lver Bells," "Rainbow," "Red
Wing," and such songs. How delighted they were! Our concert lasted two
hours, and by that time the little fellows were so sleepy that the
excitement no longer affected them and they were put to bed, but they
hung up their stockings first, and even Molly hung hers up too. We
filled them with peanuts and candy, putting the lion's share of
"niggers" into Molly's stocking.

Next morning the happiness broke out in new spots. The children were
all clean and warm, though I am afraid I can't brag on the fit of all
the clothes. But the pride of the wearers did away with the necessity
of a fit. The mother was radiantly thankful for a warm petticoat; that
it was made of a blanket too small for a bed didn't bother her, and the
stripes were around the bottom anyway. Molly openly rejoiced in her new
gown, and that it was made of ugly gray outing flannel she didn't know
nor care. Baby Star Crosby looked perfectly sweet in her little new
clothes, and her little gown had blue sleeves and they thought a white
skirt only added to its beauty. And so it was about everything. We all
got so much out of so little. I will never again allow even the
smallest thing to go to waste. We were every one just as happy as we
could be, almost as delighted as Molly was over her "niggers," and
there was very little given that had not been thrown away or was not
just odds and ends.

There was never anything more true than that it is more blessed to give
than to receive. We certainly had a delicious dinner too, and we let
Molly have all she wanted that we dared allow her to eat. The roast
venison was so good that we were tempted to let her taste it, but we
thought better of that. As soon as dinner was over we packed our
belongings and betook ourselves homeward.

It was just dusk when we reached home. Away off on a bare hill a wolf
barked. A big owl hooted lonesomely among the pines, and soon a pack of
yelping coyotes went scampering across the frozen waste.

It was not the Christmas I had in mind when I sent the card, but it was
a _dandy_ one, just the same.

With best wishes for you for a happy, _happy_ New Year,

Sincerely your friend,
ELINORE RUPERT STEWART.

XX

THE JOYS OF HOMESTEADING

_January 23, 1913._

DEAR MRS. CONEY,--

I am afraid all my friends think I am very forgetful and that you think
I am ungrateful as well, but I am going to plead not guilty. Right
after Christmas Mr. Stewart