ing room was provided with tastefully curtained casement
windows, and rugs of excellent quality took the place of the
inevitable carpet upon the floor. A baby grand piano projected into
the room from its niche beside the huge log fireplace, and bookcases,
guiltless of glass fronts, occupied convenient spaces along the wall,
their shelves supporting row upon row of good editions. It was in
this room, looking as though she had stepped from an ivory miniature,
that the mistress of the house greeted Patty.

"You are very welcome, my dear. Mr. Samuelson and I were deeply
grieved to hear the sad news of your father. We used to enjoy his
occasional brief visits."

"How is Mr. Samuelson?" asked Patty, as she pressed the little woman's
thin, blue-veined hand.

"He seems better to-day."

The girl noted the hopeful tone of voice. "Is there anything I can
do?" she asked.

"Not a thing, thank you. Mr. Samuelson sleeps a good part of the time,
and Wong Yie is a wonderful nurse. But, come, you must have luncheon.
I know you will want to refresh yourself after your long ride. The
bathroom is at the head of the stairs. I'll take a peep at my invalid
and when you are ready we'll see what Wong Yie has for us."

Patty looked hungrily at the porcelain tub--"A real bathroom!" she
breathed, "out here in the mountains--and books, and a piano!"

Mrs. Samuelson awaited her at the foot of the stair and led the way to
the dining room. When she was seated at the round mahogany table she
smiled across at the old lady in frank appreciation.

"It seems like stepping right into fairyland," she said. "Like the old
stories when the heroes and heroines rubbed magic lamps, or stepped
onto enchanted carpets and were immediately transported from their
miserable hovels to castles of gold inhabited by beautiful princes and
princesses."

The old lady's eyes beamed: "I'm glad you like it!"

"Like it! That doesn't express it at all. Why, if you'd lived in an
abandoned sheep camp for months and prepared your own meals on a
broken stove, and eaten them all alone on a bumpy table covered with a
piece of oilcloth, and taken your bath in an icy cold creek and then
only on the darkest nights for fear someone were watching, and read a
few magazines over and over 'til you knew even the advertisements by
heart--then suddenly found yourself seated in a room like this, with
real china and silver, and comfortable chairs and a _luncheon
cloth_--you'd think it was