Oh! these dazzlingly cool, fresh, spring days. If there is anything more beautiful in the West than their gaudy Indian summer, it is the half scared spring. The wind is a bit blustery and pretentious, but otherwise Nature seems doubtful as to whether she will paint her landscape or not. Each night a grand sunset crowns the close of a cloudless day. Weeks ago Carlton's decree was granted him, but he stays to hold me in his arms while I wait for mine. You ask if we are engaged? Yes--awfully engaged all the time. I have never before been able to understand why people put such vast sums in churches. Now I know. It isn't on account of the worship, nor of the interior, but for the steps. When you take into consideration what assistance they have rendered lovers, it only seems just that they should be taxed. We worship at Christian Science Church, because it's darker, every night except Wednesday; but they have some sort of a shin-dig then, so we switch to the Episcopal and take communion with each other. Nice clean, comfy, red granite steps that so many pious, divorce-hating feet have passed over. My sympathies go out to all women, even if they are fallen and so did Christ's; but the good Sioux Fallians are above it. They pull all the hay to their side of the manger and forget that we, having never used such food, don't miss it now. It is a pity that we can't infuse more of the "God-honor-and-the-ladies" spirit into this depth of silliness out here. The West is so big and glorious and free, it seems strange that the corn crop should be so superior to the people. I suppose it is because each perfect stalk of corn turns its face to God and Heaven, and the people are so busy gossiping they haven't the time to worship. When we pass them on the street we feel like saying: "Our reputations are in your hands. In God's name be merciful!" I am keeping house now in my room--light housekeeping, you know. It's positively airy sometimes. My landlady--bless her ignorant soul!--allows my little ice-box to remain in her butler's pantry, which I have christened "cockroach alley." They--the cockroaches--are so large and educated that I have named them, and each one comes when it's called and feeds from the hand. She wears the most artistic skirts--always ball-room back and ballet front. Her grandchild was sitting on the floor yesterday, reading the Bible, when suddenly she looked up and said: "Grandma, there's a grammatical error in this Bible," and my landlady said: "Well, kill it, child, kill it!" She spends whole hours each day talking to her birds, which, she claims, save the expense of a piano. I told the grandchild to go out into the sunshine this morning and it would do her cold good. She said, very saucily: "I won't go into the sunshine, my grandma told me to go into the air." My grandma didn't tell me to go there, Lorna, but someone must have ordered it, for in the "air" I am, and so high that I no longer feel the earth beneath my feet.