Westport, California.
My papa has a saw-mill on the Pacific coast, and you ought to see the large redwood trees they cut down here to saw up into lumber. Papa's lumber landing is about half a mile from our house. It is on a large rock out in the Pacific Ocean, about two hundred and seventy-five feet from the mainland. The lumber is carried to the rock on a suspension-bridge, and vessels come and take it to San Francisco and other ports.
We have a great many different kinds of lovely ferns here. I am eight years old.
Etta M.
Schoolcraft, Michigan.
That little boy who was anxious for a new crop of rattlesnakes ought to come out here. Last summer we killed six, three of which were in our orchard. I came very near stepping on one, and another struck my shoe.
At school one day one of the girls heard a buzzing in the ventilator, and put her hand down to find what it was, and there lay a big rattlesnake. It crawled away, but at noon the teacher put a piece of bread and butter in the ventilator, and it came up after it, and the boys killed it.
Mary S.
Greenwood, Colorado.