LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
Soon after coming here, believing that our dancing days were over, we decided to reform the ball-room by making a bedroom of it. By doing this we could reserve the only one below for a possible guest, and could ourselves have the pleasure of sleeping upstairs, where we could hear the rain falling upon the roof. “Much too good a thing to miss,” Tom said, “in this land where the rain it raineth every day—and night, too—for six months at a stretch!”
How to get our furniture up that narrow perpendicular stairway was a problem. Fortunately, it was still crated, just as it had come from the far East. Bert and Mary volunteered their assistance; and finally, through much pushing, shoving, groaning, and some maledictions, the deed was done. Our ball-room was transformed. Then Thomas had some dark hours there, removing tacks, nails, screws, boards, drugget, and excelsior, and putting the various pieces together, after which Katharine—she who has lived to tell the tale—brought her mighty talents to bear upon the situation, toiling for days trying to bring order out of chaos.
I once gave you a description of the ball-room, but perhaps you have forgotten it. The room is twenty feet wide and about a quarter of a mile long; side walls, rough, unplaned boards running up and down; no ceiling overhead, just the rafters and shingles,—its spaciousness and beautiful smooth floor its only redeeming features. With two full chamber-sets, and some extra
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