a rude shanty would cat sadly into his little savings; so they camped in the wagon until the dugout was finished.
It seemed to Mary Ellen, when she took time to think, that she had never had time to straighten herself and take a good breath since she climbed down from the big wagon and took charge of the housekeeping; for the mother, who was delicate, was utterly prostrated by the long journey. During the winter her health improved; but the next summer an attack of mountain fever proved too much for her frail constitution, and Mary Ellen was left as mother and housekeeper to the little pioneer family.
Misfortunes had not come singly. Farming of any kind John Morton knew little of; farming by irrigation, nothing. At the end of this fourth year they were still living in the dugout. The wagon was gone; the horses were gone; only “Muley,” the faithful old cow, remained.
Mary Ellen, standing in the doorway that Monday morning in early December, caught sight of old Muley, and had an inspiration. She flew into the house with an enthusiasm that not even the prospect of two weeks’ loneliness at Lonesome Ranch could dissipate. Mary Ellen had christencd the place, and no one would deny that the name was appropriate. She lifted the lid of the stove and poked the fire; she flew from the lard-bucket to the molasses-jug; and made such a clatter that she woke the twins, whom she set to eat their breakfast, while she continued investigations.
“Yes,” sniffing at a little brown-paper parcel, “that’s ginger. I ’ll make ginger cookies and a teentsy bit of molasses candy; and every day for dinner I ’ll make the very nicest gravy they ever ate, Oh, I ‘ll manage, and I don’t believe the twins will ever miss the butter,”
“Sister, what are you going to p’tend now? I know you ‘re going to p’tend something nice, ’cause you always act that way when you ’ve thought of something nice.”
“Yes, Lottie; I ’m guing to p’tend now that I ’m the baker-man, and you and Charlie are to run over to Prairie Dog Town and see if there is any news, and when you come back I ‘ll have something nice to sell you.”
Prairie Dog Town was one of their frequent resorts. True, the prairie dogs always scuttled most inhospitably into their houses when they saw company coming; but the children were not sensitive, and continued their visits.
Many of the mounds had been named by Mary Ellen for people and places “back East.” Then there was the school-house and the post- office. This latter place was the center of interest, for here they frequently received pleasing bits of information, and last Valentine’s Day there had been some marvelous pasteboard hearts, ornamented with the red and green paper in which parcels had been wrapped, and bearing sweet little sentimental poems copied from the lace-and-roses ones Mary Ellen had received back East.
Since their arrival at Lonesome Ranch no holiday had been allowed to pass without some kind of an attempt, on Mary Ellen’s part, to celebrate it. Sometimes the meager little attempts were so pitifully pathetic that the father and mother had thought of hiding the—almanac, that Mary Ellen might nut know when they arrived. Since the death of his wife, all days were alike to John Morton, and the struggle for bread absorbed his thoughts.
Mary Ellen flew to her work with a light heart. “Two pounds of butter a week. I can safely count on old Muley for that. I know I can save one pound each week while father is gone, Butter is twenty-five cents a pound. I ’ll ask Mrs, Aletzger to let me go with her when she goes to La Junta to market. Two pounds of butter at twenty-five cents a pound—fifty cents. I must have two oranges, two big red apples, white sugar enough to make some little cakes and frost ’em. and red candy beads to trim ’em with, and a pair of mittens far Charlie, and if I could only get a pair of red stockings for Lottie!” Red stockings, for little girls, were just coming into vogue when Mary Ellen left the East, and one of the dreams of her life had been to possess a pair. She had no doubt they were still fashionable, and, having renounced such frivolities herself, she longed, with the instinct of the little mother, to have a pair for Lottie.
“Dear me! I wonder what all those things would cost? More than fifty cents, I ’m afraid. As soon as I roll out these cookies and get a pencil I will figure it all out.”
