LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
“Thanks. Your frankness emboldens me to confess that there have been dark moments of late when your society seemed to me to lack something of the charm of the Sorceress of the Nile.”
“Very likely. I never set myself up for a sorceress. I know I am stupid; so are you. We need friends, mirth, music, and all that sort of thing; and it wouldn’t greatly damage our immortal souls even to see a good play. Oh, Tom! just imagine that we are sitting this very minute in a brilliantly lighted theatre, the perfume of flowers in the air, well-dressed people all about us, wealth and beauty in the boxes, waves of melody floating up from the orchestra, one final flourish and crash, and lo! the curtain rises.”
Adding more fuel to the fire and carefully brushing the hearth, Tom remarked: “What do you say to cards? We have all the Sarah Battle essentials.”
“Not all, Tom. The ‘rigor of the game’ would be lacking; for you well know that I always did, do now, and ever shall hate cards.”
“Well, then, as gardening-time is not far off, suppose we look over a seed catalogue and select such seeds as we shall need.”
“Good heavens! A seed catalogue! I want excitement, but I couldn’t stand anything quite so hilarious as that.”
“I’m sure you have often said there was nothing more fascinating.”
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