it read first so I could very trully thank.  Mama always said horses do not talk, but now she knows they do since she read the Dear little book.  I have known it along time.  My own pony told me the story is very true.  Many times I have see men treat horses very badly, but our Clyde dont, and wont let a workman stay if He hurts stock.  I am very glad.

Mr Edding came past one day with a load of hay. he had too much load to pull up hill and there was much ice and snow but he think he can make them go up so he fighted and sweared but they could not get up.  Mama tried to lend him some horse to help but he was angry and was termined to make his own pull it but at last he had to take off some hay I wish he may read my Black Beauty.

Our Clyde is still away.  We were going to visit Stella.  Mama was driving, the horses raned away.  We goed very fast as the wind.  I almost fall out Mama hanged on to the lines. if she let go we may all be kill.  At last she raned them into a fence. they stop and a man ran to help so we are well but mama hands and arms are still so sore she cant write you yet.  My brother Calvin is very sweet.  God had to give him to us because he squealed so much he sturbed the angels.  We are not angels so he Dont sturb us.  I thank you for my good little book. and I love you for it too.

  very speakfully,
    JERRINE RUPERT.

XXII

THE EFFICIENT MRS. O’SHAUGHNESSY

     May 5, 1913.

DEAR MRS. CONEY,—­

Your letter of April 25 certainly was a surprise, but a very welcome one.  We are so rushed with spring work that we don’t even go to the office for the mail, and I owe you letters and thanks.  I keep promising myself the pleasure of writing you and keep putting it off until I can have more leisure, but that time never gets here.  I am so glad when I can bring a little of this big, clean, beautiful outdoors into your apartment for you to enjoy, and I can think of nothing that would give me more happiness than to bring the West and its people to others who could not otherwise enjoy them.  If I could only take them from whatever is worrying them and give them this bracing mountain air, glimpses of the scenery, a smell of the pines and the sage,—­if I could only make them feel the free, ready sympathy and hospitality of these frontier people, I am sure their worries would diminish and my happiness would be complete.