Dec. 28, 19—.
Dearest and Best of Winnies:
Oh, you angels without wings, how am I ever going to thank you? How on earth did you manage to do it all? Such a Christmas present!
When I saw that array of boxes in the express office at Spencer all addressed to me I said to the agent, “There’s some mistake. Those can’t possibly be all mine.”
“You’re the only Katherine Adams in these parts, aren’t you?” said the agent, eyeing that imposing pile with unconcealed curiosity.
I admitted that I was, as far as I knew.
“Then they’re yours,” said the agent, and mine they proved to be.
Altogether there was a wagonload.
“What on earth?” said father and Justice when I drove up to the house. “Have you gone into the trucking business?”
“Christmas presents, Father!” I shouted. “All Christmas presents. I’ve got the whole of Santa Claus’s load. Quick, bring me a hammer and an ax and a jimmy!”
Oh, girls, when I saw what was in those first three boxes I just sat down on the floor and wept for joy. Only the Winnebagos could have thought of sending me the House of the Open Door. There were the Indian beds and Hinpoha’s bearskin and all the Navajo blankets and the pottery, just as I had seen it last in the Open Door Lodge, big as life and twice as natural. And the note from Sahwah that came along with them was a piece of Sahwah herself.