nished, but in the back room, sitting on a table was a little machine with a long rubber tube running from it to the ceiling; this arrangement was called a gas stove. I looked at this so-called stove with disgust. Being the first one I had ever seen I felt sure I never could cook anything on it. I only stayed here one day, and moved to a private boardinghouse.
And, Oh! ye people of this continent, what a boarding-house, for elegant rooms was all they had, and they all showed at this house that their main food was Oregon mist. However, as Portland is such a paradise to live in, I managed to exist one month. When, after being relieved of my purse and money, which has never yet been returned to me, I notified Mac that I would go with him up to Salem, or start back to that dear Montana home where
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