Polly of Pebbly Pit | Page 3

farm from the desert winds that covered other ranches with its fine alkali dust. The snows in winter, lodging in the crevices of the cliffs, slowly melted during the progress of summer, thus furnishing sufficient moisture for the vegetation growing in the "bowl"; and this provided splendid pasturage for the herds of cattle owned by the rancher.
When Sam Brewster staked his claim in this crater, his companions jeered at the choice and called the place "Pebbly Pit." But the young man had studied agriculture thoroughly and knew what he was doing; then the test made by the government convinced him of this.
Besides, his Denver bride preferred the beauty of the spot to the more sociable but draughty ranches in the valley of Bear Forks River; so they settled in the crater, and named the farm Rainbow Cliffs, but the original nick-name clung, and gradually the owners, from habit, also came to call their place "Pebbly Pit."
In the mountains where the government gives a settler all the timber he needs, transportation is so difficult and paid labor almost unknown, so that the size and quality of a rancher's house and out-buildings expresses his character. Sam Brewster's buildings and fences were as solid and comfortable as any in the State. He and his wife (a refined young woman) were ambitious and energetic, so it was not surprising that they succeeded in life.
When John, the first-born, had completed his studies at High School in Denver, he was sent to a well-known college in Chicago. And now that Polly, seven years John's junior, had finished her grammar course at the little Bear Forks log school-house, she, too, was determined to enter High School at Denver.
Sam Brewster had stubbornly refused to consent to the plan, taking for an excuse that no friends or relatives remained in Denver where Polly might board, and commutation was out of the question. But he knew, and so did his wife, that the truth of his refusal lay in the fact that he could not bear to part with his youngest child--even though she visited at home each week-end.
Mrs. Brewster sided with Polly's ambition, and planned to visit her old home in Denver to see if she could find any friends who would prove to be desirable for Polly to associate with. The matter stood thus this lovely June day when the unexpected letter arrived.
The very unusual occurrence created enough interest for Polly to take her mind from the burro, so she ran swiftly towards the house while every possible correspondent she could think of passed through her thoughts. But she was as much at sea as ever, when she danced up the log steps leading directly to the kitchen.
"Maw, Maw! Where are you--is there really a letter?"
"Yes--from Denver! But how is Noddy?" replied Mrs. Brewster, coming to the kitchen door, holding a square envelope in her hand.
"Dear little Noddy--she is all right now, Maw, but it looked mighty bad a bit of time back. I just had to pray and pray with all my might, Maw--you know how!" sighed Polly, taking the refined-looking letter from her mother without seeing it.
"I never knew how I loved that dear little bundle of fuzz and flesh till I thought she was dead! Oh, I am so glad she will live that I don't care if I ever eat again or not!"
Still holding the precious letter, Polly turned back to look at the barn where the object of her love was lapping up the gruel. Mrs. Brewster smiled indulgently at her intense young daughter, then reminded her of the unopened communication.
"Dear me! So much excitement in one day--I don't see how I can quiet down again. But who do you suppose would write to _me_?" queried Polly, holding the envelope at arm's length and studying the hand- writing.
"I'm not clairvoyant, Polly, so suppose you open it and see for yourself," laughed Mrs. Brewster.
"Well, I hate to spoil this nice stationery but--here it goes!" murmured Polly, severing an end of the envelope as if she was the executioner of an innocent victim.
"See who it's from, Polly, while I dish up your dinner. Of course you don't care whether you ever eat again, but I would suggest that at least you strive to ward off starvation," remarked her mother, teasingly, as she took a well-filled plate from the oven.
"Wh-h-y--of all things!" gasped Polly, as she read the letter quickly.
Mrs. Brewster stood waiting to hear more, and Polly gave another hurried glance at the signature before explaining.
"It's from Anne Stewart--the girl who used to teach at Bear Forks school that time the teacher got sick and had to leave for a few months. You know--the pretty one with the blonde hair that all the big scholars raved over?" announced Polly.
"Oh, yes! The one that you said