A LETTER TO BABS
Margaret’s very own room in the ranch house was delightfully homey.
Glass doors opened upon a wide veranda where a vine, which Virginia
watered daily, was growing luxuriantly. Each spring it was covered
with gay colored trumpet flowers.
A flood of sunshine was pouring in at the open window facing the
southwest and fell upon a small desk at which Margaret was writing a
long letter to Babs. When it was finished the girl sat looking out
across the desert that was a shining sandy waste as far as she could
see, with here and there a scraggly mesquite bush or towering above
it, a thorny cactus. Lonely, desolate, those were the words that
Margaret had repeatedly used in describing her dread of the desert
before she had really seen it, but now in her soul there was slowly
awakening an appreciation of the peace, the bigness and the grandeur
of it all. How Babs would love it.
Margaret’s dreaming was suddenly interrupted by a most unearthly
noise close to the house. Hurrying to the glass doors, the girl
looked out and beheld three ungainly little creatures that resembled
donkeys. Smilingly, she put her fingers in her ears when she saw
that once again, all three had opened their mouths to bray in
chorus. Margaret wondered why they seemed to be calling, and she was
soon to learn, for she heard the living room door open and saw
Virginia skip out on the veranda and feed a lump of sugar to each of
the small mouse-colored creatures.
Margaret stepped out. “What queer pets you have, Virginia,” she said
merrily.
“They are little wild burros,” the western girl told her. “They come
often to beg for a lump of sugar, but their manner of serenading is
not very musical. Have you finished your letter to Babs?” she added.
“I have stayed away from your room for a long hour that you might
not be interrupted.”
“Yes, I have finished it. Shall I read it to you?”
The two girls sat on the top step while Margaret read: “Dearest
Babs, I’m so happy, so happy, you just can’t guess.” Then pausing,
she glanced up brightly.
“Won’t that be a pleasant surprise to Babs, for, of course, she will
expect my first letter to tell that I am melting away in tears.”
Then followed a description of the journey west, of the “play
actin’,” as Uncle Tex called it, and of her joyous surprise when the
middle-aged rancher and the housekeeper removed their disguises and
were really a girl and a boy of about her own age.
“And Oh, Babs,” Margaret continued reading. “I know that you won’t
be the least bit jealous when I tell you that I am going to put
Virginia Davis in the same corner of my heart that you occupy. You
will love her, too, when you meet her, and now, just listen to this
wonderful bit of news. Virginia has told me to invite you to visit
us whenever you can, and I am hoping that you will want to come for
your summer vacation. Of course that is months away, but it’s such
fun to plan. I’m going to write a volume of a letter to you every
week and I shall expect one from you. Remember me to all of the
girls at Vine Haven, and tell them that they need not pity me, after
all, for I am having just a glorious time.”
Virginia moved closer and slipped an arm about her friend. “I am
glad that you are able to write such a happy letter,” she said.
Margaret laughed. “Babs will be disappointed in one way, because as
yet I have not had an exciting adventure to tell her. She thinks the
West is full of them, just like moving pictures, you know.”
Virginia smiled. “Perhaps you will have an adventure to tell about
in your next letter,” she said, little dreaming that she was
speaking the truth.