ll the milk in the hut, and some oat cakes which
I had made from our last bit of oat-meal. I remember how angry I was, for
I had been saving them especially for Robert, but I dared not refuse. Then
he began admiring a rug which we had brought from home. It was on the bed
in the corner. He asked me for it, and I refused. Then he insisted, and I
still refused. But he wanted that rug, and was going to have it. At last
he just grabbed it, and made for the door. That was too much for me. My
grandmother had given Robert and me that rug for a wedding gift, and no
Indian was going to take it away. I snatched Robert's gun from the corner
and raised it.

"'Drop it, or I shoot you!" I screamed.

"I guess he knew I meant what I said, for he dropped the rug and hurried
out of the cabin. I don't know how long I sat there facing the door. I was
afraid he would bring others back, but he never came again. When Robert
came that night, I was still facing the door with the gun. When I saw him,
I burst out crying, and cried and cried. The strain had been too much for
me."

So Aunt Deborah's stories went on--of the village attacked by night, and
her fearful ride to the little fort for protection; of the Vigilantes and
their determined hunting-down of robbers and road-agents; of a sickness
which broke out in the town toward spring; of hunger and privations--the
varied, fascinating, almost incredible tales of pioneer life. Then, like
oases, would come stories of Christmas festivities, and of merry, laughing
times all together. The minutes, half-hours, and hours flew by as they
listened.

"My Thought Book will never hold them all," Priscilla whispered to
Virginia.

"But in the spring," Aunt Deborah finished, casting an anxious glance at
the sun, "all was different. A trail to Salt Lake had been opened and
provisions came through by stage. I'll never forget the morning the first
stage train came. Men had use for their money then, though many of them
used gold weighed out in little scales. Flour was a dollar and a half a
pound, calico fifty cents a yard, and eggs five dollars a dozen. Shoes
were priceless. One man bought a pair for thirty dollars. I remember that
Robert and I wanted to give our neighbor's little girl a birthday present.
After much thought we decided on an apple, and paid a dollar for it."

"I don't see how you did it," said Vivian, who had not spoken a word since
Aunt Deborah began. "I don't believe girls of to-day could li