From seventy men to wait upon when the stream was at high water mark, to twenty-five when it was lower, at any time our lot was hard. We worked with chapped, bleeding hands and aching backs. We worked until our tired limbs sometimes refused to carry us further. By the middle of August the nights began to grow dark at nine o'clock, and a hold-up or two took place on the creek. The weather was rainy and cold, with frosty nights between, and as we were all in tents, and these sometimes leaked, which did not improve the head cook's temper and he grew almost abusive; we retired, went to town, and left him alone to meditate. Here he hastily and angrily for a few days longer tossed up nondescript messes for the men, which none could eat, and was then discharged in disgrace.

In all there were fifteen placer claims staked on Anvil. Some of these were scarcely touched that summer, but from those operated fully two million five hundred thousand dollars were taken in three months.



During the six weeks we had spent at Number Nine, many improvements had been made along the route and in Nome. Where before we had traveled seven miles we now walked only two, riding on the new narrow gauge railroad, spoken of there as Mr. Lane's, the remainder of the way.

At Discovery Claim, instead of a few straggling tents, there were eating houses, saloons, store-houses, a ticket and post-office, and the nucleus of a town. The cars we boarded were open, flat cars, with seats along the sides, to be sure, but they were crowded at one dollar per head to Nome. After waiting a little time for a start, the whistle blew shrilly, the conductor shouted "all aboard!" and we trundled along behind a smoky, sturdy engine in almost civilized style.

This was the first railroad in Alaska with the exception of the White Pass and Yukon road, and will eventually extend to the southern coast and Iliamna.

Next morning, after spending the night on the Sandspit with madam, I called, bright and early, upon my Swedish friends in their restaurant.

"Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan!" cried Mary in a hearty voice, as she stirred the steaming mush on the kitchen range.

"Good morning!" said Ricka more quietly, but with a pleasant, welcoming smile. "Did you come from Number Nine?"

"Good morning!" from Alma, as she poured a cup of hot coffee for a waiting customer. "Do you want to help us? We have plenty of work."

"That's what I came for," said I, laying aside my hat and coat. "Will you lend me an apron till I get mine?" glancing toward the kitchen sink full of unwashed dishes, and the cupboard shelves quite demoralized.

"I'll lend you six if you will only help us. We are so busy serving meals we cannot take time to get settled," said Mary. "Yes, we moved from the tent last week," she said in reply to my question.

"We like this much better. The tent leaked during the hard rains, and flapped so much in the wind that we were afraid it would come down upon our heads. We have had this kitchen built on, and shall keep open till the last boats are gone for the winter. That will be two months longer, likely," and Mary talked on as she dished up the griddle cakes and the two others waited upon the tables.

I felt quite happy to have found work so soon, and that too among friends, and without any particular responsibility attached to the position. I would dignify my labor, doing it well and acceptably, carrying always a sunny face and pleasing mood. The work was of a kind despised by hundreds of women, who, after landing at Nome, had not found agreeable and genteel situations, and so had gone back home, or, in some cases, done even worse.

To be sure, the pay was not large, the work tiresome, and I would be snubbed by many persons, but I had not come to Alaska for my health. That was excellent. Then I had good food in sufficient quantities, which was always a thing to be considered in that country. I had a purpose in view which I never lost. I would get some gold claims.

The Swedish people were brave and fearless, as well as patient and strong. I had many acquaintances among them already. I felt they were good people to stay with, and they were congenial. To be sure, a few spoke English with an accent, and there were no small, white hands among them; but if the hearts and lives were clean and true, and so far as I could judge they were so, I was satisfied.

The missionaries from Golovin, including the young lady who had come up on the "St. Paul," had, with my three friends here, called at Number Nine at different times during the six weeks of our stay there. Already a plan had been considerably discussed which would take a party of us to Golovin to winter, either in the Swedish mission or near it, and of all things in mind so far this prospect most pleased me.

We would then be fifty miles from the rich Council City mines on the Fish River Creeks, and only half that distance from the Topkok diggings, of which we now heard considerable. Every creek within many miles around Nome was entirely staked, but in the vicinity of Golovin we might hope to secure claims, or, at least, be in a good position to learn of new gold strikes if any were made during the coming winter.

"But we will keep a roadhouse if we go there," said Alma, "and be making some money. I am sure there will be many people traveling through Golovin all winter, and we can make a few dollars that way as well as any one else. Then we will not forget how to cook," and the young woman, with eyes always open to the main chance for "making money," as she called it, laughed at the bare possibility of such a thing.

"We might do that and help in the mission, too, there are so many of us. I would like to work in the mission for a change, I think," said Ricka, who was very religiously inclined and quiet generally.

"What would you like to do, Mrs. Sullivan?" asked Mary. "You say so little, and we talk so much. I want to know what you think."

"Well, there are three of you to talk, and I am only one," said I, laughing, as I placed the cups and saucers, all clean and shining, on the cupboard shelves. "I should like the mission plan better than anything, for I have had some experience in mission work; but if they do not need us there, then I should like the roadhouse well enough, though I think if eight or ten of us, each having enough supplies for himself for the winter, should form a club and live under one roof, we could do so more cheaply and comfortably than any other way, and have a real jolly, good time in the bargain. These young men, many of them, are intending to winter here somewhere, and all hate to cook for themselves, I know, while they would gladly get the wood, water, and shovel snow, if we did the cooking and housework. None need to work hard, and if a rich gold strike were reported, somebody might want to go and do some staking. In that way we might get some gold claims," I reasoned, while all three listened during a lull in the work.

"That's what we all came to Alaska for—gold claims. I want three," remarked Alma with complacency, "and besides, there is plenty of driftwood at Golovin on the beach which we could have for nothing, and save buying coal at three dollars a sack as we do here," glancing at the scuttle near the range reproachfully, as if the poor, inanimate thing was to blame for prices.

Little Alma was keen at a bargain. There was nothing slow about the grey matter in her cranium. If there was buying to do, or a commodity to sell, Alma was the one of the restaurant firm to do it, enjoying well the bargaining, where she was seldom outwitted.

So in the intervals between meals, or at night when the day's work was done, we discussed our plans outside the kitchen door next the sea beach, watching the shipping in the roadstead, admiring the lovely sky tints left by the setting sun, or gazing at the softly rolling breakers under a silver-bowed moon.

If we had plenty of hard work, with its not altogether desirable phases, we also enjoyed much beside the novelty. Some one we knew was always in from the creeks, principally Anvil, to bring latest news, as well as to collect the same, and the kitchen as well as the dining-room, was the constant rendezvous of friends of one or all of us. Those prospecting among the hills or on the beach at some distance from town came in often for supplies and to visit the post-office, giving the "Star" a call for hot coffee, if not a supper, before leaving. Jokes and stories flew about over the tables, and interesting incidents were always occurring. Good humor and good cheer flowed on every side along with the cordial greeting, and tea and coffee, though nothing stronger in the way of drinks was ever placed upon the tables.

In the kitchen we did not lack voluntary assistants when work pushed, or there was what we called "a rush." One young man would fill the water buckets at a neighboring hydrant, another would bring in coal, and some other would carry away refuse.

Happy, indeed, were the great numbers of dogs fed from the "Star" kitchen. No beggar was ever turned away. No homeless and discouraged soul, whether man or woman, sober or drunken, was allowed to leave as forlorn as he entered. Men often sat down at the tables, who, when filled with good food and hot drink, in a warm and comfortable room fell asleep from the effects of previous stimulants and sank to the floor. When this happened some strong and helpful arm assisted such a one with friendly advice, to the street.

The two sisters were now our nearest neighbors, the third and married one having gone with her husband to live in a new cottage of their own in another part of the town. The eldest of the two had kindly offered me lodging in the back part of their store building of which our restaurant rooms were a half, and from which we were only separated by a board partition. This was a temporary arrangement until I could find something that suited me close at hand, as I chose to be near my work on account of going to my room in the evening after my duties were done. The sisters themselves still lived in their large warehouse a few feet back from the store, and between it and the surf which rolled ceaselessly upon the sands.

I was now more comfortably lodged than since I had landed at Nome. My canvas cot, placed in the back of the store, vacant except for a few rolls of carpeting, matting and oil cloth on sale by the sisters, stood not far from the large coal heater in which fire was kept during the day, making the room warm and dry when I came in at night. Near the foot of my cot a good window admitted light and sunshine, and a door opened upon a flight of six stairs into a tiny square yard before one entered the warehouse, where lived the sisters. This latter building was made of corrugated iron, on piles, with windows and a door in the south end looking directly out upon the water only a few feet away, and was fitted cosily enough for the summer, but not intended for anything further except storage purposes. A second door in the north end, opposite the one in the store, and only separated from it by the little yard was the door generally used. At this time lodgings without fire were worth dollars a night in crowded Nome, and one's next neighbors might prove themselves anything but desirable.

Meanwhile we worked steadily. Many of the Anvil Creek mine owners and their men took meals at the "Star" whenever in town. Some of their office employees came regularly. Hundreds were "going outside" on boats, and all was bustle and excitement. At least twenty-five thousand people had landed at Nome during the summer, and fully one-half of them had gone home discouraged.

On Sunday, September second, there came up a most terrible storm, which, for the velocity of its gales, tremendous downfall of rain, terrific surf, accompanied by great loss of life, as well as length of duration, had not been equalled for over twenty years. Never before was the property loss so great on the Behring Sea coast.

By nine o'clock Sunday morning the large steamers at anchor had put far out to sea for safety. The wind rose, the rain poured. The surf was growing more rough. At dinner time those who came in reported the dead bodies of nine men picked up on the beach. They had attempted to land from a steamer, and their small boat was swamped. One of the men drowned was the mate of the vessel. For days the storm lasted and our work increased. It was not long before the continuous rain had penetrated our little kitchen roof and walls, roughly built as they were of boards, and from that on we worked in rubber boots and short skirts tucked still higher. With the storm at its hardest, I donned a regular "sou'wester," or water proof hat, rather than stand with the rain dripping upon my head, and a cape of the same material covered my shoulders.

People living in tents when the storm began—and there were thousands—had been washed out, or been obliged to leave them, and could not get their own meals. The "Star" swarmed with hundreds who had never been there before, as well as those in the habit of coming. Ten days passed. Sometimes there would be a lull in the storm for a few hours and we hoped it was over, but the surf ran high and could not return before the wind again lashed it into fury.

One midnight, when I was sleeping soundly after an unusually hard day's duties in the kitchen, there came a hasty knock at my door.

"Let me in quick Mrs. Sullivan, the warehouse, we fear, is going. We must come in here. We will bring some more of our things," and little sister dropped the armful of clothing she carried and ran back for more.

Sure enough, as I looked, the water surged up under the warehouse to the foot of the steps. When she returned with another load I offered to dress and assist them, but she said they would only bring the clothing and bedding, and I better go back to bed.

Breathlessly the sisters worked for a time, until the tide prevented them from again entering the warehouse, and they made their bed near me on the floor. When, after watching the waters, they felt satisfied that they receded, they retired, weary and troubled, hoping that before another high tide the storm would have subsided and the danger would be past.

By September twelfth the surf was the worst we had ever seen it, and Snake River had overflowed its banks. Most of those on the Sandspit were obliged to flee for their lives. Hundreds were homeless on the streets. The town's whole water-front was washed away. Tents not only went down by hundreds, but buildings of every description were swept away and flung by the angry surf high up on the sands.

Anchored lighters and barges were loosened from their moorings and came ashore, as did schooners broken and disabled. Dead bodies were each day picked up on the beach, which was strewn with wreckage.

One dark night, when the rain had ceased for a time to give place to a fearful gale which tossed the maddened waters higher and higher, there appeared upon the horizon a dim, portentous shape. At first it was only a form, indistinct and uncertain. As we watched longer, it gradually assumed the semblance of a ship. Keen eyes soon discerned a huge, black hulk, of monstrous size when riding the crest of the breakers, smaller and partially lost to sight when buried at intervals in the trough of the sea.

A ship was drifting helplessly, entirely at the mercy of the elements, and must soon be cast upon the beach at our feet. Approaching swiftly as she was, in the heavy sea, as the violence of the wind bore her onward, lights appeared as signals of distress, telling of souls on board in fearful danger.

In dismay we watched the helpless, on-coming vessel. We were in direct line of her path as she was now drifting. If by chance the mountain of water should, by an awful upheaval, rear the wreck upon its crest at landing, we would be engulfed in a moment of time. No power could save the buildings which would be instantly shivered to heaps of floating debris.

Should we flee for our lives? Or would the wind, quickly, by some miracle, change its course, and thereby send the menacing vessel to one side of us or the other? Groups of patrolmen and soldiers everywhere watched with anxious eyes, and friends stood with us to encourage and assist if needed.

God alone could avert the awful, impending disaster. He could do so, and did.

When only a few hundred feet from shore, the huge black mass, rearing and tossing like a thing of life in the raging sea, swerved to the west by a sudden veer of the wind, and then, amid the roar of breakers angry to ferocity, she, with a boom as of cannon in battle, plunged into the sands of the beach only a hundred and fifty feet away.

The earth trembled. With one long, quivering motion, like some dumb brute in its death struggle, the ship settled, its great timbers parting as it did so, and the floods pouring clean over its decks. Then began the work of rescuing those on board, which was finally, after many hours, successfully accomplished.



CHAPTER XII.

BAR-ROOM DISTURBANCES.

"Girls, O girls!" shouted Mary from the kitchen door in order to be heard above the waters, "Do come inside!" Then, as we answered her call and closed the door behind us, she said: "The danger is over now, and you can't help those poor people in the wreck. There are plenty of men to do that. See! it is nearly midnight, and we shall have another hard day's work tomorrow. Go to bed like good children, do."

"How about yourself, ma?" said Ricka, carrying out the farce of mother and children as we often did, Mary being the eldest of the four.

"I'm going too, as soon as I get this pancake batter made, for I'm dead tired. We will hear the particulars of the wreck at breakfast," replied Mary.

"Poor things! How I pity them. What an awful experience for women if there were any on board," said sympathetic Ricka, and I left them talking it over, to roll into my cot, weary from twelve hours of hard work and excitement.

No anxiety, and no thundering of the breakers could now keep me awake, and for hours I slept heavily.

Suddenly I was wide awake. No dream or unusual sound had roused me. Some new danger must be impending. My pulses throbbed. The clock at the head of my cot ticked regularly, and its hands pointed to four. The sisters slept peacefully side by side. The whole town seemed resting after the intense and continued anxiety caused by the storm, and I wondered why I had wakened.

However, something impelled me to get up, and, rising quietly from my cot in order not to arouse the others, I went to the south window and peered out.

My heart fairly stood still.

The waters were upon us! They had already covered the lower steps at the door not six feet from the cot on which I had slept. I stood motionless. If I knew that the waters were receding, I would go quietly to bed, allowing the others to sleep an hour longer; but if they were rising there was no time to lose. None could reckon on the tides now, for all previous records had been recently broken. I would wait and watch a few minutes, I decided, and I wrapped a blanket around me, for my teeth chattered, and I shivered.

How cruel the water looked as I watched it creep closer and closer. How quietly now it swept at flood tide up through the piles under the warehouse, covering the little back yard and the kitchen steps of the restaurant. With the cunning of a thief it was creeping upon us in the darkness when we were asleep and helpless.

Would the resistless waters persist in our destruction? Where should we go in the storm if obliged to fly for our lives?

Twenty minutes passed.

Another step was covered while I watched—the tide was rising.

Crossing the room now to where my friends lay sleeping, I touched little sister upon the shoulder.

"Wake up! Wake up! The tide is coming,—the water is almost at the door! I have been watching it for twenty minutes, and I'm sure we ought to be dressed," said I, trying to keep my voice steady so as neither to betray my fright nor startle them unnecessarily.

Springing from their bed they hurried to the window and looked out.

"I should say so!" exclaimed the younger lady in dismay.

"These treacherous waters will not give us up. They want us, and all we possess, and are literally pursuing us, I believe," groaned Miss S., the older sister, struggling to get hastily into her clothing. "But we must waken the girls," she said, rapping on the intervening wall, and calling loudly for the three other women who still slept soundly from fatigue.

With that, we all dressed, and began to pack our belongings; I putting my rubber blanket upon the floor and rolling my bedding in that. This I tied securely, and dragged to the street door, packing my bags and trunk quickly for removal if necessary.

In the restaurant none knew exactly what to do. The water had covered the back steps, and the spray was dashing against the kitchen door. Underneath, the little cellar, dug in the dry sand weeks before, and used as a storing place for tents, chairs, vegetables and coal sacks, was filled with water which now came within a foot of the floors. From sheer force of habit, Mary began building a fire in the range, and I to pack the spoons, knives and forks in a basket for removal. Ricka thought this a wise thing to do, but Alma remonstrated.

"The water will not come in. You need not be afraid. If it does, we will only run out into the street, leaving everything. Let us get breakfast now, the people are coming in to eat," and this very matter-of-fact young woman began laying the tables for the morning meal. It was six o'clock. The men soon began to pour into the dining room hungry, wet, and cold. Many had been out all night assisting in the rescue work or patrolling the beach, inspecting each heap of wreckage in search of dead bodies and valuables, for many among the missing were supposed to have perished in the storm.

Three men engaged in rescuing the survivors of the big wreck of the night previous, had been swept from the barge alongside, and gone down in the boiling surf. Searching parties were out trying to locate a number of men who had started two days before, during a lull in the storm, against the warnings of friends, for Topkok to the east. They were never again seen.

I had now to find other lodgings, for the sisters needed their room. Leaving my work for an hour in the forenoon I tramped about in the mud looking everywhere within two blocks of the "Star," for I did not wish to go further away.

After calling at a number of places, I was directed to a small hotel or lodging house across the street from the "Star," and about one and a half blocks further east. A man and his wife kept the house, which consisted of eating room and kitchen on the east side of the lower floor, and a big bar-room or saloon on the west side. The second floor was divided by a long narrow hall into two rows of small rooms for rent to lodgers. The woman showed me a little room with one window on the west side.

"I wish to rent by the week, as I am expecting to leave town before long," said I, after telling her my business, and where I was at work. "What rent do you charge?"

"Five dollars per week, unfurnished," said she.

I caught my breath. The room was about eight feet square, and as bare as my hand. Not even a shade hung at the window. It was ceiled with boards around and overhead. I asked if she would put up a window shade. She said she would when her husband returned, as she expected him in a few days from Norton Sound.

After talking with the little woman she seemed to wish me to take the room, assuring me that there were only quiet, decent people in the house, and the saloon below was closed each day at midnight. There was a billiard table and piano in the bar-room; but no window shades, shutters nor screens of any sort, she said. Her own room was next this one, and she was always there after nine o'clock in the evening, so I need not feel timid.

Upon reflection, I took the room, and paid the rent. My things could not stand in the street, and I must have a place in which to sleep at night. It was high and dry, and far enough away from the surf, so that I need not fear being washed out. I would not be in my room during the day, and it was only for a few weeks anyway. It suited my needs better than anything I could find elsewhere, and as for furnishings, I could do without.

I went back to my work, and had my baggage and cot sent to the room. I could settle things in a few minutes in the evening before retiring.

The surf still boomed upon the beach, and rain and mist continued all day, but without wind. For hours the waters kept close to our floors, but did not quite reach them. Floating wreckage washed up at our feet, and two lighters, loose from their moorings, lodged beside the warehouse at the mercy of the surf. We were in constant fear that they would shove the warehouse off the piles against our buildings, and that would be, without doubt, the finale.

In the meantime there was "a rush" indoors such as we never before had. Many carried hearts saddened by the loss of friends or property. Some had not slept for days. At the tables, at one time, sat two beggars, and a number of millionaires. Some who had reckoned themselves rich a few days previous were now beggared. The great wreck of the night before was going rapidly to pieces. With a mighty force, the still angry breakers dashed high over the decks of the ship. Masts and rigging went down hourly, and ropes dangled in mid-air, while men unloading coal and lumber worked like beavers at windlass and derrick, which creaked loudly above the noise of the waters.

More and more was the ship dismantled. When the storm cleared, and the sun came out next day, the scene was one of wondrous grandeur. Nothing more magnificent had I ever before beheld. Great masses of water, mountain high, rolled continually landward, their snowy crests surmounted by veils of mist and spray, delicate as the tracery on some frosted window pane. As the sun lifted his head above the horizon, throwing his beams widely over all, each mist-veil was instantly transformed into a thing of surpassing beauty. It could only be compared to strings of diamonds, rubies and pearls. With a fairy's witchery, or a magician's spell, the whole face of the waters was changed. Each wrecked craft along the shore, partially buried in sand, masts gone, keel broken, and anchor dragged, with the surf breaking over all, was transformed under the brilliant sunshine, until no painting could be more artistically beautiful. Under the fascination of it all we forgot the anxiety, the labor, and suspense of the last days and weeks, and every moment of interval between work we spent at our door next the beach, or after the falling of the tide, further out upon the sands.

Many wrecks lay strewn along the beach. Schooners, barges, and tugs lay broken and helpless. Untold quantities of debris, lumber, pieces of buildings, tents, boxes, and barrels, all testified to the sad and tremendous havoc made by this great storm.

In my little room I rested quietly when my day's work was done. The landlady had taken down an old black shawl I had pinned to the window, and hung a green cloth shade of ugly color, and too wide by several inches. It was better than no shade, and I said nothing. For a bed I had my own cot; for a washstand, a box. At the head of my cot stood two small boxes, one above the other, and upon these I placed my clock, matches, pincushion, brush and combs, while below were stowed away other little things. A few nails on the wall held my dresses, but my trunk remained packed. A candle, tin wash basin, and bucket completed my room furnishings, simple and homely enough to satisfy the asceticism of a cloistered nun or monk.

On September twenty-seventh there fell the first snow of the season. A little had for days been lying upon the hilltops of Anvil, but none nearer. The only fire in my room was an oil lamp upon which I heated water upon going home at night; but with plenty of blankets and wool clothing I was comfortable with the window open.

One evening while going to my room I heard some one singing in the bar-room. I hurried up the stairs on the outside of the building, which was the only way of entrance to the second floor, and entered my room. Depositing my lighted lantern upon the floor, I listened. The singing continued. It was a youthful woman's voice. I would see for myself. Going quietly out the door, and down part way to a window crossed by the stairs, I sat down upon a step and looked into the room below. It was the big bar-room. It was pleasant and warm, with lights and fire. Upon the bright green cloth of the billiard table lay a few gay balls, but no game was then in progress. The big piano waited open near by. The bartender stood behind the bar, backed by rows of bottles, shining glasses and trays. A mirror reflected the occupants of the room, some of whom were leaning against the counter in various attitudes, but the central figure stood facing them.

It was a beautiful young girl who was singing.

A few feet from, and directly in front of the girl, was her companion, a well dressed and good looking young man a little older. Both were intoxicated, and trying to dance a cake walk, accompanying themselves by singing, "I'd Leave my Happy Home for You."

She was singing in a tipsy, disconnected way the senseless ditty, swaying back and forth to the imaginary music. Beautiful as a dream, with dark hair, and great melting eyes, her skin was like lilies, and each cheek a luscious peach. Her tall, graceful figure, clad in long, sweeping black draperies, with white jeweled fingers daintily lifting her skirts while she stepped backward and forward, made a picture both fascinating and horrible.

I sat gazing like one petrified. The girl's laugh rang through the room. "I'd Leave my Happy Home for You, ou—ou," she was singing still, weaving and swaying now from side to side as if about to fall. Her companion approached and attempted to place his arm about her shoulders, but she gave him a playful push which sent him sprawling, at which she shouted in great glee, dropping her drapery and flinging her lovely arms above her head. How the diamonds sparkled on her little hands I How the men in the bar-room clapped, swearing she was a good one, and must have another drink. Someone gave an order, and the bartender handed out a small tray upon which stood slender-necked amber-colored glasses filled to the brim.

As the girl quickly tossed off the liquor, I groaned aloud, awaked from my trance, and fled to my room, where I bolted the door, and fell upon my knees. God forgive her! What a sight! I wanted to rush into the bar-room, seize the young girl, and lead her away from the place and her companions, but I could not. I had barely enough room for myself. I had little money. What could I do for her? Absolutely nothing. If I went in and attempted to talk with her it would do no good, for she was drunk, and a drunken person cannot reason. The men would jeer at me, and I might be ejected from the place.

Finally I went to bed. At midnight the singing and shouting ceased, the people dispersed, the bartender put out the lights, and locked the doors.

For the first time since reaching Nome, my pillow was wet with tears, and I prayed for gold with which to help lift these, my sisters, from their awful degradation.

It was well towards midnight, and I had been asleep for some time. My subjective mind, ever on the alert as usual, and ready to share enjoyment as well as pain with my objective senses, began gradually to inform me that there was music in the air. Softly and sweetly, like rippling summer waters over mossy stones, the notes floated upward to my ears. The hands of an artist lay upon the keyboard of the instrument in the room beneath.

I listened drowsily.

With the singing of brooks, I heard the twitter of little birds, the rustle of leaves on the trees, and saw the maiden-hair nodding in the glen. I was a little child far away in the Badger State. Again I was rambling through green fields, and plucking the pretty wild flowers. How sweet and tender the blue skies above! How gentle the far-away voice of my mother as she called me!

They were singing softly now,—men's voices, well trained, and in sweetest harmony:

"I'm coming, I'm coming, My ear is bending low. I hear the angel's voices calling Old Black Joe."

They sang the whole song through, and I was now wide awake.

Familiar songs and old ballads followed, the master hand at the keys accompanying.

"We are going outside on the Ohio tomorrow," said one in an interval of the music, "and then, ho! for home again, so I'm happy," and a momentary clog dance pounded the board floor.

"Have a drink on it, boys?" asked a generous bystander who had been enjoying the music.

"No, thanks, we never drink. Let's have a lively song now for variety," and the musician struck up a coon song, which they sang lustily. Then followed "America," "Auld Lang Syne," and "'Mid Pleasures and Palaces," the dear old "Home, Sweet Home" coming with intense sweetness and pathos to my listening ear. No sound disturbed the singers, and others filed quietly out when they had gone away. "God bless them, and give them a safe voyage home to their dear ones," I breathed, with tears slipping from under wet lashes, and a great lump in my throat.

"Thank God for those who are above temptation, even in far-away Alaska," and again I turned, and slept peacefully.



CHAPTER XIII.

OFF FOR GOLOVIN BAY.

By October twelfth the weather began to be quite wintry, with snow flurries, cold wind, and a freezing ground. All now felt their time short in which to prepare for winter, change residence, and get settled. After many days of planning, in which eight or ten persons were concerned, it was finally decided that we should go to Golovin Bay. The head missionary, and one or two of his assistants from that place, had been with us part of the time during the great storm, so we were quite well acquainted, and we would be near the Mission.

The "boys," as we called the young men for short, would build a cabin in which the funds of the women were also to be pooled. Three of the boys had gone, some weeks before, to Golovin to assist in the erection of a new Mission Home, twelve miles further down the coast; but as a shipload of mission supplies had been lost at sea, including building materials, their work was much hampered, and it was not expected that the new home would be completed, though sadly needed for the accommodation of the constantly increasing numbers of Eskimo children for which it was intended.

In this case, no new helpers could be added to the missionary force, though Miss L., a tall, intelligent young woman, was to be placed in the Home kitchen as cook, and would accompany us to Golovin. It was decided, then, that the restaurant be closed immediately before the last boat left Nome for Golovin, as it would be impossible to get there after the last steamer had gone until the ice was solid, and winter trails were good over the hills. Most of us did not care to remain so long where we were, and made ready to sail on the small coast steamer "Elk," scheduled to leave Nome October eighteenth.

On the evening of the sixteenth the doors of the "Star" were formally closed. We had had a rush up to the last moment, and all hands were completely tired out. It had been a long pull, and a steady pull, and the thought uppermost in the minds of us four women was to get to Golovin and rest. Even Alma sighed for a vacation from hard work, feeling that the roadhouse, if they opened one, must wait until she was rested.

Mary wished to remain at Nome for a while, and come later by dog-team when the trails were good. She would take a day after we had gone to finish storing away the "Star" outfit for the next summer, and make the rooms tidy, afterwards visiting acquaintances, and doing shopping.

For two days after closing the "Star" we were busy as bees, but at a change of occupation. We bought food supplies, coal-oil, and warm clothing, receiving parcels of the latter, including yarns for winter knitting, at the hands of the stewardess of the "St. Paul," who had kindly made our purchases in San Francisco at better prices (for us) than we found at Nome. Some bought furs, when they could find them, though these were scarce and costly, and each person carried his own bedding. Letters to the outside were written and posted, mails collected, freight and other bills paid, and tickets secured on the steamer.

For my own part, I now found some kindly helper with strong arms whenever I had a trunk, bag, or box to lift or transfer, and no remuneration for services thus rendered beyond a smiling, "thank you very much," was ever accepted.

What a strong, hearty, clean, and good-natured lot were these Swedes. How helpful, sympathetic, and jolly withal. It was easy for them to see the clear, bright side of everything, and to turn an innocent joke on themselves occasionally; for one told on another is never so effective and enjoyable as a joke on oneself; but there were often those with tears in their eyes, and a homesick feeling at their heart upon bidding farewell to friends who were leaving for the outside.

With the approach of a long, hard winter in the Arctic, so unknown and untried by many, with a distance of thousands of miles of ocean soon to roll between them, it was many times difficult to say a careless good-bye. For those remaining in Alaska, who could foresee the future? Was it to be a fortunate and happy one, or would it disclose only misfortune, with, perchance, sickness and death? Would these partings be followed by future happy meetings, or were they now final? Who could tell?

Among those constantly sailing for the outside were those who left regretfully, and those who left joyfully; there was the husband and father returning to his loved ones with "pokes," well filled with nuggets, and the wherewithal to make them more happy than ever before.

There were those returning to sweethearts who daily watched and waited longingly for their home-coming which would be more than joyful. There were those leaving who would come again when the long winter was over, to renew their search for gold already successfully begun; and they were satisfied.

There were many who left the gold fields with discouragement depicted upon their every feature. They had been entirely unable to adapt themselves to circumstances so different to any they had before known, and they had not possessed the foresight and judgment to decide affairs when the critical moments came. Perhaps a fondness for home, and dear ones, pulled too persistently upon the heartstrings; nothing here looked good to them, and they went home disgusted with the whole world. Unless a man or woman can quickly adjust himself or herself to changed conditions, and has a willingness to turn his or her hand to any honorable labor, he would better remain at home, and allow others to go to Alaska.

If a man goes there with pockets already well lined, intending to operate in mining stocks, he still needs the adjustable spirit, because of the new, crude, and compulsory manners of living. He must be able to forget the luxury of silver spoons, delicate hands, soft beds, and steam heat; enjoying, or at least accommodating himself to the use of tin spoons, coarse food, no bed, and less heat, if his place and circumstances for a time demand such loss of memory.

A bountiful supply of hopefulness is also necessary, in order, at times, to make the darkness and discomfort of the present endurable, and this will wonderfully cheer and create patience. Thousands of persons who were ill qualified in these and other respects had journeyed to Alaska, only to return, homesick, penniless, and completely discouraged, who never should have left their home firesides.

Not so with the Swedish people. They are accustomed to a cold climate, hard work, and conditions needing patience and perseverance, without great luxuries in their homes, and being strong and hearty physically, they are well fitted, both by nature and practice, for life in the new gold fields of Alaska. There were more reasons than one for their success in the far Northwest, and a little study of cause and effect would disclose the truth, when it will be found that it was not all "luck" which made so many successful.

Our last day at Nome is a confused memory of trunks, boxes, bags, barrels, dog-teams, tickets, bills, lunches, tables, dishes, and numerous other things. Tramping hurriedly through busy, dirty streets, and heavy, sandy beach, with arms loaded with small baggage (we had neither parrots nor poodles) making inquiries at stores and offices, doing innumerable errands, saying good-byes, and having good-luck wishes called after us; and then, when the sun had disappeared for the day, and night was almost upon us, we turned our backs upon our summer camp, and hastened to our winter home.

At the water's edge small pieces of ice washed up and down with a clicking sound upon the sands, as if to give us notice of approaching winter, but the ocean was almost as smooth as a floor. No breath of wind disturbed the surface, and only a gentle swell came landward at intervals to remind us of its still mighty, though hidden, power.

Then we were all in readiness to leave. A little boat was drawn upon the sand. Into it all small baggage was tossed. It was then pushed out farther by men in high rubber boots standing in the water.

"I cannot get into the boat," laughed Little Alma, "I will get my feet wet."

"Not if I can help it," answered a stalwart sailor, who immediately picked her up bodily and set her down in the boat, repeating the operation three times, in spite of the screams and laughter of Miss L., Ricka and myself. Ricka and I were only of medium height, but Miss L. was a good six-footer, and when we were safely in the boat, and she had been picked up in the sailor's strong arms, if she did not scream for herself, some of us did it for her, thinking she would certainly go head first into the water; but no, she was carefully placed, like the rest of us, in the boat.

After getting settled, and the final good-byes were waved, the men sprang in, those on shore pushed the boat off; we were again on the bosom of old Behring Sea. Smaller and fainter grew all forms upon the shore. Darker and deeper grew the waters beneath us. The lights of a few belated steamers, twinkled in the distance, their reflections, beautiful as jewels, quietly fixed upon the placid waters. Like a thing of sense, it seemed to me, the great ocean, full of turmoil, rage, and fury so recently, it would show us, before we left, how lamblike, upon occasions, it could be; and all old scores against it were then and there forgotten.

A dark form soon lay just before us. "Where is the 'Elk,'" I asked of a sailor rowing, looking about in the gathering darkness which had rapidly fallen.



"There it is," pointing to a black hulk which lay sullenly, without a spark of light visible, close to us.

"But do they not know we are coming? Have they no light on board? How can we get upon deck?" we asked anxiously.

"O, they will bring a lantern, I guess," laughed the sailor, then thinking to put us at our ease, he called lustily as he rested himself at his oars. Not getting a reply, he shouted again.

Presently two men appeared with as many lanterns.

"Here, you fellows, get a move on, and help these ladies on board, will you? Were you asleep, hey?"

"Wall, no, not 'zactly, sah, but I'se done been working hard today," it was the colored cook replying, as he rubbed his sleepy eyes.

"Haul up alongside this dory," said the other man as he put his lantern down, "and let the ladies get into that first, then we'll help 'em up here."

With that we climbed out as we best could in the darkness, one after another, the boys assisting, until we all stood laughing in the little cabin, and counted noses.

"Are we all here?" asked Mr. G., who, as usual had a thoughtful care over all.

"All here, I think, but the baggage. How about that?" said I.

"I'll see to that," and he was already on deck, while I continued counting.

"Alma, Ricka, Miss L., Mr. G., Mr. L., Mr. B., and myself—the lucky number of seven. How fortunate we are. We are sure to have good luck. Too bad Mary is not here, but then we would not be seven," and we were all laughing and talking at the same time.

In the cabin there was only one lamp, and that was swung over the table, looking in all its smoky smelliness as if it had hung there for ages without a scrubbing. The table was covered with dirty dishes scattered upon an oilcloth spread. The room smelled of fish, tobacco, and coal-oil, and we were obliged to go to the door now and then for fresh air. There was no fire, nor heat, neither was there a place for any. Rows of berths in two tiers lined each side of the cabin, but they were supplied with mattresses only. Dark curtains hung on wires before the berths, and these would furnish us with our only privacy on the trip.

Finally we selected our berths, assorted our luggage, and sat down to rest. We were disappointed in the "Elk." She was not a "St. Paul," that was certain. The colored cook soon entered. His apologies were profuse.

"Hope de ladies will 'scuze de state ob dis year room, but I'se done been mighty busy today, and will hab tings fine tomorer."

"That's all right, Jim, if you only give us a good dinner tomorrow. Can you do it?" asked Mr. L.

"Yas, sah, dis chile good cook when de tings are gibben him to cook, but when dere's no taters, no fresh meat, no chicken, no fruit, den it's mighty hard to set up fine meals. Dat's de truf!" and Jim nodded his woolly head emphatically at the frequent undesirable state of his larder.

"Prices high heah, sah, but dis old man almos' fru wid de business; de las' trip ob de 'Elk' dis summah, an' I'se glad of it," and he disappeared in the galley carrying his arms full of dishes.

When the table was cleared and Jim had spread an old and much rumpled red cover over it, I took from my basket a small square clock, and winding it up with its little key, started it going. It was a musical clock I had purchased when in Nome, of a small boy about to leave for the outside. It had been given him by a lady, and he had grown tired of it, his mind being so much upon his contemplated long journey. He would sell it for three dollars, he said, and I paid the money, needing a time piece, and having none. So now the little music box ticked off its music to the entertainment of all.

However, we were all tired and the place was cold, so after we had taken our last look at the lights of Nome, scattered as they were along the shore for miles in the darkness, we turned in for the night, all dressed as we were, and drew the curtains around us. The long, deep-toned whistle of the "Elk," had sounded some time before, and we were headed east, making our way quietly over the smooth waters.

Another chapter of our lives had begun. What would the end be, I wondered.

During the night I was awakened by men running and shouting on deck. The steamer stopped. Somebody went out to inquire the cause. In a little while he returned, saying that four men had been picked up, nearly frozen, in an open boat which was leaking badly, and they were found just in time. Dry clothes, with food and hot drinks, and they would be all right again; so I turned over and tried to sleep, but the men lounged about, smoking and talking with the captain a good share of the night, so that sleep was almost out of the question.

How I wished for fresh air! How I hated the tobacco smoke! But we could say nothing, for the men had no beds, no other place to sit, and it was too cold on deck. We must be patient, and I was patient, feeling thankful that the lives of the four men had been saved, if each one did smoke like a volcano and come near choking us to death.

After a while there was another commotion. What now? Their five dogs had been left in the leaking dory, which was trailing behind us, the boat was swamping, and the animals were almost drowned. They were whining, crying, and soaking wet; so the "Elk" was again stopped, the dogs taken on board, along with some of the miners' outfits, and we again started on our way.

The men said their dory had been blown ten miles out to sea by a wind many hours before, and had then sprung a leak, wetting their food, and threatening them with destruction, when the "Elk" appeared and took them aboard in the night.

"Wall, yes, we had given ourselves up for lost, though none said much about it," remarked one of the saved men next day, in speaking of their experience. "Some one mentioned God Almighty, I believe, and I could almost have spoken to Him myself, but it does look like He had done something for us, don't it?" said the miner, laughing quietly, in a pleased, relieved way as he finished.

We were exceedingly glad for their deliverance from a watery grave, but we pitied ourselves for our discomforts, until we pictured ourselves in their forlorn condition, far out from land, at night, in a leaky boat, without food and freezing; then I found myself feeling really grateful for the privilege of sailing on the "Elk," and not discontented as at first. We would get fresh air enough this winter, no doubt, to drive away all remembrances of the air in the little steamer's cabin, which was cold as well as foul. There were no windows or ports that we could see; there was doubtless a closed skylight somewhere, but to keep warm even in our berths required management. In my hand luggage I carried a bright woolen Indian blanket, a souvenir of St. Michael the year before, in which I now rolled myself, already dressed in my warmest clothing and heavy coat.

A light-weight grey blanket was loaned me by the cook, who had purloined it from the pilot's bunk, he being on duty and not needing it that night. This I was rather chary of using, for reasons of my own, but it was that or nothing, only the mattress being underneath. On my head I wore a pink crocheted affair, called sometimes a "fascinator," which was now used simply and solely for service, I assured my friends, and not from any lighter motive,—but my feet! How I should keep them comfortable while on board was a question. With my feet cold I would be perfectly miserable, and although I wore wool hose and high, stout laced boots, I soon found on going aboard the "Elk" that to be comfortable I must make a change.

I said nothing, but turned the situation well over in mind. At last I found a solution. Going to my bags once more, on the aside I drew out my new reindeer skin muckluks, or high fur boots, and looked at them. What enormous footgear, to be sure. Could I wear those things? I had put five good, hard-earned dollars into them, and they were said to be warm and very comfortable when worn properly, with hay in the bottoms, and Arctic socks over one's hose, but I had no hay and could not get any.

I had the socks in my trunk, but that was in the hold of the ship, or somewhere out of my reach. I held the muckluks in my hands, and slowly turned them round. Suddenly a bright thought came. I would pull them on over my shoes. I did it. They went on easily. I drew the strings attached at the back of the ankle forward over the instep, crossed them, carried them back, crossed them a second time and tied them in front, in order to use up the strings so they would not trip me in walking. Just below the knees I pulled a woolen drawstring which was run into the green flannel, inch-wide heading, and tied this loosely; then I studied them. Shades of my buried ancestry! What a fright! My own mother would never know me. I wanted to scream with laughter, but could not, for I had performed the operation in a most surreptitious manner, behind closed doors (bunk curtains), after the others had retired.

I had no compunctions of conscience as to putting my shoes upon the bed, for the mattress was both sombre and lonely, and as for the muckluks, they had never been worn by man (and were surely never made for woman). The most that I could do was to lie back upon my bed, cram my fascinator into my mouth, and struggle to suppress my risibles.

After a time I succeeded, and lay enjoying the new sensation of feet and limbs warm and cozy as if in my mother's warm parlor at home; and then I slept.

Next morning I kept my berth late. My sleep had been much broken, and the place was cold. The bad air had taken my appetite, and there were already too many in the small cabin for convenience. Four or five men and three women besides our own party of seven, crowded in between the dining table and the berths, filled the small cabin quite beyond comfort.

The main question in my mind, however, was how to prevent the company from seeing my feet. I would put off the evil hour as long as possible, for they were sure to laugh heartily when they saw my muckluks, and to take them off—I would not. Some one brought me a sandwich finally, inquiring at the same time for my health, but I assured them it was first class,—I was only resting. Watching my opportunity, toward noon I slipped out of my berth quietly and made myself ready for dinner, keeping my feet well out of sight, for cook Jim had promised a fine spread for the two o'clock meal.

When it came I was ready. It is said that hunger is a good sauce, and I believe this is true, for otherwise I could never have eaten the dinner that day. Upon a soiled and rumpled white (?) cloth Jim placed his "big spread," which consisted of whole jacketed boiled and baked potatoes, meat stew (no questions allowed), dried prunes stewed, biscuits, and fourth rate butter, with tea and coffee.



At only one camp was there a stop made. There were two or three passengers on board for Bluff City, a new and prosperous mining camp, composed chiefly, though so late in the season, of tents. Lumber and supplies of different kinds had to be put off. As the entrance to the hold of the ship where the stores were kept was in our cabin, we had plenty of fresh air while the doors were all open, along with the mustiness from below, for several hours. However, I managed to keep pretty comfortable and snug in "fascinator" and muckluks, enveloped as I was in my Indian blanket.

Hearing a bluff, hearty voice which sounded familiar, I looked around, and in walked a man whom I had seen at St. Michael the fall before. He had charge of the eating house there, where my brother and I had taken our meals for two weeks. I had not forgotten his kindness in giving me sore throat medicine when there had been nothing of the sort to buy, and I was suffering.

This man remembered me well, and sat down to chat for a little while with us. He was a miner now, and a successful one, he said, for he was taking out "big money" from his lay on Daniels Creek, only five minutes' walk from the beach. I had been informed of his good fortune before meeting him, so was ready with congratulations.

He told me of his cabin building, his winter's stores and fuel, and seemed in high spirits. Of course I could not ask him what he meant by "big money," or what he had taken from his claim, although it would not here, as in the Klondyke, be a breach of etiquette to inquire. After a few minutes chat the man bade us good-bye, and descended to the small boat alongside, which was to carry him and his freight ashore.

It was nearly dark by this time, and another night must be passed on board. Some were complaining of the cold. Others were shuffling their feet to get them warm.

"My feet are awfully cold," said Alma, moving them uneasily about. "Aren't yours, Mrs. Sullivan?"

"Not at all," I replied, trying to look unconcerned, at the same time putting my feet further under my skirts, which were not the very short ones I had worn at Nome. "You know what having cold feet in this country means, I suppose, Alma?"

"O, I am not in the least homesick, if that is what you mean. I am perfectly happy; but—" (here she glanced down upon the floor in the direction of my feet) "what have you over your shoes, any way, to keep so warm, Mrs. Sullivan?"

There was no help for it, and the muckluks had to come to light, and did. At sight of them they all shouted, and Alma laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.

"And you have had these on all day without our seeing them? Where have you kept your feet, in your pocket?" she persisted.

"Well, no, not exactly, but of course, under the circumstances, you could hardly expect me to hang a signboard out to call attention to them, could you?" I laughed.

"I should say not. Will we all look like that in muckluks? Is there nothing else we can wear this winter? They will make our feet look so awfully large, you see?"

"That's the way we will all look, only a good deal worse, for some of us have no skirts to cover them with, as you have," spoke up Mr. G. for the first time.

"I thought the 'Elk' leaned to the land side more today than usual," said Mr. B. with a twinkle, "but now it is explained."

"Bad boy! My muckluks were on that side of the ship from the first, only they were in my bag for a while. They are no heavier now than they were then. You shall have no supper," said I, with mock severity.

So I kept the fur boots on, in spite of their jokes, wondering what they would say when I arrived at Golovin and removed my fascinator (another surprise I was keeping for them), and contented myself by thinking I had the laugh on them, when they complained of cold feet, and my own were so perfectly comfortable.

At last, on the morning of October twentieth, with the sun just rising over the snowy hills surrounding the water, the cliffs on both sides of the entrance standing out clear and sharp in the cold morning light, and with one ship already there, we dropped anchor, being in Golovin Bay. The settlement, a score of houses, a hotel, a flagstaff or two, and the Mission.

I now waked the girls, who turned out of their bunks, dressed as they had been since coming on board the "Elk," and we made ready to go ashore. We were out in deep water, still some distance from the beach, and must again get out into a small boat, probably for the last time this year. Not all could get into the boat; we must take turns, but we were bundled into it some way, and soon we were upon the sands, a dozen feet from dry land. Again we were transferred by one man power, as at Nome, to the sands, which were here frozen quite hard, and upon which I had the sensation, at first, of walking with a gunboat attached to each foot.

Some one conducted us to the Mission House, only a few hundred yards from our landing place, while the boat went back to the "Elk" for the others. Miss E., who had come up on the "St. Paul" with us, and now the housekeeper here, came running out to welcome all cordially. By her we were shown into the cozy little parlor, so tidy, bright and warm that we immediately felt ourselves again in civilization. Soon Mr. H., the head missionary, whom I had already met in Nome, came in with Miss J., the teacher of the Mission children. She also had spent some days with us at Nome. These all made us very welcome, and our party of seven was soon sitting together before a good, smoking hot breakfast, to which we did real justice.

When entering the house I had, upon first removing my wraps and "fascinator," given my friends another surprise equal to the one of the muckluks on the steamer. The day before leaving Nome I had (surreptitiously again) made a visit to the hairdresser, and when I left her room I appeared another woman. My head now, instead of being covered with long, thin hair, done up hastily in a twist at the back, had short hair and curled all over, a great improvement, they all voted, when the first surprise was over.

My hair, all summer, had been like that of most women when first in Alaska, falling out so rapidly that I feared total baldness if something was not done to prevent. This was the only sure remedy for the trouble, as I knew from former experience, and as I again proved, for it entirely stopped coming out. Ricka soon followed my example, and we, with Miss J., who had been relieved of her hair by fever the year before, made almost a colony of short-haired women, much to the amusement of some of our party.

After we had eaten our breakfasts, several of us set to work at writing letters to send out to Nome by the "Elk," which would remain a few hours unloading freight, as this might be our last opportunity for many weeks, or until the winter mails were carried by dog-teams over the trails. We fancied our friends on the outside would be glad to hear that we had arrived safely at Golovin, and our pens flew rapidly over the paper. These letters, finally collected, were placed in the hands of one of the "Elk's" crew for mailing at Nome, and the steamer sailed away.

Not all, however, wrote letters. The business head of the "Star" firm had not been idle, nor writing letters, and while I wrote Alma was deeply engaged, well seconded by Ricka, in making arrangements with Mr. H. by which we could remain in this Mission House all winter. Before noon it was decided that we should stay, assisting the missionaries all in our power until such time as they could move to their new station, as soon as the ice was firm enough in the bay to travel upon and the Home was far enough toward completion. It was impossible to finish the building now, but so far as practicable it would be made habitable, and all necessary and movable articles of furniture would be carried to the Home, though many large pieces would be left for our use.

This arrangement included our party of seven, Mary at Nome, and the three boys at work at this time on the new Home building, and would do away with all necessity for building a cabin, lumber being expensive and good logs scarce.

This intelligence came just in time for insertion in our home letters sent away on the "Elk," and it was a day of rejoicing for at least seven persons (Miss L. was to go to the Home, but Mary was to come to us from Nome), who already considered themselves a "lucky number."



CHAPTER XIV.

LIFE AT GOLOVIN.

Our first duty after arriving at Golovin was to look up our freight, which seemed to be in a general mix-up. Each person was searching on the beach and in the warehouse for something. For my part, I was greatly concerned over the probable loss of a case of coal oil, and a box containing wool blankets, feather pillow, and other things too precious to lose after paying freight, especially as some of the articles could not be replaced, and all were useful and necessary. The "Elk's" crew had dumped the freight promiscuously upon the frozen sands, considering their duty at that point done, and no assurance was given us that the freight was all there, or that it was in good condition. The risk was all ours. We could find it or lose it—that did not concern the "Elk." As we had no idea as to the honesty of the community in which we had come to reside, and little confidence in some of the "Elk's" passengers who were also receiving freight, we visited the beach a number of times during the first two days. While at Nome and packing up to leave I had remembered the story of the person who, going to market, put all the eggs into one basket, and for that reason, when an accident occurred, she lost the whole lot; while, if she had placed them in two baskets, one-half might have-been saved. For this reason I then packed my blankets in two boxes, and now as one was missing I was glad I had done so, for to be entering upon a cold, long winter without woolen blankets would be hard lines indeed.

The first day was spent by the boys in hauling baggage and freight into the old school house, near the mission, which was to be our store room for a time. This building was made of logs, sod and mud plaster, with small doors and windows, and thatched roof, now overgrown with grass and weeds.

It had long-been deserted, or given over to storing purposes, as the new school and church building was put up alongside, and was being used at the present time. We would unpack as little as possible, while the Mission family remained, as their house was too small to accommodate comfortably so many. Mr. H. was like the old woman who lived in a shoe, for he really had such a family that he was puzzled as to what disposition he should make of them. However, the men were all lodged in the new school building, as it was vacation time, and no session; trunks and baggage, except bedding, were put in the store house.

The Eskimo children and the women occupied the second floor of the mission. Mr. H. had his room on the first floor, oftentimes shared with some visiting missionary or friend, and I was the best lodged of all. The big velvet couch in the sitting-room by the fire was allotted to me, and I slept luxuriously, as well as comfortably. The newest and most modern article of furniture in the establishment, this couch, was soft, wide, and in a warm, cozy corner of the room.

From being lodged above a bar-room in Nome, I had come to a parlor in the Mission, and I was well pleased with the changed atmosphere, as well as the reduction of charges; for, whereas I had paid five dollars per week for my small, unfurnished room there, I now paid nothing, except such help as I could give the women in the house.

I felt, too, that I had earned, by my hard work during the summer, all the rest and comfort I could get, and I thoroughly enjoyed the change. Where among the drones and laggards is one who can find such sweets as well-earned rest and comfort after labor? What satisfaction to feel the joy all one's own. None assisted in the earning, and consequently none expected a division of reward. It was all my own. If this is selfishness, it is surely a refined sort, and excusable.

I was not, however, the only one in the Mission who enjoyed a well-earned rest. Each one of our party of seven had worked for months as hard and harder than I, and all found a vacation as pleasing, while the Mission people had the same round of work and as much as they could accomplish all the year round.

The day after our arrival at Golovin was Sunday. The weather was clear and sunny, but cold. We were now not only to have a vacation ourselves, but could give our working clothes a rest as well, and I took great pleasure in unearthing a good black dress which was not abbreviated as to length, surprising my friends by my height, after being in short skirts so long. It was really Sunday now, and we wore our Sunday clothes for the first time in months, not having had an opportunity for Sabbath observance in the work we had done at Nome.

To complete our enjoyment of the good day, there was the organ in the sitting-room, and upon my first entering the room, and seeing the instrument I had drawn a deep sigh of inward delight. To find an organ, yes, two of them, for there was also one standing in the schoolroom, or little church, was to feel sure of many bright and happy hours during the coming winter, and I felt more than ever that for strangers in the Arctic world we were, indeed, highly favored.

It was not long before I discovered that with at least two of our party of seven music was a passion, for Ricka, as well as Mr. B., could never have enough, and it was a pleasure to see the real and unaffected delight upon their faces when I played. We were really quite well supplied with musical instruments, for there were now in the Mission two guitars, one mandolin, a violin and a few harmonicas, besides the two organs, while as for vocalists everybody sang from Mr. H. down to the Eskimo boys, girls and the baby.

But this day's climax was the three o'clock dinner, prepared by Miss E. Could anything be more restful to three tired restaurant workers than to sit quietly in easy chairs, allow others to prepare the meal and invite them to partake, without having given a thought to the preparation of the same, gaining, as we did, a knowledge of what was coming only by the pleasant odors proceeding from the kitchen? Certainly not, and the increased appetite that comes with this rest is only a part of the enjoyment. So when we were seated at the table on Sunday, the second day of our arrival at Golovin, before us fresh roast mutton, baked potatoes, stewed tomatoes, coffee, bread and butter, with pickles, and a most delicious soup made of dried prunes, apricots, raisins and tapioca for dessert, we were about the happiest people in Alaska and appreciated it immensely. What bread Miss E. did make, with slices as large as saucers, not too thin, snowy, but fresh and sweet. What coffee from the big pot, with Eagle brand cream from the pint can having two small holes in the top, one to admit air and the other to let the cream out. Nothing had tasted so good to us since we had come home, as hungry children, from school. As then, we were care-free, if only for a little while, and we were a jolly, happy crowd.

In the evening, when the children were once in bed, we all gathered in the sitting-room for music, stories and plans for the future, including the placing of a few new strings on the musical instruments and tuning of the same. Mr. H. had gone to the Home the afternoon before, so there had been no preaching service as ordinarily in the little schoolhouse across the road. The boys were talking of going to the Home across the bay next day in a boat, but a wind came up which finally developed into a stout southwester, and Monday was a most disagreeable day. Alma worked on a fur cap, to practise, she said, on some one before making her own. Ricka mended mittens and other garments for the boys, while I sewed on night clothes for the little Eskimo baby.

The child was probably between three and four years old, but nobody knew exactly, for she was picked up on the beach, half dead, a year before, by the missionary, where she was dying of neglect. Her mother was dead, and her grandfather was giving her the least attention possible, so that she was sickly, dirty and starved. She had well repaid the kind people who took her into the Mission, being now fat and healthy, as well as quite intelligent. She was a real pet with all the women immediately, being the youngest of this brood of twenty youngsters and having many cunning little ways. In appearance she looked like a Japanese, as, in fact, all Eskimos do, having straight black hair, and eyes shaped much like those of these people, while all are short and thick of stature, with few exceptions.

Among this score of little natives there were some who were very bright. All were called by English names, and Peter, John, Mary, Ellen and Susan, as well as Garfield, Lincoln and George Washington, with many others, became familiar household words, though the two last named were grown men, and now gone out from the Mission into houses of their own.

As to the dressing of these children, it was also in English fashion, except for boots, which were always muckluks, and parkies of fur for outside garments, including, perhaps, drill parkies for mild weather, or to pull on over the furs, when it rained or snowed, to keep out the water. As the weather grew more severe, heavy cloth or fur mittens were worn, and little calico and gingham waists and dresses were discarded for flannel ones.

The children, for weeks after our arrival, ran out often to play, bareheaded and without wraps, having frequently to be reminded when the weather was severe, to put them on. In the kitchen they had their own table, where they were separately served, though at the same time as their elders at another table in the room. To preserve the health of the little ones, not taking entirely away their native foods of seal meat and oil, tom-cod (small fish), reindeer meat and wild game, these were fed to them on certain days of the week, as well as other native dishes dear to the Eskimo palate, but they were well fed at all times, and grew fat and hearty as well as happy.

As we sewed contentedly in the sitting-room on Monday the storm continued, snowing and blowing a gale from the southwest, which, though not disturbing us even slightly, we felt sure would be bad for those at sea and at Nome; our own experiences at that place giving us always a large sympathy for others in similar plight. Long afterwards we learned that in this storm the "Elk" had been blown ashore at Nome, and was pretty thoroughly disabled, if not entirely wrecked, and we wondered if poor cook Jim had "done been mighty busy, sah, gittin' tings fixed" ever since.

When evening came the children and Baby Bessie were put to bed; work, indoors and out, was finished for that day, and we were twelve in the sitting-room, as merry a crowd as one could find in all Alaska. Miss J. had taken a lesson on the organ in the afternoon and was all interested in making progress on that instrument, assuring her friends who declared she would never practise her lessons, that she certainly would do so, as they would afterwards learn.

The winds might sigh and moan, and whirl the falling snow in the darkness as they liked; waters congeal under the fingers of the frost king, closing the mouth of innumerable creeks, rivers, and bays; but here under cover we had light, health, warmth and food, without a single care. In my cozy, soft bed under the blankets, the firelight playing on the walls, the fine organ open and ready for use, I lay often with wide open eyes, wondering if I were myself or another.

In one corner of the room stood a case containing books enough to supply us with reading matter for a year, those printed in Swedish being, of course, of no use to me, but a variety of subjects were here presented in English, ranging from Drummond's "Natural Law in the Spiritual World" to nursery rhymes for the children. Volumes on medicine, law, science, travels, stories, ethics and religion—all were here for the instruction and edification of inmates of the Mission. In another corner there was a large case of medicines, and here were remedies in powders, liquids, salves and pills, drawers filled with lint, bandages, cotton, and books of instruction teaching the uses of all. Even surgical instruments were found here, as well as appliances for emergencies, from broken and frozen limbs, mad-dog bites, and "capital operations," to a scratched finger or the nose-bleed.

This outfit was for the use of any and all, without charge, who should be so unfortunate as to require assistance of this sort in this region. Without money and without price, the only case of remedies for many miles around, this Mission provided for all suffering ones who applied, and during the winter many were relieved and assisted toward recovery.

In the third corner of this room stood the large cabinet organ, nearly new, and in good condition. Instruction books, hymnals, "Gospel Hymns," small collections of words without music, Swedish songs—all were here in abundance.

The fourth corner contained my couch-bed. A heating stove, made of sheet iron, a table with its pretty spread, a large student lamp, easy chairs, a pretty ingrain rug covering the floor, window shades and lace curtains, with pictures and Scripture texts upon the wall, completed the room furnishings, making a homey place, which for years had been a haven of refuge for the homeless Eskimo children. Besides these, it had given food, shelter and clothing to many a white-faced wanderer, who came penniless, hungry and cold, perhaps ill and starving.

About seven years before this unpretending, now weather-beaten house had been erected, and the kindly little dark-eyed man put in charge was at once at home. He was blessed with rare versatility and patience, as well as a great heart of love for all mankind, including the dark-skinned, seal-eating races of the Arctic.

From a door-latch to a baby's cradle, from a log-house to a sail-boat rigged with runners on the ice, he planned, contrived and executed, principally for others, for years. Here we found, in one room, from his hands a bedstead, a table, and a washstand commode, all made in white wood, of regulation size, shape and pattern, though without paint or staining. Relegated now to an upper room, since the velvet couch had arrived, was a long, wooden settle, with back, ends and sliding seat, the latter to be pushed forward upon legs and made into double bed at night.

One day in the winter, when searching for open places under the roof through which the snow was sifting, wetting the ceiling of the room below, I found in the attic a number of curious things, and among them a child's cradle. Not all the thought of the good man had been given to the needs of the "grown-ups," but the small, weak and helpless ones of his flock had received their equal share of attention. The cradle was well made with solid high sides and ends, and curved upper edges, swinging low and easily upon its two strong rockers. All was smooth, well finished, and rounded, though there was no paint nor varnish, these articles being doubtless unprocurable and not deemed strictly essential. Near by were the remnants of a white fox robe fitting the cradle. It was made of baby fox skin, fine, soft and pretty. A flannel lining with a pinked-out edge completed what had once been a lovely cover for baby, whether with white face or black, and I fell to wishing I might have seen the complete outfit in its former days.

From the rafters of the attic hung articles of wearing apparel of curious make and pattern, sometimes of skins of the wild reindeer or spotted seal. Of old mittens and muckluks there were numbers, still preserved for the good they had done or might yet do at piecing out somewhere. There were things for which I had not yet learned the uses, but might do so before the cold winter had passed. There were also many fur skins, and new articles of value stored in the attic.

Tuesday, October twenty-third, the weather was not cold, but snow fell part of the day, and it grew dark about half-past four in the afternoon. The gale of Monday had subsided, and the sky was overcast. The steamer "Sadie" of the Alaska Commercial Company surprised us by coming into Golovin, and again suddenly we fell to letter writing in order to send them out by her, remaining several hours as she always did to unload freight and baggage, for this would positively be our last steamer. Outside the boys worked as industriously as we women. In the old log-house, a hundred feet from our door, was the building now used for a woodshed. Here, upon a big "double-decker" saw-buck, two of the boys, with the big saw between them, worked away, hour after hour, at the great logs of driftwood brought from the beach, as this was the only kind of fuel here used, and much was needed for the winter fires.

When I had finished my work of sewing, and it grew too dark to thread needles, between that hour and the one for the lamp lighting, I was usually seated at the organ, and our music was not all Hymns from the Hymnals, certainly. There were marches and polkas, and sprightly waltzes, too, and nothing was ever tabooed, though these classic selections were always omitted on Sunday. None ever minded how long I sat at the organ, or how many times a day a certain piece was played, and a few could never be sated; but I took good care that my work never lagged, and a duty was never neglected for such pleasure, thereby making it always the recreation and enjoyable exercise it was intended to be and not tiresome.

Miss J. now took a lesson on the instrument each day for a half hour after the lamps were lighted, and as she had already had a few lessons, and could play a few hymns, she was much interested in acquiring a further knowledge which would be helpful in church and Sunday school services. Miss E., too, thought of beginning lessons if she could find time from her manifold duties as house-mother of the numerous flock, and did take a few lessons before they moved away.

In the evening there was always singing, for some were sure to be present then, who had been absent during the day. Perhaps Mr. H. had arrived with a Christian native from the Home, to spend the night before going back on the morrow, with supplies of some sort for the completion of his new house. He now headed the two establishments and vibrated between them, simply camping at the new place and enjoying everything of home life possible in the Mission. At jokes and repartee he was as good as the best of them, and always enjoyed a laugh like the youngest.

A level head and firm hand had this Swedish missionary of long experience. From a dozen or more years at Yakutat, in southern Alaska, where he had done invaluable work for that Mission, he had come about two years before to Golovin Bay, and now had, besides the Eskimo children in that place, over four hundred government reindeer in charge. For these he kept a number of experienced and trusty native drivers, and these either lived in his Mission or with their families near at hand, as a few of them now were married.

This herd of animals was kept upon the hills where the reindeer moss grew in plenty, for they could not, and would not, eat anything else if they literally starved to death, and they were now five miles away. To remove this great family of a score and more with their belongings over the ice, a distance of twelve miles in winter by dog-team, getting settled in a large frame building, unplastered, and upon a bleak, unprotected shore, was an undertaking which would have discouraged most men; especially as a shipload of needed supplies for their new Home, including furniture, had been lost at sea, leaving them short of many such necessities. But this was not all. The whole reindeer herd and their drivers, with their several families, were also to be moved near the new Home, and to fresh moss pastures.

Near the Home was a good-sized creek of fresh and pure water, which ran singing along through the hills to the ocean, and for this reason the site had been selected and built upon.



CHAPTER XV.

WINTER IN THE MISSION.

The first few garments I made for Little Bessie were not a great success. I had told Miss E. that I would be delighted to assist her in any way that I could, never dreaming what would come; and she being more in need of warm clothing for the children than anything else, with rolls of uncut flannels, and baskets piled high with materials to be made into underwear, said immediately that I might help with their sewing.

She then brought a piece of Canton flannel, and the shears, and put them into my hands, saying that I might make two pairs of night-trowsers for the baby. My heart sank within me in a moment. I made a desperate effort to collect myself, however, and quietly asked if she had a pattern. No, she had none. The child, she said, kicked the cover off her in the night so often, and the weather was growing so cold, that she and Miss J. thought a garment of the trouser description, taking in the feet at the same time, would very well answer her needs, and this I was requested to originate, pattern and all. Whatever should I do? I could more easily have climbed Mt. McKinley! If she had told me to concoct a new pudding, write an essay, or make a trip to Kotzebue, I should not have been so much dismayed; but to make a garment like that, out of "whole cloth," so to speak, from my own design—that was really an utter impossibility.

"O, well," she said, "I am sure you can do this well enough. It is not such a very particular job; just make something in which to keep the child warm nights, you know. That is all I care for," kindly added she, as she closed the door behind her and went back to the kitchen.

Finally I appealed to Alma. She was busy. She had never cut out anything of the sort, neither had Ricka nor Miss L., but I being a married woman was supposed to have a superior knowledge of all such things. I admitted that I might have a theory on the subject, but a "working hypothesis," alas, I had none.

Still I hung around Alma, who was an expert dressmaker of years' standing in San Francisco.

"No, I can't cut them out, really; but why don't you make a pattern from some garment on hand?"

Here was an idea. Something to build upon.

"But there are the feet, and the waist?" I said still anxiously.

"O, build them on to your pattern," she said carelessly; as if anyone with half an eye and one hand could do that sort of building, and she left the room for more important matters.

There was nothing else for me to do. I secured a suit of the baby's clothing throughout, and, taking the cloth, the shears, and an old newspaper, I went upstairs to Miss J.'s room and closed the door. I wanted to be alone. I longed to have my dear old mother there for just one short hour, for in that time I felt certain she would have cut out these as well as other garments, enough to keep us for weeks sewing, as her own babies had kept her at one time.

However, there was no help for me, and I went to work. For an hour I cut and whittled on that old newspaper, along with a number of others, before I got a pattern that I fancied might do. Then I submitted it to Miss J. herself, who told me to go ahead and cut it out. It appeared all right, so far as she could see. Then I cut, and basted, and tried the garment on Bessie. It was too wide across the chest, too short in the legs, and the feet were monstrosities. What was to be done, I asked of the others?

"Make new feet, and sew them on around the ankle," said Miss J., thoughtfully, surveying her little charge from all sides, as the child stood first on one foot, then on the other, "then you can lengthen the legs a little if you want to," careful not to offend by criticising abruptly, but still feeling that the height of the gearing should be increased.

"Dear me, that's easy enough," suggested Alma, "just put a wide box plait down the front, like that in a shirtwaist, and it will be all right."

"The back can be taken out in the placket," and Ricka folded and lapped the cloth on the little child's shoulders, and then we called Miss E. from the kitchen. After making a few suggestions in a very conservative way, as if they did not come readily because the garment was just about right; she left the room hastily, saying her bread would burn in the oven; and I thought I heard her giggling with Miss L. in Swedish until she ran away out into the woodshed, ostensibly for an armful of wood; though if her bread were already burning I wondered what she wanted of more fire.

I did not blame her; I laughed too. The little child looked exceedingly funny as she stood there in that wonderful garment, with black eyes shining like beads, and face perfectly unsmiling, as she nearly always looks, wondering why it was we were laughing.

October twenty-fourth the boys worked all day at making the house more comfortable for winter, nailing tar paper upon the north side, where some clapboards were missing, putting on storm or double windows outside of the others, and filling the cracks with putty. A couple of the boys also worked at hauling supplies of apples and potatoes from the warehouse by dog-team, putting the eatables into the cellar under the kitchen, which was well packed in with hay. This cellar was a rude one, and in summer frequently filled with water from the surface and the hill above the house, making it not altogether wholesome at times, but by management, it was still being used for some things, and of course, in cold weather, it made no difference, for everything was solidly frozen.

Snow enough had fallen by this time, a little coming quietly down every few hours, to make fair roads for the sleds, the ground being quite hard; while Fish River and adjoining creeks were fast freezing over, as were also the waters of the bay.

In the evening Mr. H. came in, and we all gathered in the sitting room, some sewing, some mending, but all chatting pleasantly. The missionary had just been informed, he told us, of a gold strike on the Kuskokquim River, some one having only recently returned from St. Michael, and brought the report. From that place men were leaving for the new diggings each day, and it might or might not prove a bona fide strike. With reindeer, on a good winter trail, this distance would not be a formidable trip, Mr. H. told us.

This was the information we wanted to hear, and it probably started a train of golden dreams that night in more than one head, which was long in stopping, especially when he informed us that every acre of land around us was then staked out in quartz claims, though no extensive prospecting had yet been done, and we were pleased at finding ourselves "so near" even though we were "yet so far."

Today was a birthday for Mr. G., and he was teased unmercifully for his age, but would not give it, so those who had known him the longest tried their best to figure it out from incidents in his life and from narratives of his own, and made it out to their satisfaction as about thirty-two years, though he refused (like a woman) to the very last, to tell them if they were guessing correctly.

The next day it still snowed a little at intervals between clouds and sunshine, and all "tenderfeet" were more comfortable indoors. Miss E. and Ricka had gone the day before with the boys and Mr. H. to the Home on a scow-load of lumber, though we feared it was pretty cold for them without shelter on the water; but with the wind in the right direction, they wanted to attempt it, and so started. They were to look the new building over for the first time, Miss E. being much interested in the inside arrangement of rooms, naturally, as it was to be her home and field of labor, and rightly thinking a womanly suggestion, perhaps, might make the kitchens more handy.

In their absence the rest of us continued our sewing, Miss L. taking Miss E.'s place in the kitchen, with help from the larger Eskimo girls at dish washing. The latter were docile and smiling, and one little girl called Ellen was always exceedingly careful to put each cup and saucer, spoon and dish in its proper place after drying it, showing a commendable systematic instinct, which Miss E. was trying to foster.

Between times, their school not yet being in session, they played about, either up in their rooms if it was too stormy outside, or out of doors if the weather permitted; though, for that matter, they seldom hesitated to do anything they wished on account of the weather, as it was not so cold to the natives as to us. They played with balls, both large and small, and sleds of all descriptions; and if the latter were not to be had, or all in use, a barrel stave or board would be made to answer the same purpose. It was a rush past the window down the hill, first by a pair of muckluked feet, then a barrel stave and a boy, sometimes little Pete, and sometimes John. One barrel stave would hold only one coaster, and there were usually enough for the boys, but if by chance the little girls laid hands upon the sleds before they did, the staves were then their only resource. If a child rolled, by accident, upon the ground, it never seemed to matter, for in furs he was well protected. The snow was soft, and he, being as much at home there as anywhere, seemed rather to like it.

If he was seen to fall, it was the signal for some other to roll and tumble him, keeping him under as long as possible, and it was a frequent sight to see three or four small boys tumbling about like kittens, locked in each other's arms, and all kicking and shouting good-naturedly. Snowballing, too, was their delight, and their balls were not always velvety, either, as the one stopping its course could affirm.

These children did little quarreling. I cannot remember seeing Eskimo boys angry or fighting, a thing quite noticeable among them, for nowhere in the world, perhaps, could the same number of white children be found living so quietly and harmoniously together as did these twelve little dark-faced Eskimos in the Mission.

Our days were now growing much shorter, and it was necessary to light the lamps at four o'clock in the afternoon, the sun having set some time before. The sunset skies were lovely in bright and tender colors, reflecting themselves as they did in the water of the bay, and tinting delicately all surrounding hilltops. What a beautiful sight it was, and how sadly we remembered that very soon the water would have disappeared under the solid ice, there to remain for long months imprisoned. Little did we then know that the heavenly beauty of the Arctic sky is never lacking, but close upon the departure of one season, another, no less beautiful, takes its place.

Diary of October twenty-sixth: Alma and I called today upon two neighbors in the old schoolhouse next the church, by name Dr. H. and wife. They claim to have come from Dawson not very long ago, being shipwrecked on the way, and losing their outfit. She seems a chatty, pleasant little body, and inclined to make the best of everything, her hard lot included, and she is baking and selling bread to the miners. She is a brave little woman, and could teach many a pampered and helpless one lessons of great usefulness and patience. Miss L. is ill with quincy and suffering very much, so Alma makes the bread.

I have just made four large aprons for Miss J., cutting them out and making them, and they look really well, so I am quite proud of myself, especially as Ricka has "set up" my knitting on needles for me, and I am going to make some hose. I usually knit evenings, between times at the organ, for my new yarn received from San Francisco is very nice, and will make warm winter stockings.

Saturday, October twenty-seventh: We have four inches of snow on the ground, and more coming. Miss L. is quite ill with her throat, and did not get up today. Alma, too, is very pouty, with a swollen, pudgy face, and feels badly. They both say they think they took cold coming from Nome on the "Elk," and I don't doubt it, for I would have done so myself only for my great caution in taking care of my newly shingled head and in applying a thorough dose of fur muckluks to my feet, but, thanks to them, I am the most "chipper" one at present.

Miss J. had Dr. H. examine Bessie today, and he says she has bronchitis, but told the teacher what to do for her.

The two girls came back from the Home with Mr. H. and Mr. L. about four o'clock after we had begun to be worried about them. They were hungry, and Alma and I got dinner for them, when Mr. H. started back immediately in a small boat alone, after it had begun to grow dark. We begged him not to attempt it, but he insisted on going, as he must be there tomorrow to push the work on the building, and the ice is floating, so he fears it will freeze the bay over. The sun shone out beautifully for three or four hours, and it is just one week today since we landed in Golovin, a most pleasant week to us all (pattern making not included).

Later.—I helped with the housework and made two more aprons for Miss J. There is nothing like feeling of some use in the world, is there?

Sunday, October twenty-eight: A clear, bright morning, growing cloudy about noon, and dark at four in the afternoon, when lamps were lighted. We had a long, restful day indoors, both Miss E. and Ricka being very lame from their long walk of fifteen miles over the stony beach and tundra covered hills from the Home, Mr. H.'s boat being too small for four persons. By water the distance is called a dozen miles, but by land and on foot it is much farther, as the girls have found by sad experience; and they were very glad it was Sunday, and they could rest. Miss E. said laughingly that we would play we were at home in the States again, and so she spread the breakfast table daintily in the sitting-room, with white cover, pretty embroidered centre-piece, and snowy napkins, bringing real comfort to our hearts, accustomed as we had been for so many months to bare necessities and none of the luxuries. A fashionable breakfast hour for Sunday in the States was also affected in order to make the plan complete, and because the mornings, growing darker as they are continually doing, nobody felt in haste to leave their beds. Of course every one wore his Sunday clothes and I put on my very best waist of olive green satin with a good black skirt, which had a little train, thereby effectively hiding my uncouth feet, still clad as they are in the ungainly muckluks.