“Why, mamma,” she said, “I had to look; he has swallowed something that won’t go either up or down, and I’m ’fraid he’ll choke.”
Although I can’t brag about Mr. Murry’s appearance, I can about his taste, for he admires Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. It seems that in years gone by he has made attempts to marry her.
As he got up from supper the first night he was with us, he said, “Mary Ellen, I have a real treat and surprise for you. Just wait a few minutes, an’ I’ll bet you’ll be happy.”
We took our accustomed places around the fire, while Mr. Murry hobbled his cayuse and took an odd-looking bundle from his saddle. He seated himself and took from the bundle—an accordion! He set it upon his knee and began pulling and pushing on it. He did what Mr. Struble said was doling a doleful tune. Every one took it good-naturedly, but he kept doling the doleful until little by little the circle thinned.
Our tent is as comfortable as can be. Now that it is snowing, we sit around the stoves, and we should have fine times if Professor Glenholdt could have a chance to talk; but we have to listen to “Run, Nigger, Run” and “The Old Gray Hoss Come A-tearin’ Out The Wilderness.” I’ll sing them to you when I come to Denver.
With much love to you,
Elinore Rupert Stewart.