I thought perhaps the Postmistress would like to hear from a boy
who lives in the far West. My brother Wroy and I earned by herding
the money that brings to us the weekly visits of YOUNG PEOPLE, and
we hail it with joy. Only some weeks it does not come, and then we
wonder what can be the matter, and go home very sad. "Talking
Leaves" is the best story I ever read. I will be sorry when it is
done.
Wroy and I have been practicing "spring and fall styles for boys,"
springing from the millet stack, and falling on the millet that is
spread out to be threshed. It is fun, and threshes the millet too.
Papa has been away all winter, so we take care of mamma and sister
Zella, feed and herd forty head of cattle, yoke up old Ben and Sam
and haul wood and chips, and do whatever mamma tells us.
Zella and I have sixteen turkeys. We want to raise two hundred this
year. Wroy has ten Pekin ducks; they are pure white, and look very
handsome as they swim around over our Home Lake.
But I must close, and if this letter is published, I may write more
of our frontier life another time.