of one district to the next chosen field whenever Miss Bumps decided that
the time had come to make a change. Arriving at her destination, the
house was drawn to the best site near the school, the horses were
unhitched, and the trustee, riding and leading, started homeward, leaving
Miss Bumps to begin her double labors in her new situation.

Now, although this rather unusual mode of living on wheels had attracted
much attention and comment, it must be conceded (and will by all country
school-teachers) that it was decidedly superior to boarding. In her small
but spotless kitchen, Miss Bumps cooked the food which no homesteader's
cabin afforded, and at night slept luxuriously in her own comfortable bed
which nearly filled her other room. All day she gave herself untiringly to
her profession. In the evenings she sat by her small air-tight stove,
read, and tatted!

To this last-named accomplishment Miss Bumps had dedicated fifteen years
of practice until expert proficiency had made eyes unnecessary. She tatted
while she read, tatted while she taught, tatted while she watched the
potatoes boiling for dinner. Some even asserted that they had seen her tat
on horseback with all the diligence attributed to Bertha the beautiful
queen of old Helvetia, who spun from a distaff fastened to the saddle of
her betasseled palfrey.

But even such a curiosity as Miss Bumps may have been in the early days of
her portable residence and ever-present tatting grows ordinary when
besieged by Time, and Wyoming no longer regarded her as a phenomenon. She
was just plain Martha Bumps, to whom many a rural community owed much.
Nevertheless, it must be admitted that her singular customs of living were
considered most eccentric by strangers who often laughed long and
uproariously at the portable house. Three amused Vigilantes found in her
the best theme material imaginable, and on the day when Mr. Crusoe
reported having passed her house and her on the road from Elk Creek, they
hastened with their hostess to the mail-box, ostensibly to await the
postman, but really to see Miss Martha Bumps pass by.

They did not have long to wait. The Willow Creek trustee had used his best
team of horses in the transportation, and Miss Bumps' entry into Bear
Canyon was a triumphal one. At a brisk trot and in a cloud of dust, the
equipage came down the easy grade toward the mail-box and the four
interested Vigilantes, who, throwing aside all ostentation, sprang to
t