For the first time since B——­ climbed into our sleigh, the stranger spoke.  “Can you tell me where Mrs. Belle B——­ lives?” he asked.

“Why, yes,” our passenger replied.  “She is a member of our little flock.  She is slightly related to me, as you perhaps noticed the name, and I will show you to her house.”

“Just how is she related to you?” the stranger asked.

“That,” the man replied, “is a matter of protection.  I have given her the protection of my name.”

“Then she is your wife, is she not?” the stranger asked.

“You must be a stranger in this country,” the man evaded.  “What is your name?”

But the stranger didn’t seem to hear, and just then we came opposite the residence of the Bishop, and the man we had picked up in the road said, “That is my home, won’t you get out and warm?  My wife will be glad to get acquainted with you ladies.”

We declined, as it was only a short distance to the house of the man Mrs. O’Shaughnessy had come to see, so he stayed in the sleigh to show the stranger to the house of Mrs. Belle B——.  I can’t say much for it as a house, and I was glad I didn’t have to go in.  The stranger and B——­ got out and entered the house, and we drove away.

Next morning, as we returned through the little village, it was all excitement.  Bishop B——­ had been shot the night before, just as he had left the house of Mrs. Belle B——­, for what reason or by whom no one knew; and if the Bishop knew he had not told, for he either would not or could not talk.

They were going to start with him that day to the hospital, but they had no hopes of his living.

When we came to Mrs. Belle’s house, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy got out of the sleigh and went into the house.  I could hear her soothing voice, and I was mighty glad the poor, forlorn woman had such a comforter.

* * * * *

I was so very glad to get home.  How good it all looked to me!  “Poop o’ Roome” has a calf, and as we drove up to the corral Clyde was trying to get it into the stall with the rest.  It is “Poop’s” first calf, and she is very proud of it, and objected to its being put away from her, so she bunted at Clyde, and as he dodged her, the calf ran between his feet and he sat down suddenly in the snow.  I laughed at him, but I am powerfully glad he is no follower of old Joseph Smith.

Mrs. Louderer was enjoying herself immensely, she loves children so much.  She and Clyde hired the “Tackler”—­so called because he will tackle any kind of a job, whether he knows anything about it or not—­to paper the room.  He thinks he is a great judge of the fitness of things and of beauty.  The paper has a stripe of roses, so Tackler reversed every other strip so that some of my roses are standing on their heads.  Roses don’t all grow one way, he claims, and so his method “makes ’em look more nachul like.”

A little thing like wall-paper put on upside down don’t bother me; but what would I do if I were a “second”?