LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
“I’ve reached the land of corn and wine,
And all its treasures freely mine,
O Beulah land, sweet Beulah land!”
Following him, we found it dark as pitch in “Beulah land,” with an atmosphere strongly tainted by mice and mould, with a lingering dash of bacon. The soloist groped his way through darkness to the fireplace, touching with a match some kindlings and wood previously arranged therein. Then came a hopeful snapping and crackling of lively pine. The footlights flashed up, one bright little blaze followed another, until soon golden flames were dancing and leaping up the black throat of the wide old chimney. Oh, the glory and comfort of it! Surely nothing else in this world is quite so cheery and inspiring as an open wood-fire. As its genial warmth began to pervade the room, now brightly illuminated from floor to ceiling, the discomforts of the day and the gloom of the night were soon forgotten. As the shadows lifted from our hearts, the pangs of hunger began to assert themselves, and the new housekeepers set to work.
On a previous visit Bert had made a lucky find of an old iron teakettle. This he now brought in, filled with fresh spring water, and placed it on a bed of glowing coals; then he went with Tom to feed and comfort the tired horses. Directly in front of the fire was the only vacant space in the room, the rest being filled with crated furniture and boxes. One of the latter was
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