fic Ocean, and was not a bit
seasick, but I was never on the Atlantic. I wish some of the
readers of YOUNG PEOPLE that live on the Atlantic coast would tell
me if they find pretty shells, and if they get abalone shells and
sea-moss on the Atlantic coast as we do here on this coast.

IDA B. D.

* * * * *

RUSSELL, KANSAS.

When I read the good stories about little folks which come every
week in YOUNG PEOPLE, it makes me want to tell all the little
friends about something that happened last summer while we were
living in Denver, near the Rocky Mountains. One day mamma put some
lunch in a pail, and said brother Lolie and I could go up on the
bluffs along the Platte River to gather wild flowers and cactus
plants, and have a good day's sport. When the whistles at the
workshops in the city blew for noon, we sat down on the bluffs to
eat our dinner. We could see over to the big high mountains, which
reached almost up to the clouds. They looked as though they were
only a mile or two away, though papa told us afterward that they
were nearly fourteen miles off; but the air is so clear that it
made them look much nearer. It seemed as if we could go over to
them and back before night. We put our shoes and stockings under a
pile of railroad ties, and started up the track toward Morrison,
which is at the foot of the mountains. As often as we got tired we
stopped to rest and talk about what we could do when we were men.
Brother was almost ten years old, and I was eleven. The sun went
down out of sight behind the mountain-tops, which were covered
with ice and snow, and as it grew dark we walked faster, and when
it got so dark we could hardly see only to follow the track, we
were in the middle of a large prairie. We began to think of snakes
and wolves and bears, which we had heard were in such places, so
we did not stop any more to rest. We finally saw a light away off
in a field, and we went toward it as fast as ever we could. When
we got to the house, it was after eleven o'clock, and we were very
tired and hungry. Grandma says if I tell all about our journey the
next day--how we got to the mountains and home again, and how
frightened mamma and papa and little sister were about us--your
waste basket would not hold it all; so good-