Of course you remember the story of the little prairie girl. I always
associate it with you. Well, again and again on this trip we would pass
through prairie villages--bleak and lonely--with all the people in from
miles about to see me. Among them were often dozens of young girls,
often pretty, and as far as I could see much more happy than the heroine
of the story. One of them shook hands with me, and then, after much
whispering, said: "We want to shake hands with the guard!" The "guard"
proved to be Roly, who was very swell in his uniform, and whom they
evidently thought much more attractive than the President, both in age
and looks.
There are plenty of ranchmen round here; they drive over to camp to see
me, usually bringing a cake, or some milk and eggs, and are very nice
and friendly. About twenty of the men came out with me, "to see the
President shoot a bear"; and fortunately I did so in the course of an
exhausting twelve hours' ride. I am very homesick for you all.