eat with the family. I soon found that there was
a screw loose in the house, and was glad to leave early the next
morning, although it was obvious that a storm was coming on.

I saw the toy car of the Rio Grande Railroad whirl past, all cushioned
and warm, and rather wished I were in it, and not out among the snow on
the bleak hill side. I only got on four miles when the storm came on
so badly that I got into a kitchen where eleven wretched travelers were
taking shelter, with the snow melting on them and dripping on the
floor. I had learned the art of "being agreeable" so well at the
Chalmers's, and practiced it so successfully during the two hours I was
there, by paring potatoes and making scones, that when I left, though
the hosts kept "an accommodation house for travelers," they would take
nothing for my entertainment, because they said I was such "good
company"! The storm moderated a little, and at one I saddled Birdie,
and rode four more miles, crossing a frozen creek, the ice of which
broke and let the pony through, to her great alarm. I cannot describe
my feelings on this ride, produced by the utter loneliness, the silence
and dumbness of all things, the snow falling quietly without wind, the
obliterated mountains, the darkness, the intense cold, and the unusual
and appalling aspect of nature. All life was in a shroud, all work and
travel suspended. There was not a foot-mark or wheel-mark. There was
nothing to be afraid of; and though I can't exactly say that I enjoyed
the ride, yet there was the pleasant feeling of gaining health every
hour.

When the snow darkness began to deepen towards evening, the track
became quite illegible, and when I found myself at this romantically
situated cabin, I was thankful to find that they could give me shelter.
The scene was a solemn one, and reminded me of a description in
Whittier's Snow-Bound. All the stock came round the cabin with mute
appeals for shelter. Sheep dogs got in, and would not be kicked out.
Men went out muffled up, and came back shivering and shaking the snow
from their feet. The churn was put by the stove. Later on, a most
pleasant settler, on his way to Denver, came in his wagon having been
snow blocked two miles off, where he had been obliged to leave it and
bring his horses on here. The "Grey Mare" had a stentorian voice,
smoked a clay pipe which she passed to her children, raged at English
people, derided the courtesy of English manners, and