"Fairfax" is about three miles from the town. The ride here is very pleasant, especially in winter and spring time, when the hills are green and the wild flowers are in bloom.
The house resembles the old Fairfax house in Virginia, called Greenway Court, except that this is perhaps more rambling and the other lacks our wide-spreading bay-trees. It faces the garden and orchard, and beyond these is the hill, a mine of wonder and beauty.
We all enjoy climbing that hill and looking for ferns. In some parts we hardly dare step, for fear of crushing something beautiful. We look down upon a bank of green moss, and find snowy, shell-like fungi, so delicate that we hold our breath lest they should float away. Farther on are orange-colored ones, and some shaped like callas, translucent, and in color a pale pink carnelian. Wandering on, we enter a grove of pine-trees, in the midst of which a spring is bubbling up, and the ground is covered with a carpet of ferns, mosses, and wild flowers. By the time we are ready to go home, our baskets are well filled; and then, after we get home, we have the delight of arranging the flowers and ferns, examining the fungi with the microscope, and preparing imposing baskets of specimens to send to two delightful members of the Academy of Science in San Francisco, who are making fungi a specialty in their researches.
One day last summer my brother came running into the house, saying, in a very loud whisper, "There's a deer in the creek! There's a deer in the creek!" We all rushed out in time to see Uncle George, up to his waist in water, struggling with an immense buck. The dogs were there, too, barking as loudly as they could. It was very exciting. My sympathies were entirely with the deer, who made a noble fight before he was conquered. Deer are plentiful around here. Often we are awakened by the baying of the deer-hounds, and we can see the hunting parties on their horses galloping over the hill, and the dogs running to and fro.
The boys catch a good many large fish in our creek, and my uncle once caught a ten-pound salmon-trout that was very pretty; it had two delicate pink bands running along its sides.
The hills are crimson, a little before Christmas, with a holly peculiar to California; and we have many merry excursions in a wagon that we children call our "chariot," in which we go to gather holly for our Christmas festivities.
I have written too much, and yet I would like to tell more, our days are so full of pleasant change.—Your affectionate reader,
May D. Bigelow (fifteen years old).
Answers to Puzzles in the November Number were received, previous to November 18, from Annie Longfellow, "Bess," "Isola," "Bessie and her Cousin," "Helen of Troy," W. M. B., Nessie E. Stevens, "Winnie," Florence L. Turrill, James J. Ormsbee, Annie Forbush and Emma Elliott, Grace G. Chandler, Carrie Speiden and Mary F. Speiden, F. A. G. Cameron, Fred M. Pease, Geo. J. Fiske, Geo. Herbert White, "Sidonie," Louise Gilman, Clelia Duel Mosher, Mamie L. Holbrook, Ellie Hewitt, Fannie W., "Croghan, Jr.," Anna E. Mathewson, Eddie Bryan, and Allie Bertram.