We go over to California’s house when we are tired, because our State is one of those which has no house, and one day while father was visiting with some friends we went in the secret gardens and waited for him. It is a lovely place, with old acacia trees in it, and a clipped Monterey pine hedge around it, and a wishing well in the middle.
It was so still and sort of whispery in there that we began to feel like children in a story, so we pretended that we were captive maidens in an enchanted garden. Whenever we tried to get out, the place where the gate was a moment before was just solid hedge. We despaired! An enchanted pigeon flew down from the blue sky! We implored her aid! So she flew away, and then father came. We know now that we shall be famous story-writers.
In the counties’ annex, California shows that she is a whole world all by herself. Each county has sent of her treasures, and the fruits are as golden as the real gold which is found here.
If there were nothing else to be seen at the Fair, it would still be worth while to have come to see California, whose blue skies and golden fields are always smiling. No one has ever seen a frown on California’s face,—not all over at one time. We love you, California!
Your loving cousins,
JANE AND ELLEN.
THE PALACE OF FINE ARTS
DEAR COUSINS:
WE fear that we are not old enough to write to anyone about the Palace of Fine Arts, it is so wonderful, especially when it is reflected in the little lake where the swans live.