That night they went to the music halls in their miners' clothes all as they were, and drank gallons of beer; and from the boxes and the balconies the girls all clamored to be asked to join them--who were such free spenders. Two days later they were paid in coin for their gold--by the mint--and all went to the tailors and got them fine suits of clothes.... And so it continues. And he told of Custer's massacre. And, to-night of the sagacity of horses in leading a trapper back to the traps he'd set and maybe lost. When a horse swims with you across a stream guide him with your hand on his neck, but pull not ever so little on the line or he'll rear backwards in the water and likely drown himself and you.
A pretty useless day. No work accomplished but the daily chores. What is there to say of such a day. Olson brought over his letter to Kathleen to-night and read it to us. It's just like him to be really himself even at letter writing. The letter is full of nice humor. "She'll think what kind of an old fool is that," he said, "but what do I care. I'll just say whatever I feel like saying." And he always does. In a mild way he lives Blake's proverb, "Always speak the truth and base men will avoid you." Some people have found Olson very rough and ill-mannered.
Made bread to-night and stamped about seventy-five envelopes with my device. To-night it is mild and overcast. A light snow has begun to fall. So far this winter the fall of snow has been extremely light. It should bank up almost to the cabin's eaves.... My bed awaits me. Good-night.
This is another day that is hardly worth recording, one that would not be missed from a life.
It's time something were again said about young Rockwell who is the real, live, crowning beauty of the community. Weeks have passed since I last recorded his fresh delight in everything here. It is the same to-day. For hours he plays alone out-of-doors. Now he's an animal crawling on all fours along the trunk of a tree that I have felled, going out upon its horizontal branches as the porcupines do, hiding himself in the foliage and growling fiercely--hours long it seems--while the foolish goats flee in terror and the foxes race wildly up and down the extent of their corral. Again he's a browsing creature eating the spruce needles with decided relish,--doing it so seriously. Truly he lives the part he plays when it is one of his beloved wild creatures. Then he tears up and down the beach mounted like a four-year-old kid on a stick horse, yelling as loud as he can, going to the water's edge, and racing the swell as it mounts the slope. And presently I capture him for his end of the saw. At that he no longer knows fatigue,--he's as good as a man. He really never tires and the work goes on with a fine, jolly good-will that makes of the hardest chore one of the day's pleasures. Rockwell is lonely at times; but if he tells me he'd like somebody to play with he's sure to add in the same breath, "Ah well, never mind."