Palisades.
Dear St. Nicholas: I live in the country, very high up on the Hudson River Palisades. The woods are all about us, and my nurse takes me to the edge of the great cliffs to look down on the shining river, and see the steamers and the lovely white sails far over on Long Island Sound.
We have a baby colt in the pasture with his mamma, whose name is Aniline, because her glossy coat shines in bright tints when the sun strikes it. The colt follows us about like a large dog. Papa has taught him not to be afraid.
At night when it grows dark, and I am undressed for bed, we hear Owen calling the cows, "Here, Dolly! Dolly! Here, Jenny! Jenny! Jenny!"
Then he sits down to milk them, and the three cats all gather around him, watching and waiting for a sip.
The katydids sing a great deal up here, and this is what Mamma has sung to me at bed-time, and you will guess from it, dear St. Nicholas, what my name is:
Out-of-doors the air is full
Of voices small;