Russell, Kansas.
When I read the good stories about little folks which come every week in Young People, it makes me want to tell all the little friends about something that happened last summer while we were living in Denver, near the Rocky Mountains. One day mamma put some lunch in a pail, and said brother Lolie and I could go up on the bluffs along the Platte River to gather wild flowers and cactus plants, and have a good day's sport. When the whistles at the workshops in the city blew for noon, we sat down on the bluffs to eat our dinner. We could see over to the big high mountains, which reached almost up to the clouds. They looked as though they were only a mile or two away, though papa told us afterward that they were nearly fourteen miles off; but the air is so clear that it made them look much nearer. It seemed as if we could go over to them and back before night. We put our shoes and stockings under a pile of railroad ties, and started up the track toward Morrison, which is at the foot of the mountains. As often as we got tired we stopped to rest and talk about what we could do when we were men. Brother was almost ten years old, and I was eleven. The sun went down out of sight behind the mountain-tops, which were covered with ice and snow, and as it grew dark we walked faster, and when it got so dark we could hardly see only to follow the track, we were in the middle of a large prairie. We began to think of snakes and wolves and bears, which we had heard were in such places, so we did not stop any more to rest. We finally saw a light away off in a field, and we went toward it as fast as ever we could. When we got to the house, it was after eleven o'clock, and we were very tired and hungry. Grandma says if I tell all about our journey the next day—how we got to the mountains and home again, and how frightened mamma and papa and little sister were about us—your waste basket would not hold it all; so good-by.
From your little reader,
Artie R. H.
Vergennes, Vermont.
My home is in Madison, Wisconsin, but I am visiting my grandmother in Vermont, near Lake Champlain. Next week we are going to the mountains for a ride, and to enjoy the grand view.
The Reform School is located here. It is for boys and girls. They are well taken care of, but I'd rather be a good girl than a reform girl.
My mamma and I are going back to Wisconsin in September. I shall be very glad to see my little cousin Harry and my dog Gip.
I like Young People very much, and all the boys and girls that write letters for Our Post-office Box. I am seven years old. My name is Helen, but they call me