"Your own loving
"Marjorie."
"October 28th.
"I have been a whole night on the train, and when I think of how far away from home we are, I can't help being just a little frightened, though it is all very interesting. I posted Mother's letter at Albuquerque, where the train stopped half an hour. Uncle Henry and I got out and walked up and down the platform, and, oh, it was good to get a breath of fresh air! I really didn't know that any place could be quite so stuffy as this train. Everybody seems afraid to have the windows open on account of the cinders, but I think I should prefer even cinders to stuffiness. There were some Indians selling blankets and baskets, and a good many people bought things. They crowded round us, and made a good deal of fuss, and I heard one lady say she was afraid of them. Just think of being afraid of poor harmless Indians! I would have liked to tell her how foolish she was, but was afraid Uncle Henry might be displeased. I don't think he is a very friendly person, for he hardly speaks to any of the passengers on the train, and last night he told me I talked too much to the black porter, who was making up the sections. Oh, Aunt Jessie, it was so curious to see him turning all the seats into beds, but you have been on a sleeping car, and know all about it.
"We had a very good dinner, which I enjoyed more than lunch, because my head was better, and in the evening we sat on the platform of the observation car, and it was very pleasant. Uncle Henry was kind, and talked to me a good deal—at least it was a good deal for him. I asked him if he wasn't very anxious to get home to see Aunt Julia and Elsie, and he said of course he should be glad to see them, but didn't seem nearly as excited as I am sure Father would be about seeing us if he had been away from us for three whole weeks. I think Elsie must be very busy, for besides going to school, she has music and German lessons in the afternoons, and goes to a dancing class. Uncle Henry said he hoped she and I would be good friends, and I told him I was quite sure we should. Imagine a girl not being good friends with her own first cousin! Did you know we are to live in a hotel all winter? Uncle Henry has a house on Madison Avenue, but Aunt Julia is tired of housekeeping, so he has rented it, and taken rooms in a hotel instead. Uncle Henry calls the rooms an apartment, and the name of the hotel is the 'Plaza.' It is on Fifth Avenue, and right opposite the park, which must be very pretty. I should think it would seem very queer to live in a house with a lot of other people, but then the people who live in hotels must have a great many friends.
"At about nine o'clock Uncle Henry said he was sleepy, so we went back to our car, and that was when I talked to the porter while he made up the beds. I thought at first that I should never be able to sleep; the train shook so, and we were going so fast. It was hard work undressing behind the curtain, but I managed somehow, and even had a wash, though I had to hold on to the side of the car with one hand while I washed my face with the other. I did cry a little after I was in bed, but I don't think any one heard. It was my very first night away from home, you know, Aunt Jessie dear, but I tried to remember all the lovely, comforting things you and Mother said to me, and I think I must have been pretty tired, for before I realized I was getting sleepy I was sound asleep, and I never opened my eyes till it was broad daylight.
"To-day we are in Kansas, and it is very flat, and not at all pretty. Uncle Henry says we won't have any more fine scenery till we get to the Hudson. The train seems stuffier than ever, and I am just pining for fresh air and exercise. We sat on the observation platform for a while this morning, but Uncle Henry didn't like the cinders, and wouldn't let me stay there by myself, so we came back to our car. I don't think traveling on a train is quite as pleasant as I thought it was going to be. I am sure I should like an automobile better. We saw automobiles at Topeka, where we stopped for ten minutes this morning, and they looked very queer, going all by themselves, without any horses, but I think I should like a ride in one. Uncle Henry says Aunt Julia is afraid of automobiles, so she still uses a carriage.
"I talked to some people in the observation car—a lady and a little boy, who are going to Chicago—but I think most of the passengers on this train are rather unsociable. They don't talk much to each other but just read magazines and newspapers when they are awake, and take naps about every hour. I have watched the two ladies in the section opposite mine, and they have been asleep at least four times to-day. I heard one of them say she never could sleep on a train; wasn't that funny?
"We can post letters from Kansas City, where we are due at half past eight to-night, so I can send this on from there. We get to Chicago to-morrow morning, and have three hours there; won't that be exciting? Oh, I do hope Uncle Henry will take me for a good long walk! I feel as if I could tramp ten miles.
"Good-bye, you precious Auntie! I send a thousand hugs and kisses to everybody. Tell Undine not to forget Roland's sugar—he always has three lumps—and to be sure the kittens in the barn have their milk every night and morning. I am afraid I forgot to tell her about the kittens; there were so many other things to think of. I am so glad you and Mother have Undine; she is such a dear, and I know will try to take my place. I will write to Father and Mother after I have been in Chicago.
"From your own little niece,
"Marjorie."