PS 
 
 3525 
 
 A1388 
 
 P42 
 
 1915 
 
 MAIN 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 3E5 4fl3 
 
THE PEACE 
 
 OF 
 THE 
 
 SOLOMON 
 VALLEY 
 
"The Peace of the Solomon Valley mingled 
 with the peace of our own hearts." 
 
THE PEACE 
 
 " \ OF j~~ 
 THE i 
 
 SOLOMON 
 VALLEY 
 
 MARGARET HILL M C CARTER 
 
 Author of 
 
 "The Price of the Prmrie , 
 "In Old Quiytra, 
 "Cxuddy s Baby,"Etc. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 1915 
 
Copyright 1911 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 
 Published September, 1911 
 
 Entered at Stationers Hall, London, England 
 
 Twenty-third Edition 
 1915 
 
 W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO 
 
PS 
 
 To the Good People 
 
 Of a Good Land 
 Even the Folks Who Dwell 
 
 In this Valley 
 
 With Deep Appreciation 
 
 Of Their Kind Words and Deeds 
 
 To Me-ward 
 
 M35639 
 
If you re world-weary, and longing 
 for rest, 
 
 Just come to the Plains and submit to 
 be blessed." 
 
 LILLA DAY MONROF 
 
THE PEACE OF THE 
 SOLOMON VALLEY 
 
 MARCH 
 
 Letter from JOHN ELLERTON, 
 
 New York City, to DANIEL 
 BRONSON, Talton. Kansas. 
 
 NEW YORK CITY, March. 
 DEAR DAN : 
 
 The newspaper you sent last week 
 was almost like a letter from you, be 
 cause it was just like you to send the 
 paper instead of writing the message it 
 contained. You know how I welcome 
 every bit of information concerning you 
 and yours, but, of course, you d never 
 tell me how prosperous you are now. 
 Left it for the Talton Herald to set 
 forth how " Daniel Bronson, one of the 
 well-to-do farmers up on the Solomon, 
 shipped out" how many carloads of 
 cattle was it? And what is alfalfa 
 coined out of anyhow, that it can bring 
 in such a wad of money to a "well-to- 
 do " farmer? Well-to-do ! I should say 
 so, with checks like the one the printer 
 set up coming in with the shipment of 
 stock and sale of that long-legged clover 
 you call alfalfa. Did my heart good to 
 read about it, though, just because your 
 name went with it. I 11 confess here 
 that I was afraid at first to look through 
 that newspaper for the blue pencil 
 marks, for fear oh, well, never mind. 
 7 
 
8 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 We are not young any more. I sup 
 pose we must expect now that some 
 time one will be taken and the other left. 
 I can t realize that we are both getting 
 close to sixty, with children grown up. 
 At least my boy thinks he is a man. 
 And yet, Dan, it seems such a short time 
 since we went out of Yale together, 
 neck and neck for honors. You remem 
 ber our planning to go West together? 
 What care-free days those were ! That 
 was a glorious j aunt we took across the 
 Plains back in the 70 s. You stayed in 
 Kansas because you wanted to and I 
 came back to New York because I had 
 to. But say, old man, you needn t fill 
 your letters as you did your last one 
 with what you say I did for you in your 
 day of trouble out there. I only loaned 
 you a few thousand dollars to tide you 
 over the day of wrath when the drouth 
 and grasshopper and mortgage fell on 
 you as well as on the unjust. And you 
 have paid me back every cent. You 
 seem to forget that. I wonder where I 
 would have been in that near-panic of 
 1907 if I hadn t had some good Kansas 
 coin (coin you had minted out of your 
 cattle and alfalfa) to invest when all 
 the springs were running dry for us 
 smaller fellows in the East. 
 
 But I m writing now, Dan, to ask a 
 favor of you. You remember how that 
 rheumatism had me hobbled down when 
 I went to Kansas thirty years or more 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 9 
 
 ago ? You ought to, because you had to 
 carry me half the time. And you re 
 member what six months in the Solo 
 mon Valley did for me? I came home 
 sound as a dollar and never had a twinge 
 of rheumatism since that summer. Now 
 my boy, Leroy, who finished Yale a 
 year ago, has been ailing with the same 
 accursed affliction for nearly two years. 
 It knocked him out of his athletics the 
 last year of his college course. It nearly 
 broke his heart, or what is worse, his 
 spirit. He wants me to send him off to 
 Europe. Dan, I can t afford it right 
 now, and I don t want to anyhow. 
 He s got the wrong notion about him 
 self and the world. Rheumatism will 
 do that for a fellow. He thinks he is 
 going to be a confirmed invalid, a gen 
 tleman invalid, not able to earn, but 
 fully able to spend. And that s not all. 
 He does n t look at things plumb. New 
 York is all right as a place to make 
 money, but, like all big cities, it is a 
 poor place to make character in chil 
 dren. Why, this city d go to smash if 
 all the New England, Indiana, and 
 Kansas country-bred boys were sud 
 denly pulled out of its business circles. 
 But Roy s got the idea you know his 
 kind, Dan, that the Lord made the 
 world as far west as the Adirondacks, 
 maybe, and left the rest to chance. He s 
 fixed in the foolery that this city is the 
 centre of God s eternal universe. 
 
10 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 I want to send him to you for six 
 months, first, to lose that rheumatism 
 and confirmed-invalid notion some 
 where out there on the prairies, and sec 
 ond, to learn what the West and coun 
 try life are worth. Can you stand him 
 for that time? You can let him learn 
 his lesson alone. He ll come to you 
 with some high and mighty notions 
 about the East and himself. If he 
 does n t come home next Fall a new man 
 it will be the disappointment of my life. 
 
 If our children could always lean on 
 us it would be easy sailing down the 
 years, but I m up against the fact that 
 we must shape them up to live their own 
 lives, and that those lives may be in 
 marble halls or wayside hovels, with 
 Fate playing the strongest hand of cir 
 cumstance against us. 
 
 Don t misunderstand Roy. He is a 
 gentleman clear to the bone. He con 
 fides in me as much almost as in his 
 mother, who, by the way, agrees with 
 me only partially in this plan. I m 
 proud of him, of course, but he must 
 learn that he s only a temporary invalid 
 and he must get a bigger perspective 
 on the country over which Old Glory 
 swings and on the folks that live under 
 the shadow of it. You know, Bronson, 
 how much I 11 appreciate what you can 
 do for me. 
 
 I m so concerned about Roy, I al 
 most forgot to say that Mrs. Ellerton 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY n 
 
 has been called up to East Machias, 
 Maine, to stay indefinitely with a great 
 aunt of hers who is almost helpless. 
 The old lady won t come down to New 
 York and stay with us. She s rooted 
 fast to that little Maine village. She 
 took care of my wife s mother when she 
 was a girl and made such a home for her 
 as few orphan children have. Leroy s 
 grandmother was left alone early in life. 
 She had Mary (Mrs. Ellerton) prom 
 ise never to neglect any wish of Aunt 
 Prudence s, and it is the old lady s wish 
 that Mary should take care of her in her 
 last days. She seems to be one of those 
 little Yankee women whose last days do 
 last. I am glad that Mary can be with 
 her, although it would simplify matters 
 mightily if Aunt Prudence would only 
 let us take care of her here. However, 
 she is as averse to coming to the city as 
 Leroy is to leaving it, so you can see 
 my family dilemma has a couple of 
 horns to be dealt with. 
 
 I haven t told Roy who you are. I 
 am just letting him go to strangers in a 
 way, so he will learn something, if it s 
 in him to learn, and not be prejudiced 
 by any obligations to our feelings. I 
 believe it s in him, too. With best 
 wishes to you and the children, I am 
 
 Yours as always, 
 
 JOHN ELLERTON 
 
12 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 Letter from DANIEL BRONSON 
 to JOHN ELLERTON 
 
 TALTON, KANSAS, March. 
 DEAR JOHN: 
 
 Yours received. You know I m glad 
 to be able to return a small part of the 
 obligation I owe to you. Send Leroy 
 on at once. We can care for him nicely. 
 I m afraid he will find us dull company, 
 but if he likes music, Eunice can play 
 and sing some. 
 
 But business aside, Jack, it did me a 
 world of good to see your hand-writing 
 again and I jumped at the thought of 
 having your boy with us. Took me 
 back to the days when you and I came 
 here together, you to get back your 
 health, and I to make my fortune. We 
 both succeeded, although you came 
 through in one season, and I put in 
 years at the job. I can see you now, 
 white and delicate and brave in your 
 suffering. 
 
 This land was desolate enough then. 
 Only Hope filtered the atmosphere 
 with a golden glamour. I Ve seen that 
 glamour fade and the light turn to 
 gloom more than once since the day I 
 preempted my first hundred and sixty, 
 and cut sod for my little dugout home 
 stead. You know I built up on the 
 swell above the river with not a claim- 
 holder near me then. I can see three 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY is 
 
 villages from the front porch now, and 
 the Solomon Valley is like the Garden 
 of Eden. And yet sometimes I am 
 sentimental enough to wish for the old- 
 time picture back again, the plain little 
 house, the prairies rippling away in the 
 distance, and the common loneliness, 
 the common need for companionship. 
 We were poor in those days, as prop 
 erty goes, but we were rich in the spirit 
 of neighborly kindness. When our 
 baby boy died, John Ellerton Bronson 
 we called him, we could n t have endured 
 it but for the loving sympathy of those 
 homesteaders, poor as ourselves, but 
 generous, and sympathetic in the sor 
 rows of others. 
 
 I might have come into my own a 
 little sooner in New York, but I ve 
 always been glad I came West; glad 
 that it was my privilege to see this val 
 ley change from a stretch of blossomy 
 springtime prairie to a sweep of alfalfa 
 bloom, from a seared waste of burned 
 mid-summer grasses to the green acres 
 of corn. It is worth the best years of 
 one s life to have watched the transfor 
 mation. 
 
 But I won t keep this up. Send 
 Leroy out and we ll fix that rheuma 
 tism. 
 
 My Seth is a perfect giant now. 
 He finishes college next year. Carries 
 football and track-meet honors enough 
 to break down an ordinary constitution. 
 
14 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 He has about made up his mind to go 
 West when he gets through school. 
 With us there is no real West, you 
 know, till we get to the Rockies and 
 beyond. Of course, I d rather keep 
 Seth here, and I need him. The ranch 
 is getting to be more of a proposition 
 to manage every year. We used to 
 think we were busy, John, in the little 
 corn patches and mowing lots up be 
 tween the Vermont hills, before we 
 went down to Yale. But when a 
 bumper wheat crop comes our way out 
 here, with four or five cuttings a season 
 on the quarter section I have set to al 
 falfa, I can assure you that Satan must 
 look to something else beside idle hands 
 to get in his work in a Kansas summer. 
 So I could give Seth a fine start in life, 
 if he only took to the soil. But he 
 doesn t. Since he was a little boy he 
 has been crazy over mines and metals. 
 He s an expert even now in those lines 
 and can hardly wait to finish school, he 
 is so eager for the West and the moun 
 tains and mining. 
 
 As I said, Eunice can play and sing 
 some. She has finished with her teach 
 ers here and wants to go East in the 
 Fall. I may ask your protection for 
 her then. It was her mother s wish 
 that she should have the opportunity 
 for a musical career. Poor Ellen never 
 really felt at home in Kansas. You 
 know she was young when she died. It 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY is 
 
 was only the hard work of a pioneer 
 farmer s wife that fell to her lot, and 
 when times grew better and we began 
 to know some of the luxuries of the 
 country, she was taken from us. I feel 
 that that is the reason she was so eager 
 to have our daughter given a musical 
 education. She thought Eunice s life 
 in Kansas would be as hers had been. 
 John, I can t blame her. It was the 
 women who bore the heaviest burdens 
 here in the first years. 
 
 I shall miss my little girl dreadfully 
 if she does go away. But we must not 
 stand in the way of our children doing 
 the best with their talents. And as you 
 say, we can t keep them with us always. 
 They must fly their own gait. 
 
 Again, I assure you we ll welcome 
 your boy and do our best for his com 
 fort. 
 
 With kind regards to Mrs. Ellerton, 
 I am, 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 DAX L BRONSON 
 
16 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 APRIL 
 
 Letter from LEEOY ELLERTON 
 to HIS FATHER 
 
 TALTON, KANSAS, April. 
 DEAR FATHER: 
 
 At last I am at the end of my jour 
 ney, aching in every joint I ever had 
 and some new ones I Ve just discovered. 
 But here I am in this God-forsaken 
 Kansas region called the Solomon Val 
 ley. It may be a degree better than 
 Death s Valley, which is still farther 
 West somewhere, I am told. But since 
 I am here, like Hamlet s ghostly father, 
 " doomed for a certain time to walk this 
 particular piece of earth," here for the 
 first time, and I hope to Jiminy, the last 
 as well, I 11 try to make the best of it if 
 it kills me. But it does seem to me that 
 I might have gone to Europe, like a 
 gentleman, if you had n t come down on 
 me with the ukase "Go to the Solo 
 mon Valley for six months and come 
 back cured forever." 
 
 Six months! I ll be cured long be 
 fore that, for I 11 be dead. I know, of 
 course, that Indians and buffaloes, 
 and maybe, cowboys are not to be found 
 here now, but it is a cursed crude place 
 to thrust an Eastern chap into. And 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 17 
 
 I don t mind saying, Father mine, that 
 I stand up for the prayers of the con 
 gregation. 
 
 A drummer whom I met on the train 
 going out of Kansas City promised me 
 if I stayed here six months, there d be 
 no pulling me out of Kansas again. Do 
 I look like that, I wonder. I can t see 
 where the valley comes in here. It is 
 as flat as a pancake for ten thousand 
 miles in every direction. I m sure the 
 drainage is bad. Fine place to cure 
 rheumatism, though! Why my father 
 should think I d ever get well in such 
 a miserable place, I can t comprehend. 
 It s the very bottom of the universe. 
 It s the under-side of the world. 
 
 When the Kansas City drummer left 
 the train at some little town, he said: 
 "You are new to the West. There is 
 a lot more for a rustic New Yorker to 
 learn out here than for a woolly West 
 erner to learn in the East. Some of 
 your folks learn quickly. Some are 
 slow, but when they do get their lesson, 
 they are the best fellows on earth. My 
 friend, I hope you may not only lose 
 your rheumatism out on the prairies, I 
 hope that you may also lose the notion 
 that this part of the Lord s earth, peo 
 ple and all, just happened, and wasn t 
 set down in the divine plan." 
 
 I hope he knows. But, to be honest, 
 there is something I don t know 
 what that seems restful after that 
 
18 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 long car-ride. And it was long. I claim 
 I m not a provincial, but I did n t know 
 that the world was quite so big both 
 ways. There is a tone in the air and 
 a little haze of pink on the orchards and 
 a thousand shades of green on the 
 landscape all of which was pleasant 
 when I stepped off the Pullman at 
 Talton. 
 
 Your friend, Bronson, met me at the 
 station. He is a tall man, broad- 
 chested, erect, with grizzled dark hair 
 and bright dark eyes. He is a farmer, 
 of course, tanned face and hands, home 
 laundered shirt, plain clothes, and 
 freshly blacked boots everything 
 showing the country-man in his "other 
 clothes." 
 
 "Is this Leroy Ellerton?" he asked. 
 And I must say it was a good voice to 
 hear. Something in its intonation was 
 in keeping with his strong face arid stal 
 wart form. His handshake, too, is 
 worth while. There is a kind of life in 
 his touch that thrills my nerves to the 
 shoulder. He had my suitcases and 
 me all stowed into a low, easy phaeton 
 before I knew it. I think that, for a 
 Westerner, he knows how to handle a 
 fellow with rheumatism. I hoped he 
 would n t try to talk to me nor make me 
 talk, and he didn t. If he ll always 
 anticipate my wishes, I can stand him, 
 I believe. In fact, it was I who made 
 him talk to me, like this: 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 19 
 
 "You knew my father, Mr. Bron- 
 son?" I asked him. 
 
 "Oh, yes; we came West together." 
 
 " You did ? Why, I did n t know you 
 had ever been East." 
 
 "I haven t, for a long time." 
 
 " You met my father in the East ? " I 
 asked. You see, Papa, I was getting 
 interested in spite of myself. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "We were boys to 
 gether." 
 
 "Father was just out of Yale Uni 
 versity when he came West," I said, a 
 little boastfully. Thought he might as 
 well know whose son he had the honor 
 of having for his guest. "He wrote 
 you I was coming?" 
 
 The old fellow smiled a little. Then 
 he said, " Yes, I had a letter from him 
 and I came up to meet you." 
 
 And here I am settled in my room. 
 The Bronsons have a better house than 
 I had expected, and my den here is spot 
 lessly clean. I ve a big easy rocker 
 that is very comfortable, and a mirror 
 and a writing table. The view from 
 my window is really wonderful. I d 
 no idea one could see so far except on 
 the ocean. There is a stretch of the 
 Solomon River in sight, and just now 
 when the sun went down there was a 
 kaleidoscope of blending colors in the 
 sky. 
 
 I caught sight of a piano as I passed 
 by the parlor door on my way to sup- 
 
20 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 per. I had supposed a parlor organ 
 would be a luxury here. I reckon I m 
 doomed to listen to the daughter of the 
 house play "Silver Threads among 
 the Gold," and "Lambs of the Upper 
 Fold" oh, Father, what made you 
 do it? But no matter. There isn t 
 any Mrs. Bronson now, it seems, and 
 this daughter is the housekeeper. She 
 isn t unattractive, and she has a voice, 
 magnetic and resonant like her father s, 
 but soft and clear. She is a good cook. 
 Her supper was a dream. And would 
 you believe it, they had blue china and 
 real silver. For the first, I suppose. 
 To-morrow it will be a red table cloth 
 and iron-stone china and soda biscuit, 
 like we found up in York State farm 
 houses last Summer. Oh, dear! Will 
 this six months ever, ever end? Good 
 night, Father, I m going to bed. If 
 only I could sleep six months! I ll 
 write to mother in the morning. And 
 you may send this on to her as soon as 
 you have read it. It will save my fin 
 gers some work. I m glad she does n t 
 have to bring Aunt Prudence out here. 
 * * * Seems to me the architect 
 who built this Solomon Valley wasn t 
 an expert in his line. The joke is on 
 Solomon. 
 
 Yours with the back-ache, 
 
 ROY 
 
SOLOMON VALEEY 21 
 
 Letter from LEROY ELLERTON 
 to HIS MOTHER 
 
 TALTON, KANSAS, April. 
 
 In the south upper veranda, 
 with sunshine and no wind. 
 
 DEAR MUMMY MINE : 
 
 My love and respects to Aunt Pru 
 dence now that s my whole duty. 
 She boxed my ears too often when I 
 was a boy for me to do more than that 
 for her. Not that the boxing wasn t 
 good for me. I respect her for it now. 
 But please consider that this sen 
 tence stands at the head of every letter 
 that I write to you. Or I could have 
 it embossed and framed to hang over 
 her bed. Yes, yes, I ll keep still; I 
 know her story. She was a mother to 
 my grandmother, and a dear good 
 great-mother (is that the way to put 
 it?) to you, and you are awfully thank 
 ful that you can be with her. Seems 
 to me the Ellertons have a lot to thank 
 Providence for. You for being an 
 chored in the dizzy social whirl of East 
 Machias and your son and heir nesting 
 out in the flat green Sahara thing called 
 the Solomon Valley. For it s a very 
 desert in length and loneliness and eter 
 nal sameness, but it is green as the 
 greenest sheltered meadow of Maine 
 
22 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 in mid-summer. And you say Aunt 
 Prudence hasn t the rheumatism. Of 
 course not. I Ve got all of it that s 
 coming to this family. And anyhow, 
 she d not be over eighty and "all her 
 faculties bright " down in East Machias 
 if she had this plague of plagues. She d 
 be under a "sacred to the memory" 
 sign in the same form as John Brown s 
 body (Kansas John, you know), long 
 enough before eighty. 
 
 But I didn t mean to send this kind 
 of a letter. Father will forward to you 
 what I write to him. That will tell the 
 important things. I write with you in 
 mind, or I d never tell him some things. 
 Dear old Dad, I d like to disinherit him 
 right now. But I said I d quit. Well, 
 I am Here. That is to say No 
 where. Got here as per schedule. 
 See Papa s letter. Do you know this 
 Bronson outfit? That last is a Wild 
 West novel word. There is a Father 
 not bad to look at for a farmer, but 
 all farmer. And there is a Son I am 
 told. He is to appear in a later act of 
 this Wild West Show. And there is a 
 Daughter. All very interesting, no 
 doubt, if I was n t compelled to see them 
 daily. But they are not bad looking. 
 Eunice, that s the girl, is not like a 
 farmer s daughter exactly, although I 
 tried at supper and breakfast to let her 
 go at that. She let me go, all right. 
 When I was n t thinking of this pain in 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 23 
 
 my shoulder, I couldn t help noticing 
 her a little. 
 
 What does she look like, you will ask, 
 because you are a woman. Frankly, I 
 don t know. Just like any other green 
 Kansas girl, I reckon. A little while 
 ago, she came into my room and told 
 me where to find this place at the south 
 end of the upper hall. It is the coziest 
 spot for a rheum I mean, fellow. 
 Cushions and a big easy chair and a 
 willow couch. It s all screened in from 
 mosquitoes and flies, and a perfect 
 surge of sunshine rolls into it. There 
 is a little table by the couch and a rug 
 on the floor. I wonder if they didn t 
 borrow a lot of these things from all the 
 neighbors in town. Sets some folks up 
 to have a New Yorker with them, you 
 know. 
 
 However, the Bronsons don t act set 
 up. They take me as a matter of 
 course. When Eunice brought me out 
 here, she said : 
 
 " This is to be your corner as long as 
 you care for it. The sharp air is shut 
 away by the gable and the south breeze 
 is pleasant here in the hot weather. I 
 hope it will be comfortable for you." 
 
 She was arranging the cushions, and 
 as she shook up the pillows, I noticed 
 her hands were smooth and her bare 
 elbows actually had dimples. I was 
 going to say some flattering nothings 
 such as country girls feed on, but when 
 
24 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 I looked into her face I decided not 
 to do it. Still, I am afraid I ll be ex 
 pected to do the gallant thing by this 
 Eunice. Mother, rheumatism and gal 
 lantry don t go together, and I don t 
 know why I must spend energy on this 
 daughter. I was sent here and I m 
 serving out a six months sentence, 
 that s all. 
 
 Though for your comfort, Mummy, 
 I will tell you that the Bronsons don t 
 seem to expect much of me yet. How 
 it will be on a longer acquaintance, I 
 can t say, nor what I ll do when they 
 begin to flock to New York to pay back 
 this visit. Good-bye now. This and 
 Dad s letter will tell all I know. It s 
 a warm, drowsy cove up in this corner 
 of my cell all Kansas is a cell to me. 
 And I m going to sleep as many hours 
 as I can. Don t let Aunt Prudence 
 wear you all away. 
 
 Affectionately, 
 
 ROY 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 25 
 
 MAY 
 
 Letter from LEROY ELLERTON 
 to HIS FATHER 
 
 TALTON, KANSAS, May. 
 MY DEAR FATHER : 
 
 I meant to write you several days 
 ago, but we ve been so busy, I put it 
 off. You ll wonder what I could find 
 to make me busy I who have been 
 leaning on cushions for so long. Well, 
 everybody out here is that way. And 
 since I Ve been idle for a year, it seems 
 good to be at work again. I Ve been 
 here six weeks. I didn t think I could 
 get rid of so much pain in so short a 
 time. This is a wonderful air. Why, 
 I sleep all night now, and I could eat 
 anything from a cucumber pickle to a 
 Kansas politician. The Bronsons are 
 really well-bred people, even if they do 
 live in Kansas, and they keep the neat 
 est home and set up the best table or 
 is it I who am getting my old Yale 
 appetite back? 
 
 We have had an abundance of rain 
 this season, and it is the greenest world 
 out here a poor city fellow with memo 
 ries of brick walls and dust ever looked 
 upon. If the fresh air fiends could 
 only send their slum children this way 
 they would get some of the real thing. 
 You d be surprised to know how many 
 Eastern magazines find their way out 
 
26 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 here. I was amazed when I saw the 
 number of books and the kind of books 
 in the bookcases. Why, Father, they 
 are just like New York in that, now 
 really they are. More so than in even 
 some swell homes. I know young ladies 
 in the East who read less, I do believe, 
 than Eunice does. 
 
 But I can t read all the time. So I 
 make myself useful about the house. 
 They have wads of flowers in bloom and 
 I keep the bouquets fresh in the vases. 
 Big business for a young man of 
 twenty-three ! Also I play the piano for 
 Eunice. She sings very well, consider 
 ing. And she plays for my solos in 
 better time than you d think. You see, 
 Pappy dear, I want you to know that 
 these folks out here are n t such heathen 
 as you, living in New York and never 
 coming out of your shell, would think. 
 
 I believe I have n t mentioned the son, 
 Seth Bronson. He is a physical giant, 
 fair though, like Eunice. Did I tell 
 you that Eunice has a pretty fine skin 
 for Kansas? But this Seth, well, he 
 doesn t like me, I m sure. Although 
 he is a quiet fellow, I suspect he s not 
 half the fool he might be taken for in 
 New York. He s quiet like his father. 
 I was afraid he d bore me to death, but 
 instead he lets me alone pretty severely. 
 
 He has just come home for his vaca 
 tion from some place called Manhattan. 
 (How homesick even the writing of 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 27 
 
 that name makes me!) For a college 
 man it is surprising how he can drop 
 in among the hired men and work just 
 like one of them. " How can a fellow 
 be a farm-hand and a college student?" 
 I asked him the other day. He stared 
 at me a minute and said, "If you went 
 down to Manhattan, you d think a fel 
 low wouldn t want to be a farm-hand 
 unless he was a college student, not 
 if he wanted to win out anyhow." 
 
 One rainy afternoon he asked me 
 up to his room for the first time. 
 Why, Father, it was a regular college 
 den, with pennants and baseball and 
 football trophies. Seth is a champion 
 at these things, it seems, and a dozen 
 pictures and tokens in his room show 
 it. And you ought to see the way he 
 can handle a horse! Isn t any more 
 excited over the most fractious one than 
 I d be over a cat. I was out in the pas 
 ture a township big when he caught 
 one last evening. The whole drove 
 came at us like army cavalry. You 
 know I got my first Yale " Y " in a pole 
 vault. I d have vaulted over a nine- 
 foot hedge fence just then, if I d only 
 had the pole. You can t do that on a 
 last year s sunflower stalk, and that was 
 the longest timber in sight. Seth never 
 stopped whistling, and only looked side 
 ways after the colt he wanted. Had it, 
 too, before I knew what to do next. 
 That horse catch awakened a sleeping 
 
28 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 force in me. I forgot my rheumatism 
 altogether and stood straighter than I 
 have in a year. I do believe that some 
 where back in a previous incarnation I 
 was something of a centaur myself, that 
 I somehow belonged to the soil and 
 planted and harvested and was at home 
 on horseback. I feel it in some new 
 pulse-beat of my blood. Anyhow, 
 rheumatism or no rheumatism, I m 
 going to be riding and driving and 
 catching loose horses too, before Fall. 
 I know I can do it as well as that six- 
 footer with his two hundred pounds 
 gross on the scales. The lubber! 
 
 Eunice is a musical graduate from 
 some college out here they call Wash- 
 burn. They talk a lot about it and she 
 and Seth are forever guying each other 
 about the merits of their two schools. 
 That s one good trait of this family. 
 They have some sense of humor and 
 can see a joke clear across the Solomon 
 to the far prairie. Her room is oppo 
 site mine, and the door is always open 
 in the daytime. That room is all one 
 symphony of Yale blue; only its white 
 "W" for Washburn marks the differ 
 ence between it and the blue of my own 
 Yale den at home. I spoke to Eunice 
 about it one day and she said something 
 about the founder, Ichabod Washburn, 
 being a product of Yale. But it did n t 
 seem clear to me. 
 
 Of course, I told them all about your 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 29 
 
 wonderful career at Yale and how only 
 one other member of your class ever 
 out-ranked you I ve forgotten that 
 fellow s name long ago how it was 
 always neck and neck between you two. 
 Father Bronson s eyes glistened with 
 real tears as I told the old stories you 
 used to tell me of your college days and 
 of this old chum of yours. Poor old 
 Bronson! I suppose he never had a 
 chance at a thing like that in his younger 
 years. But no matter, Father, it is really 
 surprising how much of a gentleman 
 even a farmer like Bronson can be. He 
 is one of the most sincere and well- 
 meaning men I have ever known. He 
 is even beginning to dignify farming in 
 my eyes. And Eunice is just like him. 
 But Seth well, there was a kind of 
 odd smile on his face when I talked of 
 you. Jealousy, I suppose, on account 
 of his father. These poor Kansas fel 
 lows can t help it. 
 
 I must quit now and write to mother. 
 Her last letter says Aunt Prudence is 
 getting stronger every day, but she adds 
 that the old lady is more than ever de 
 termined not to let her out of sight, 
 which means a summer of it for Madam 
 Ellerton, I suppose. She says she gets 
 the letters I send to you the next mail 
 after you read them. Good Papa! 
 Good-bye, I m doing fine. 
 
 LEROY 
 
so THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 Letter from LEROY ELLERTON 
 to HIS MOTHER 
 
 T ALTON, KANSAS,, May. 
 DEAR MOTHER MINE : 
 
 This is your dutiful " loved and only " 
 who is writing to you this exquisite May 
 morning. While you are shivering be 
 fore a wood fire down at the beginning 
 of things in East Machias where Maine 
 starts in to grow a United States, out 
 here in the heart of nowhere, watered 
 by the Solomon River, there is a 
 boundless vasty world of sunshine run 
 ning loose. And while you are still 
 clinging to your long-sleeved flannels 
 and keeping screened away from 
 draughts, I am sitting on the broad 
 northeast veranda, letting the wind, 
 soft but full of tone, pour over me like 
 the surf at Coney Island, and I m only 
 a little more decently clad than a surf 
 bather, too, for I have all my summer 
 regimentals on now. It is early Sum 
 mer here, if only my pen could make 
 you feel its balmy breath ! Quite a poet 
 I m getting to be. Did n t know it was 
 in me before. But they say Kansas 
 will develop whatever tendency to 
 crankism is in one s constitution. Mine 
 seems to be a sickish sentimentalism. 
 But it is only to you, Mother, that 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 31 
 
 I mean to let it reveal itself, although 
 Dad is such a good fellow, I do turn 
 loose to him now and then. But you 
 were always my safety valve, Mother, 
 and I should have blown up long ago 
 without you. 
 
 You don t know how glad I am to 
 hear from you, for you can understand 
 me better than Dad can. Blessed old 
 Hard Shell writes the funniest letters 
 to me. Seems to think I 11 die of home 
 sickness. I may yet, but he can t hit 
 my homesick streak. I m not quite the 
 martyr he takes me for. I m begin 
 ning to get settled. Why, Mummy 
 dear, Kansas is on the map, and trains 
 run to New York as well as away from 
 it. John Ellerton did n t kick me clear 
 off the universe when he shoved me over 
 the Alleghany ridge. I 11 tell him so 
 sometime when my rheumatism is 
 better. 
 
 But back to your letter. I m glad 
 you are so contented on that stern and 
 rock-bound upheaval above sea level. 
 You say that after all you are never un 
 happy up in Maine because you love the 
 villages and country ways and byways. 
 Maybe I have inherited some streak of 
 that thing myself, for I am getting 
 wonderfully acclimated out here get 
 ting accustomed to the openness of this 
 valley. It is open, too. No use to get 
 behind a ladder to change your neck-tie, 
 as we used to say, for there are too many 
 
32 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 folks on the other side of the ladder. 
 Yet all sides of the ladder interest me 
 and keep on doing it. 
 
 I must tell you about Eunice. She is 
 not like any other farmer s girl I ever 
 saw. There s a cute little curve a^t the 
 corners of her mouth that saves it from 
 being too set. She s got a mind of her 
 own ; says she d vote if she lived in a big 
 city in Kansas where women can do 
 that. But she says it so matter-of-fact 
 like and all, that I believe she would 
 do it gracefully and not be undigni 
 fied if she wanted to. She does every 
 thing else that way, even if she does live 
 in this Wild West. But she is wrapped 
 up in her music, is just crazy about it, 
 and wants to go on studying it some 
 where. All the Bronsons seem set 
 enough in their notions. 
 
 Kansas seems to put purpose into 
 everybody. I confess, Mother, it makes 
 me ashamed of myself sometimes. I 
 don t seem ever to have had a motive 
 for living. New York just supplied my 
 outside life. Inside of me, I ve not be 
 gun to live yet. 
 
 Seth, the big son of the home, is 
 bound to go West and make a mining 
 expert of himself; seems to know the 
 layers of earth clear down to where they 
 spell places with dashes instead of let 
 ters. (Awful Leroy! he won t say that 
 any more. ) 
 
 But why can t he stay here, where 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 33 
 
 he s needed ? I d stay with my father 
 if he d only let me. He s thrust me out 
 into a cold, cold world. But it s a sun 
 shiny world this time, and Solomon in 
 all his glory was never arrayed as this 
 Solomon Valley is in the grandeur of 
 this May morning. Not that this is any 
 finer than New England or York State. 
 There s just such an eternal lot more 
 of it to be seen all at once, it makes a 
 fellow catch his breath and dimly 
 from somewhere comes up that old say 
 ing, "eye hath not seen," etc. Not 
 many such places for the eye to see, I m 
 sure of that. * * * 
 
 Those stars stand for the auto honks. 
 Think of it! I just saved myself from 
 total ruin the week after I came here. I 
 had started in one evening to enlarge 
 on the delights of motoring. It had 
 been raining for an endless time and I 
 was a dark dead blue. So I had to brag 
 about myself or swear. The sunset had 
 just rebuilt the world, made a new 
 heaven and a new earth all out of old 
 gray rags of clouds and a mud-sodden 
 land, and a free sweep of warm wind 
 was cleaning house for all out-of-doors. 
 Well, I d just begun to brag about 
 some motoring I d done in my ancient 
 Eastern life, when Father Bronson said : 
 
 "Eunice, you and Seth might take 
 Mr. Ellerton out to the hills with the 
 machine, this evening, if it is not too 
 damp." 
 
34, 
 
 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 I supposed he meant the sewing ma 
 chine or mowing machine or the sulky 
 plough. I d not been as far as the barn 
 then. But I had the grace to let up on 
 motoring, won t say about swearing, 
 but that was under my breath, while 
 I resigned myself to my accursed fate. 
 And in three minutes, if Seth did n t run 
 out the spankingest big automobile 
 Well, I nearly fell off the front steps. 
 And I ve never said "motor" since. 
 * * * There goes my call again. 
 
 Eunice is down by the front veranda, 
 waiting to take me and this letter over 
 to Talton. The R. F. Deliverer passed 
 an hour ago. They really do have R. F. 
 D. s out here and mail daily. Good as 
 East Machias about that. I can just 
 see Eunice s hair and the back of her 
 neck behind the vines as she sits in the 
 auto. That dark blue linen suit and 
 square sailor collar and the pile of silky 
 hair above it look good to me. So good 
 bye, dearest of Mummies. 
 Lovingly, 
 
 LEROY 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 35 
 
 JUNE 
 
 Letter from LEROY ELLERTON 
 to HIS FATHER 
 
 TALTON, KANSAS, June. 
 DEAR FATHER: 
 
 Here it is mid-June almost before we 
 can think. I am so much better I take 
 no note of time. The hours always drag 
 when one is suffering, and they seem to 
 fly when we forget ourselves. That s 
 what I ve been doing. I think I 
 shouldn t have thought about the time 
 at all if your last letter hadn t had so 
 much of condolence about my being 
 shut up out here. That s a good term 
 for it, so we 11 let it go at that. 
 
 I m finding something new to do 
 every day, and every day I am getting 
 a new power of resistance. This must 
 be the best of all seasons on these prai 
 ries. It quit raining back in May and 
 there is a clear blue dome ten trillion 
 miles across, sloping down to a level 
 green earth that has no bound at all, but 
 ravels out into a blur of pale lavender 
 or deep purple where dome meets plain. 
 Talk about Kansas cyclones ! I Ve for 
 gotten the sound of thunder. 
 
 "Who knows whither the clouds have 
 
 fled? 
 In the unseared heavens they leave 
 
 no wake, 
 
 And eyes forget the tears they have 
 shed" 
 
36 
 
 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 And I have nearly forgotten my rheu 
 matism. 
 
 The June days are warm here, but 
 the nights are glorious, with always a 
 ripple of soft air sweeping up from the 
 south when the sun goes down. And 
 such sunsets! Why, Poppy, they are 
 gorgeous. Bronson s place is located 
 with special regard for them, I guess. 
 Eunice and I watched the show last 
 night. If I were an artist I d put this 
 Solomon Valley on canvas a mile across. 
 Up and down lie acre on acre of heavy 
 green corn land, with golden wheat 
 fields between, and sweeps of alfalfa 
 with its shimmering purple bloom 
 the most beautiful herbage that ever 
 grew. And through it all winds the 
 Solomon River, with its fringe of green 
 ery. Beyond lie pastures with herds of 
 cattle and hay fields brown and yellow 
 with the mid-summer heat. 
 
 Across this spread of land the level 
 rays of sunset fling their splendor, while 
 far up the sky a radiant glory of color 
 no artist can ever paint well, that s 
 the Solomon Valley. And stretching 
 away to the very bound of the world, 
 fold on fold, is a wavy richness of 
 greens and browns and gold, with pur 
 ple shadows into which it all melts at 
 last, and the pink tinting overhead 
 slowly softening into silvery cloud mist. 
 It is worth a journey to see. You may 
 not care for all this landscape. You 
 would if you saw it as I do. 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 37 
 
 The Bronsons aren t half bad, 
 Father. Eunice is a fine girl, really. 
 She can sing very well for Kansas, 
 and she rides still better. I could n t get 
 very lonely with such a wide-awake girl 
 to keep me company. She is the joy of 
 her father s heart, although he is proud 
 of Seth. Seth is going on West to Ore 
 gon, or somewhere else, as soon as he 
 gets through school. The young fellow 
 is silly about mining and can t see that 
 he ought to stay right here, that nothing 
 could be better for him. But that s just 
 the way with some fellows never do 
 know what is good for them. Why, the 
 longer I stay here, the more I see what 
 the ranch should mean to one born to it. 
 Of course, it is n t like the office and all 
 that buying and selling and loaning and 
 foreclosing business you have ready for 
 me when I quit " doing time " out here. 
 Harvesting a thousand or so bushels of 
 wheat is n t done behind glass partitions 
 with onyx-panelled walls and roller-top 
 desks and glittering fixtures and with a 
 brick-and-mortar wall frowning before 
 every window. That s to be my setting 
 when I do business, while Seth here has 
 a range such as the wild cattle of the 
 plains once held, and the eternal swell 
 and slide of all the winds of heaven. 
 Why should he want to leave all this 
 and go " experting" down the black, 
 blinding alleys of coal or copper de 
 posits under the crust of this beautiful 
 earth? Even I know better than that. 
 
38 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 This farm life appeals to me more and 
 more. 
 
 But that s enough about Seth. It is 
 Eunice who interests me. She does sing 
 beautifully, and her one foolish notion 
 just like Seth s going West is to go 
 to New York and have her voice trained 
 and then to go abroad maybe, for more 
 training, and then to sing to crowded 
 houses. A career! What does a 
 woman especially a Kansas woman 
 and a farmer s daughter at that need 
 with one anyhow? And Eunice is a 
 Jayhawker, all right. I like to tease her 
 about the West, she is so loyal to her 
 State. I ve ridiculed everything here 
 just to see how she 11 fight for Kansas. 
 She is so handsome when she is a little 
 bit excited. Then her brown eyes are 
 full of fire and there is a pink flush on 
 her cheeks. She is fair, I told you, with 
 curly golden brown hair and the softest 
 big brown eyes. 
 
 Tuesday, Eunice said, " If you will 
 go with me to-morrow afternoon, I 11 
 show you something you d never find 
 duplicated in your York State nor any 
 other little Atlantic seaboard reserva 
 tion." 
 
 "What is that? "I asked. 
 
 " A forgotten bit of the sea," Eunice 
 answered. 
 
 Late the next afternoon, we were off 
 for a long spin to a little town miles 
 away, where she had an errand of some 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 39 
 
 sort. We had an early supper at the 
 hotel and then we took in the town with 
 its average number of uninteresting 
 things and one or two odd features such 
 as every little town possesses for its 
 own. 
 
 On our way home Eunice turned 
 from the main road to show me that for 
 gotten bit of the sea she had promised. 
 It was a beautiful evening, with 
 such a sunset as I have described. And 
 Eunice but no matter. 
 
 What we went out for to see was a 
 wonderful welling up of salt water just 
 like the clear green waves off Long 
 Island. A huge mound of earth thirty 
 feet high and a hundred across forms the 
 cup which the water fills to the brim. 
 The depth of this pool is only guessed 
 at. So here it lies, by long secret under 
 ground ways reaching out to the sea or 
 some salt spot a thousand miles away 
 maybe. ^Eons and aeons ago the sea 
 waves swept over Kansas, I am told by 
 my geology. And then came its up 
 heavals and down-settlings, its stand- 
 patting and boss-busting and machine- 
 ruling, and all the whole grand mix-up. 
 In which mix the sea went off and forgot 
 this little bit of it. Forgot the combina 
 tion on the cut-off. Or maybe the 
 plumbing of this old earth was as de 
 fective then as a New York flat is 
 to-day. Anyhow, this precious, clear, 
 green pool of salty water was forgot- 
 
40 
 
 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 ten; and year on year, century on cen 
 tury, rising and falling like the tides of 
 the ocean, it dimpled under the summer 
 winds and smiled back at the skies above 
 it. Like the pioneers of this Solomon 
 Valley it defied the drouth to burn it 
 out, or the winter blizzard to lock it up 
 with ice. And the Indians came and 
 called it Waconda Spirit Water 
 and worshipped ever what they could 
 not understand. 
 
 Eunice and I sat down beside this 
 spring and saw the full moon swing up 
 the eastern sky and flood the land with 
 its chastened radiance. All the Solo 
 mon Valley lay like a dream of peace 
 under its spell. If I live a thousand 
 years, I ll never see another moonrise 
 like that nor another such valley of rest 
 and sweet dreamy quiet beauty, until 
 the gates of Paradise swing out for me. 
 
 And, Father, nothing in that scene 
 fitted so well as that Kansas girl, Eunice 
 Bronson, in her pretty white dress, with 
 the wild rose bloom on her cheek. Some 
 how the fever of the world slips off out 
 here sometimes and we get down to the 
 real worth of things, without so much of 
 sham and show. But this letter is al 
 ready miles too long, so good-night. 
 Aff . yours, 
 
 ROY 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 41 
 
 AUGUST 
 
 Letter from LEEOY ELLERTON 
 to HIS FATHER 
 
 T ALTON, KANSAS, August. 
 DEAR FATHER : 
 
 I have neglected you too long, but you 
 know when I dont write, I m all right. 
 I am getting better all the time, al 
 though I m not quite well enough to go 
 home yet. You see, Father dear, this 
 is a whole lot better country than you 
 know anything about back in New 
 York. Of course, you were out here 
 once. I don t wonder you lost your 
 rheumatism. There is no place for it 
 here. Why, right now New York must 
 be like a bake oven. Oh, but I know 
 how hot it is! Of course, it is hot here 
 too, but it bakes out the rheumatism. 
 
 Your little note this morning brought 
 good news. To think of Aunt Pru 
 getting her grip on things again, for 
 getting her aches and pains, and bun 
 dling mother off to Europe for the rest 
 of the season as a reward for caring for 
 her! I guess the old lady is better- 
 hearted, after all, than we give her credit 
 for being. Glorious for Mummy, is n t 
 it? And she deserves it ten times over. 
 But to come back to things earthy 
 that s myself you are wrong this 
 
42 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 time. It didn t make me a bit un 
 happy that it was n t I who was sailing 
 toward Europe. We can t do all we 
 want to do, of course. It s much ado 
 with some of us to do what we ought. 
 There s Seth Bronson with his nose 
 underground smelling out rock forma 
 tions, when the call of the soil ought to 
 be music to him. I can picture every 
 day what a fellow could do with Seth s 
 opportunity here. I think sometimes 
 he half envies me what s coming to me 
 soon the city pavement and sky 
 scraper structures, and the jostling 
 human herd roaring down those gloomy 
 cracks that cities call streets. There 
 are no scrapers out here. The sky is 
 too everlasting far up. And only the 
 great hand of God Almighty can fling 
 the little cirri cloud flakes in groups 
 that slope toward the zenith, or pile the 
 black stupendous thunder folds against 
 the western horizon and illumine them 
 through and through with electric 
 splendor, the token of His own glory. 
 I never saw much of that from 
 your office windows at home. The 
 great lack with city-reared children, 
 I ve figured out, is that we never see 
 anything but the work of men s hands. 
 The grandest structures we may watch 
 go up from a hole in the ground. All 
 the shipping and ship-building is swung 
 by machinery and some man is at the 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 43 
 
 crane s end guiding the pulleys. 
 And every pretty park and bit of 
 natural beauty has the water-works 
 back of it and some sooty fellow in the 
 engine room controlling it all. He can 
 give and take away, can make a world 
 of blue grass and blossoms, or turn 
 off the power and leave only burr- 
 grown sand. It takes the great forests 
 or a stretch of prairie land, something 
 only the Big Architect can build, to put 
 a little reality into a fellow s mind, and 
 anchor him to something permanent. 
 Maybe, Daddy, you have said some of 
 this to me before, but it did n t stick till 
 I worked it out myself here. This is n t 
 a Robinson Crusoe island. I don t go 
 any on the hermit stunt. Neither 
 is it "the madding crowd s ignoble 
 strife" and strut. It is the peace half 
 way between the two, and Seth Bronson 
 is an idiot, that s all. He can t hear the 
 message of every growing stalk of 
 wheat, and the music of mowing ma 
 chines, and know the freedom from the 
 crazy crowd forever at his heels. One s 
 work counts on the farm with Nature 
 for a perpetual partner, putting up the 
 big share of the capital, and with time 
 now and then to stop and live, while the 
 eternal wrangle of men and man-made 
 things goes scrambling and screaming 
 on in the congested centres of human 
 population. Green as I am, I know this 
 
4* THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 much, and I say again that Seth is an 
 idiot fifty-seven varieties of an idiot, 
 and I begrudge the ink it takes to dot 
 the i when I write his title. He may go 
 to * * * the stars. That is n t pro 
 fanity. And I ll write about better 
 subjects. 
 
 I must tell you, Daddy, what a glori 
 ous j aunt we had this week. I Ve teased 
 Eunice about the little shrubs they call 
 trees out here. I ve told her over and 
 over about the real forests up in York 
 State, while she has been saying all 
 Summer, 
 
 " Wait till August, and we will go to 
 see some real trees, grand old oaks." 
 
 I asked her if they were of this 
 Spring s planting, and would be ripe in 
 August. 
 
 But she would only say " Wait and 
 
 see." 
 
 We are having long and clear days. 
 The sky is all fine gold and the earth is 
 a shading from yellow green to the deep 
 est brown. This thin air just suits me 
 and the nights have that dry soft breath 
 that cools but never chills. Let me see, 
 was it Leroy Ellerton who used to 
 dread the damp night air on account of 
 the rheumatism? 
 
 But about the trees. Eunice and I 
 had gone miles and miles up the Solo 
 mon Valley for a long picnic day. And, 
 Father, we did see such a grove of beau- 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 45 
 
 tif ul oaks as you d never think a flat old 
 prairie could grow. They were tucked 
 away in a little valley, where a muddy 
 creek comes winding down to the Solo 
 mon River. You could hardly guess, 
 unless you followed the stream, what 
 was hidden in that deep valley. The 
 dip and swell of the prairie showed us 
 only a line of green leafiness, until sud 
 denly we were at the gateway of a grove 
 sheltering a summer assembly camp 
 ground. 
 
 Nestling under the shadows of the 
 oaks were tents and tents, the out-door 
 homes of the folk all round about this 
 region, who come here every August- 
 time. They were good to look at, too, 
 these inhabitants of the Plains, for, to 
 be square with you, Father, these folks 
 are so much more worth while than I 
 ever thought could be out here that I m 
 going to be honest enough to say so. Of 
 course, there are none of them quite like 
 Eunice, but that s another story. The 
 earth is the Lord s here, all right, but the 
 fulness thereof is piling up in the banks 
 in little towns like Talton. Friends 
 of the Bronsons that I met at this 
 Chautauqua affair do very much like 
 real Easterners; they send their chil 
 dren to college, and they don t seem to 
 think much about it if some member of 
 the family goes to Europe for a summer 
 vacation. I ve not done that yet, you 
 
46 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 may recall. Say, Dad, if you know of 
 any young city chap who wants to go 
 where he can patronize the benighted 
 community by his presence, don t send 
 him this way, please. When Eunice s 
 friends spoke in that commonplace fash 
 ion about going abroad, all I could say 
 was that, "Mother is travelling in 
 Switzerland now," or, "My father s 
 business takes him over often." Re 
 flected glory beats no glory at all, and 
 I just couldn t meet all those friends 
 of the Bronsons as a provincial, even a 
 New York provincial. 
 
 There were many interesting things 
 that day for me, but what struck me 
 most forcibly was the law-abiding spirit 
 of the crowd in that assembly park. It 
 was no beer-garden set. Why, I can t 
 bear the thought of some of our resorts, 
 now that I suppose 1 11 be seeing them 
 
 soon. * * * 
 
 All this before I get to the trees. 
 Ages ago, dense forests must have cov 
 ered this region, which some force later 
 reduced to a grass land, and the prairie 
 fires kept it thus. Only this winding 
 creek had crept lovingly about these 
 great oak trees encircling them penin 
 sular fashion, shielding them from the 
 flames. Through long sunny days and 
 soft dark nights in years that rolled up 
 centuries, the beautiful trees grew and 
 spread their branches. Deep through 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 47 
 
 the black earth they struck strong roots 
 that held firm in the day of the cyclone s 
 wrath. They must be very old; they 
 were growing here, I m sure, when the 
 Pilgrims set foot on Plymouth Rock. 
 And earlier, too, when Coronado and 
 his Spanish knights wandered up to the 
 Smoky Hill River country in search of 
 Quivira and its fabled gold-paved cities. 
 They are fine and venerable looking 
 enough to have been lifting their young 
 green boughs to the rains and bending 
 against the hot winds when Columbus 
 sighted land that October morning four 
 hundred years ago. 
 
 You may think I m getting poetical. 
 It is in the air out here. I tell you, 
 Father, there s nothing new and crude 
 about this Solomon Valley. It is old 
 and time-seasoned. 
 
 That was a glorious day we spent un 
 der the oaks, with their grand green 
 heads and their hundred-foot spread of 
 shade. I Ve heard you talk about your 
 boyhood up in Vermont enough to know 
 how you would feel in such a place for 
 one long, lazy August day. On the way 
 back to Bronsons, we talked about the 
 old oak trees and the different things 
 they mean to different minds. One of the 
 Yale men used to tell us, in his classes, 
 how we made the world each for him 
 self, and how we must each read out 
 and then act out his own destiny. It 
 
48 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 all came back to me in that homewa-rd 
 ride, as many another long- forgotten 
 lesson will come sometimes. 
 
 We didn t do any record-breaking 
 speeding that evening. It was too good 
 to live slowly. The Solomon Valley is 
 in its late summer grandeur, and with 
 the purple mist of evening hanging over 
 it, the whole thing slipped from a wide 
 landscape through a soft blur of helio 
 trope twilight into a black velvety night. 
 Eunice is artistic enough to see all this. 
 She is not like Seth. While he is peer 
 ing underground, her head is among the 
 stars. She has her dream of a musical 
 career cut and basted and fitted on. 
 I Ve found that out, all right. Coming 
 home we turned aside again to visit that 
 spring, the one the Indians called Wa- 
 conda. Whatever it may have meant 
 to them, it had a message for me. The 
 hour was that dim, shadowy time 
 
 " When all the jarring notes of life 
 
 Seem blending in a psalm, 
 
 And all the angles of the strife 
 
 Slow rounding into calm" 
 
 The sharp edges of the day are soft 
 ened and the world is made of curves 
 and harmonious tones of color, pink and 
 gray and amethyst. Looking out to 
 ward the Solomon River winding by 
 black shadowed corn fields and gray- 
 green meadows, I pictured the day when 
 the red man ruled here and this pool of 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 49 
 
 salt sea water was his shrine. His dead 
 lay buried in the bottom lands by the 
 slow-moving Solomon and he stood 
 on this huge mound and sung his weird 
 death-songs, and made offerings of beads 
 and arrows and trophies to the waters, 
 that the Spirit of the Waters would be 
 kind to his departed ones. Did he lift 
 his face in hope to the wide heavens 
 above him and did he hear in the wan 
 dering winds, that ebb and swell 
 across the plains, a voice that spoke of 
 peace and the Great Chieftain s promise 
 of a future life? 
 
 And then I thought farther back to 
 the day when the sea had left this bit 
 of itself, one lonely gem of emerald 
 waters, upon the desert plains. And I 
 thought how down the years, through a 
 hundred hundred generations of men 
 it had kept its place, with all the sea s 
 traditions, color, taste, and motion, ris 
 ing and falling regularly like the ocean 
 tides, here in the heart of the great 
 green plains, a thousand miles from any 
 ocean waters. And I told myself a 
 reason for it all. The mystery of 
 Waconda and its world-old, world- wide 
 lesson came to me like a revelation. I 
 wondered what it meant to Eunice. We 
 had read the same story in the old oak 
 trees. When I spoke to her of the red 
 man, and the origin of the spring, she 
 said: 
 
 "We have another notion of the In- 
 
50 
 
 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 dians out here, but I, too, love this place 
 which they must have loved. Waconda 
 has a story for me, a mystery I have 
 never yet fathomed. I wonder why it 
 is here so far from the great sea, to 
 which it belongs, and if it does not 
 yearn, after the manner of inanimate 
 things, for the great heaving ocean of 
 which it could be a part. 
 
 "I can understand it better, maybe, 
 because I, too, am held here in this val 
 ley by ties hard to break, when all the 
 time I am yearning to get out into the 
 world, to study and work, and then, as 
 a singer, to give delight to lovers of 
 song." 
 
 I wanted to tell her the message the 
 waters were bringing to me. But it 
 was n t the time then. She is so set on 
 this notion of a musical career. 
 
 "We can never see with other peo 
 ple s eyes in this world," she said when 
 we stood up for a last look at the valley, 
 all tenderly gray, deepening into pur 
 ple. " Waconda tells you one story and 
 me another, and they may be very dif 
 ferent. If you should ask Seth, he 
 would give you a mineral analysis, slick 
 and comprehensive. To Father, it is a 
 tragedy. He was too near to the time 
 when this soil was red with the martyr 
 blood of the first white settlers. I am 
 glad we are a generation away from all 
 that, and can look beyond it to the mys- 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 51 
 
 tery of old Waconda of the long, long 
 ago." 
 
 All the way home, Eunice sang sweet 
 ballads, Indian love songs, and snatches 
 from an Arapahoe melody: 
 
 ft Waconda, hear us, hear us! 
 
 Waconda, Oh, behold us! 
 
 Like the embers dying, O Waconda! 
 
 Like the pale mist flying, O Wa 
 conda! 
 
 Wood and prairie fade before us, 
 
 Hills and streams our Fathers gave 
 us, 
 
 Home, and friends of home, O Wa 
 conda! 
 
 And thy children roam, O Waconda! 
 
 Like the weary winds, homeless cry 
 ing." 
 
 Her voice is beautiful, but it seems to 
 fit these open spaces more than it would 
 the crowded, hemmed-in opera houses. 
 That s her business, though, not mine. 
 
 Good-night. There s a lot of doings 
 planned ahead and I must get my 
 beauty sleep. 
 
 Affectionately, 
 
 ROY 
 
52 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 SEPTEMBER 
 
 Letter from JOHN ELLERTON to 
 DANIEL BRONSON 
 
 NEW YORK CITY, September. 
 MY DEAR OLD DAN: 
 
 Roy s case is very hopeful. Why, 
 he s a credit to me ; learns faster than I 
 thought he could ; writes like he had to 
 instruct his green old father concern 
 ing the merits of your family. You 
 must be a splendid teacher. The joke 
 is on the cub, of course. He s got as 
 bad a case of Kansas fever as he had of 
 New York rheumatism. Now, watch 
 him squirm when I write to him to come 
 home. 
 
 You have carried him over the slough 
 as you used to carry me when I was 
 helpless with rheumatism, you blessed 
 old son of a horse thief. Just as you 
 carried me over the rough places at 
 
 Yale " Yours, 
 
 JOHN ELLERTON 
 
 P. S. Mrs. Ellerton is in Europe 
 now. Will spend the Winter on the 
 Continent. 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 53 
 
 Letter from JOHN ELLERTON to 
 HIS SON LEROY 
 
 NEW YORK,, September. 
 DEAR ROY: 
 
 Your six months is nearly up, only 
 two weeks more. On your own confes 
 sion your rheumatism left you in Au 
 gust, but I wanted you to be sure of 
 it. You must be very tired of the Bron- 
 son outfit by this time, so I write to tell 
 you to come home at once. I sail for 
 Liverpool the sixteenth. Come as soon 
 as you get this, and we can go together. 
 You might spend the Fall in Italy with 
 your mother. That would just suit you. 
 You need n t answer. Come. 
 Your loving father, 
 
 JOHN ELLERTON 
 
54 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 Letter from LEROY ELLERTON 
 to HIS FATHER 
 
 TALTON, KANSAS, September. 
 DEAR DADDY : 
 
 What s the blooming matter with you, 
 anyhow? And why did you ever think 
 I d want to spend a glorious Autumn 
 in such a Dago land as Italy ? I have n t 
 asked for a reprieve, have I ? I m will 
 ing to serve out my sentence here. You 
 have gone galumphing off to Liverpool 
 a dozen times without me; and mother 
 has been in Maine in the Summers or 
 in Florida in the Winters, leaving me 
 an orphan, since I was sixteen. Kansas 
 is just in its glory now. They say the 
 Octobers are splendid here. I can be 
 lieve it, and I m writing to ask for an 
 extension of my sentence of six months, 
 on account of bad behavior. 
 
 You know I came West under pro 
 test. Now, why do you insist on cutting 
 off two weeks of the time just when this 
 old earth is at its finest? You can t 
 know in smoky, noisy, rushing New 
 York, where the sun, moon, and stars, 
 the changing seasons, and everything 
 beautiful is lost in the crazy, reeling 
 masses of people and mountains of brick 
 walls, you can t know what this time 
 of the year is like out here. 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 55 
 
 "All the rich and gorgeous glintings 
 Merging into matchless tintings, 
 As the summer blossoms dwindle,, 
 And the autumn landscapes kindle, 
 Setting vale and upland flaming 
 In a glory past all naming." 
 
 That s the Solomon Valley in Octo 
 ber, and a myriad changing hues make 
 the landscape radiant with beauty. 
 Everything is arranged for three or 
 four weeks ahead. When you see 
 mother, tell her I m the best I Ve been 
 in three years. I Ve got the recupera 
 tive power of Aunt Pru. 
 
 When I read your letter to Eunice 
 she looked a little disappointed, I 
 thought, but when I told her I should 
 ask for a stay of execution she only 
 laughed and recommended me to Italy. 
 Mr. Bronson is waiting to take this let 
 ter to Talton. Hope you will have a 
 fair voyage to Liverpool, but I can t 
 possibly join you now. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 ROY 
 
56 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 Special Delivery Letter from JOHN 
 ELLERTON to HIS SON 
 
 NEW YORK, September. 
 DEAR ROY: 
 
 I have put off sailing until the 
 twenty-first, so you can get here in time 
 to go with me. Now don t think your 
 father too blind not to see that you are 
 merely frittering away your time with a 
 green young Kansas girl. You are 
 born and bred to the city and you went 
 out to that God-forsaken Solomon Val 
 ley only to get rid of your rheumatism. 
 Now that it is gone, you must begin the 
 life of a New York business man in real 
 earnest. You can spend the Fall in 
 Italy. That is your final polish. Then 
 the grind begins for you. I need you 
 in my office now and as soon as we get 
 home from this trip abroad, you and I 
 will make a firm that will cut rock in 
 this great, busy, rushing city. Don t 
 write, but come. 
 
 Your loving father, 
 
 J. E. 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 57 
 
 Special Delivery Letter from LEROY 
 ELLERTON to HIS FATHER 
 
 TALTON, KANSAS,, September. 
 DEAR FATHER: 
 
 Your " special " got here all right. I 
 had my plans all set for another month, 
 but I am obedient, if I m anything. It 
 is too late for me to make the twenty- 
 first. I ll follow on the next steamer. I 
 told Eunice last night what you said 
 about my staying in New York. You 
 need not be uneasy about that. She is as 
 willing I should be in that big human 
 maelstrom as you are eager to fasten 
 me there. I found that out without her 
 knowing it. I had thought but never 
 mind. I did n t tell her what you wrote 
 about her being a " green Kansas girl." 
 I ll write you at Liverpool and join you 
 there later. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 ROY 
 
58 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 Telegram 
 
 LEROY ELLERTON, 
 TALTON, KANSAS. 
 
 I sail the twenty-fourth. Come at 
 once. 
 
 J.E. 
 
 Telegram 
 
 JOHN ELLERTON, 
 
 NEW YORK CITY. 
 
 Can t make it. 
 
 ROY 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 59 
 
 NOVEMBER 
 
 Letter from JOHN ELLERTON to 
 DANIEL BRONSON 
 
 LIVERPOOL 
 
 DANIEL BRONSON,, 
 
 T ALTON, KANSAS, U. S. A. 
 DEAR DAN : 
 
 I can t tell you how I regret missing 
 your letter which Leroy sent on to me 
 here. 
 
 Had I received it sooner, I could have 
 cabled Roy to stay in New York until 
 after your daughter Eunice should 
 arrive. He could have made her feel at 
 home at once. 
 
 You see, I had to come on here with 
 out Roy, and when he reached New 
 York from the West, a cablegram from 
 me kept him from sailing at once. I 
 had to leave some business for him to 
 look after. I had already wired for him 
 to come on before I received the letter 
 of yours asking me to look after Miss 
 Eunice. And he will be on the ocean 
 when she reaches the city. But I have 
 sent word to friends of ours who will 
 meet her and do all any one could do for 
 her, I am sure, except possibly Mrs. 
 Ellerton, if she were at home. She and 
 Roy will spend the next two months in 
 Italy. 
 
60 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 After all you did for Roy, this is a 
 poor return to you and Miss Eunice, 
 and you know how sincerely I regret it. 
 I hope your daughter may like the city 
 as well as Roy seemed to like Kansas 
 last Summer. I haven t seen him yet, 
 but look for him on the next steamer. 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 JOHN ELLERTON 
 
 P. S. We will all be back in March 
 or April and if we don t show Eunice 
 a good time, it will be the fault of New 
 York, not of the Ellerton family. 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 6i 
 
 Letter from EUNICE BRONSON, 
 
 New York, to DANIEL BRON- 
 
 SON, Kansas. 
 
 NEW YORK, November. 
 MY DEAR FATHER: 
 
 I reached N. Y. all right and found 
 friends of the Ellertons waiting for me, 
 who took me to the Conservatory of 
 Music at once. I am nicely settled and 
 I know I shall be as happy here as I 
 can be anywhere away from you. The 
 home on the Solomon seems pretty 
 good to me to-night. I am homesick 
 for Kansas for a minute. But only for 
 a minute. The teachers here are 
 full of praise for my work, and the 
 promise of my future. Oh, if I could 
 only fill a great opera house with my 
 song until the very rafters rang with 
 applause! I hope my ambition isn t 
 sinful, because I know I should be giv 
 ing the sweetest pleasure to music-hun 
 gry hearts. And why should not my 
 ambition be fulfilled, if I put all my 
 strength into my work? Since I was 
 just a slip of a girl, I have been looking 
 forward to this day when I should have 
 the opportunity to try my powers. 
 Even in the time when coming East to 
 study seemed a wild impossibility for a 
 Kansas girl, because we hadn t the 
 money then, and New York was such a 
 far-away thing, frowning coldly on a 
 
62 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 farmer s daughter from the West. But 
 now, oh, Father, I m walking on the 
 cloud-tops, I m so happy to be here in 
 this whirl of real life. If it was n t for 
 you and Seth I d forget there ever was 
 a Solomon Valley. 
 
 It is so good of you, Father dear, to 
 let me come, when the house must be 
 lonely, with only a housekeeper in it. 
 You realize, for you have lived here, how 
 great it is for me to get away from the 
 farm and the narrow life on the prairie, 
 and to be in this wonderful city where 
 they do things. Buy to-day, and sell to 
 morrow; not plant in September and 
 maybe after a long Winter and 
 longer Spring, late in June garner in 
 the harvest as we do our wheat. Pro 
 vided always that the drouth and the 
 winds and the fly and the May floods 
 have been merciful. 
 
 I can see your eyes twinkle as you 
 say: 
 
 " It is good wheat money that is send 
 ing my daughter to New York." 
 
 It isn t wheat money that keeps this 
 city on the everlasting jump, I am sure, 
 and the queer thing in all this to me is 
 that I seem to feel at home in it. I do 
 believe that somewhere back in some 
 past incarnation that Theosophists un 
 derstand (I don t), I do believe that 
 I was a real city girl, born and bred. 
 Of course, I m a Jayhawker still, but 
 it is just glorious here. I know I m 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 63 
 
 coming into my own, into freedom and 
 opportunity, into the busy pulsing life 
 of the great tides of humanity that 
 surge these streets as the waters of the 
 Atlantic surge up against its shores. 
 And I am a part of it all, instead of 
 being tied to the prairie like poor lonely 
 little Waconda Springs, lost and for 
 gotten by the big ocean to which it be 
 longs. 
 
 And Seth is gone too. The call of 
 the West was as strong for him as the 
 call of the East for me. He has sent 
 me a perfectly grand letter from the 
 Columbia River country. No use talk 
 ing, Father, one or the other of us will 
 yet pull you away from the ranch. 
 Which pole of the magnet will be the 
 stronger, I wonder. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 EUNICE 
 
 P. S. You would never guess whom 
 I saw this morning. I was hurrying 
 up to the Conservatory. The elevator 
 was crowded, and, just as some one 
 pushed me rudely I m not fast 
 enough for New York yet I found an 
 arm put out to protect me, and in a 
 moment the crowd had pressed me so 
 close to Leroy Ellerton I could hardly 
 see his face. He put his arm between 
 me and the crowd to shield me. I was 
 so glad to see him, for I am a bit lonely 
 
64 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 here, when I look for a familiar face in 
 the crowd. 
 
 I thought he went abroad in October, 
 but it seems he didn t go. He said he 
 had to stay here and look after his 
 father s business, said he had to give up 
 all that beautiful trip to Italy he had 
 told you and me about before he left 
 Talton in September. How long ago 
 it seems now since I was at home and 
 Leroy was our guest. He is coming 
 Sunday to take me to hear a great 
 soloist at one of the big churches. One 
 has such opportunities for those things 
 here. Oh, I am sure I shall like it more 
 and more. But when it comes to say 
 ing good-bye, dear Papa, I am not real 
 sure about that past incarnation. But 
 let it stand. I remember what you said 
 when I left home: " If I would study 
 hard and if I liked it here, I might stay 
 as long as I pleased." I 11 tell you 
 later about that. EUNICE 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 65 
 
 Letter from LEROY ELLERTON, 
 
 New York, to JOHN ELLER- 
 
 TON, Liverpool. 
 
 NEW YORK, November. 
 DEAR FATHER: 
 
 I am doing very well with the office 
 work, although I 11 be mighty glad 
 when your ship steams in again. I read 
 all you wrote about what I was missing 
 by not trotting after you to Europe in 
 October, as I promised to do when I 
 left Kansas. Great guns! Dad, it was 
 your own fault I did not go at once. 
 Your cablegram keeping me here for a 
 month was waiting for me when I got 
 in from the West. I confess it didn t 
 look bad to me, though, to read that I 
 would be needed in the office here for a 
 short time. I stayed willingly, because 
 the old Atlantic had a sort of impass 
 able look every time I saw it. And 
 now you try to make me feel what I m 
 losing by not accepting this offer from 
 you to tour Italy in December and 
 January. I reckon Italy will be stick 
 ing on the map yet a while, and I can 
 see it most any old December or Janu 
 ary, unless Vesuvius takes a notion to 
 blow it up. In that case I m safer 
 here anyhow. 
 
66 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 By the way, old Bronson s daughter, 
 the " green Kansas girl," you called her, 
 is in New York now studying voice cul 
 ture. Don t turn up your aristocratic 
 nose and ask how a Kaw squaw can do 
 anything with voice culture. It makes 
 me wrathy with my paternal relative 
 every time I think of how you regard 
 Eunice Bronson. I met her in an up 
 town elevator this morning. I mean 
 she met me, for I saw her come from 
 her train and meet our friends, and I 
 saw where they lodged her. In fact, 
 I ve been pretty much awake to every 
 move she has made in New York. But 
 to-day we came together in an elevator 
 where a metropolitan hog was about to 
 jostle the timid little Western girl off 
 the edge of the earth. 
 
 She thought I had gone abroad, but 
 I told her I was looking after your busi 
 ness. That s straight goods, Daddy; 
 I m managing your estate and I was n t 
 telling any story. You ll say I could 
 drop it any half -minute and join you if 
 I chose. But I don t choose not right 
 now anyhow. 
 
 Yours an ., 
 
 LEROY 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 67 
 
 DECEMBER 
 
 Letter from EUNICE BRONSON, 
 
 New York, to DANIEL BRON- 
 
 SON, Kansas. 
 
 NEW YORK, Christmas Eve. 
 DEAR FATHER: 
 
 It is Christmas Eve, such a cold 
 white Yule-time as I can hardly remem 
 ber in Kansas. And I remember every 
 thing that ever happened in my life in 
 the West, although I am thoroughly 
 acclimated here, and feel as if I might 
 have lived here forever. 
 
 Yet always I m thinking of you and 
 Seth. And especially to-night, my first 
 holiday season away from home. I do 
 so much wish you a happy Christmas, 
 Father. There s a misgiving down in 
 my heart as I write this. Can you have 
 a real happy Christmas with both of us 
 away? Is your heart in the ranch house 
 on the Solomon to-night? Or is it half 
 in Seattle with my big brother, and half 
 in New York with me? 
 
 I don t blame Seth for going West. 
 That is a man s right. But I am not 
 sure of myself to-night. Ought I to be 
 at home with my lonely father ? It puts 
 a sadness in this Christmas Eve for me. 
 And yet, I remember how you delighted 
 in all my plans for coming East, and 
 every letter you write is so full of inter- 
 
68 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 est in my work, and hope that I may 
 win. I guess you love your little girl 
 too much for either of us to be unhappy. 
 And I am going to win, Father. That s 
 what I came here to do. I am studying 
 hard. I never worked in that farm 
 house in the days when the crops failed 
 and we couldn t afford to hire help as 
 I am working now. But I am so happy 
 in it all, it hardly seems like work. And 
 as to liking New York I love it. I 
 have found so many pleasant people. 
 New friends do not crowd out old ones 
 at all. I find room for both. Leroy 
 has been very kind to me and I Ve had 
 such a round of good things I Ve been 
 in a perfect whirl. I can t realize 
 sometimes that I am the same Kansas 
 girl who came to New York last Fall. 
 Life here is so different, so hurried and 
 feverish, I wonder where it will lead to, 
 sometimes. Yet, I like it for this very 
 hurry. 
 
 And here is your letter saying you 11 
 send me to Europe where I may study 
 all next year if I like. Of course, I 
 want to go to Europe. It is the dream 
 of all my years. Everybody says my 
 success is assured if only I can get a 
 little foreign training. You would be 
 so proud of me if I made a name for 
 myself as a singer. And I shall try so 
 hard to earn a great name. 
 
 Leroy was here last night. He is a 
 full-fledged business man now. We 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 69 
 
 talked of the trip to Europe. Some 
 how he is more enthusiastic than any 
 body else about my going, but he never 
 mentions the matter unless I bring it 
 up, and he always changes the subject. 
 But when he does talk he just makes 
 Europe out a perfect paradise of oppor 
 tunity and urges me to go, even when 
 I tell him how lonely you will be with 
 out me. 
 
 My teachers here say that I must 
 have had very fine instruction before 
 coming to them, or I could not have 
 made such progress in so short a time 
 here, nor give such promise of results 
 when I go abroad. Of course, I know 
 I had good teachers. 
 
 What do you suppose Leroy said to 
 me to-night ? He came over to wish me 
 the season s greeting, and to bring me a 
 big bunch of the most exquisite roses I 
 ever saw. When I told him what the 
 professor at the Conservatory had said 
 of my training, he replied: 
 
 " It s because you sang so much in 
 the open air. It was the prairie that 
 put tone and volume into your voice." 
 
 I answered that it was my good col 
 lege training. 
 
 " It takes the West to put foundation 
 under the East," I said jokingly. 
 
 Yes, and it takes some Western 
 folks to knock the foundation out from 
 under some of us," Leroy answered, 
 and changed the subject. 
 
70 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 It is getting late and the Christmas 
 bells will be chiming soon their old, old 
 music of "peace on earth, good will 
 to men." Peace and good will, and all 
 a daughter s love, I am sending to you 
 so far away in the Solomon Valley to 
 night, where the world is still and full 
 of peace. The roar in New York seems 
 never to stop. I am going to get away 
 out of it for a little moment and dream 
 myself back in the home with you. 
 
 Father, may I tell you a secret? I 
 have nobody but you to whom I can 
 write or speak. I wish I did n t care so 
 much for what Leroy thinks. But I 
 do. He does not know will never 
 know. He is wrapped up in this busy 
 life of the city. And he is making 
 money. He does n t care whether I go 
 to Berlin or Talton. It all began last 
 Summer. I tried to think I should for 
 get it when he was gone. I put 
 all my heart into my work and I m 
 keeping it there, for that is my life. So, 
 giving it up now would be like giving 
 up my life. And yet, sometimes, I Ve 
 dreamed of how a home might be with 
 one I most loved there. 
 
 But there is no use to think of what 
 might be. What is, is a hard-hearted, 
 cool-spirited, city-bred business man, 
 engrossed heart and soul in dollars and 
 cents and the great rushing crowd of a 
 tremendous city, of which he is a 
 part; and a maiden destined to be a 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 71 
 
 maiden always who longs for the 
 success that must come, a name of 
 world-wide note, and the fame that is 
 honestly won and belongs to those who 
 do great things. 
 
 Father dear, you must never tell that 
 I told you this about Roy. It is a relief 
 to tell you. Now it is written, I feel 
 better. 
 
 When I get all my plans for Europe 
 arranged, I 11 write them in full. Are 
 you sure you won t miss me too much? 
 
 These beautiful roses fill the air with 
 their perfume. They are dainty and 
 pink like the pink tints of a twilight sky 
 that I Ve seen above the prairies beyond 
 Waconda. * * * 
 
 Midnight, and the Christmas bells are 
 chiming now. They seem to voice my 
 love to you, dear, far-away Father, so 
 good to me. I hope these sweet-toned 
 bells bring dreams of peace to all I love 
 you and Seth and even to Leroy, 
 who is not thinking of me as they chime. 
 He is dreaming of the business success 
 he is to achieve. Peace and good will, 
 and all good things be yours. 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 EUNICE 
 
72 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 Letter from LEEOY ELLERTON 
 to his MOTHER 
 
 NEW YORK, Christmas Eve. 
 DEAR, DEAR MOTHER: 
 
 My Christmas greeting to you this 
 white, clear Christmas eve, not by let 
 ter nor cable, but by that wireless line 
 of love vibrating from the heart of every 
 boy who loves his mother as I do you. 
 And equal greeting and love to my 
 father with you but it s a different 
 kind of affection. You know a fellow s 
 mother is his mother, that s all. And 
 if it was n t Christmastide and I had the 
 chance, I d like to punch the old gentle 
 man a round or two just to paste time 
 out of him, as the boys say, for the low- 
 down trick he played on me last Spring. 
 
 To think of him and Daniel Bronson 
 being boy playmates and old college 
 chums at Yale, the lobsters! And of 
 sending me, all verdant and innocent, 
 out to Kansas to make a fool of myself. 
 Well, it was a good thing the Atlantic 
 was between us when I read your letter, 
 explaining everything. As I say, it s 
 the Yule time of love, so I 11 be mild. 
 Only, if old Vesuvius should get to act 
 ing ugly, keep him on the landward side 
 of you. He ought to be shaken up and 
 likewise scorched and have sackcloth 
 and ashes for his portion for a while. 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 73 
 
 I ve tried to think of all the silly, 
 snobbish things I said at the Bronsons 
 last April and May tried to forget 
 them rather, for they come back to my 
 mind often enough. I m glad I had 
 the sense to get over it all before many 
 weeks and to see how the land lay. I 
 inherited that sense from you, dearie 
 (Dad hasn t that much altogether, let 
 alone giving me any) , and I quit acting 
 the idiot pretty early in the game. But 
 it is the hour of peace on earth and good 
 will to men. I wish the angels had 
 made it women too, and not in irrever 
 ence, I wish it. 
 
 Mother dear, I must tell you some 
 things to-night, just as I used to tell 
 you my troubles when I was a little boy 
 and cuddled down by your knee on win 
 ter evenings. Let me feel your hand 
 on my hair again as I write. 
 
 I learned more than father had 
 thought about in Kansas last Summer. 
 He wanted me to find out what the 
 West is like. That rheumatism busi 
 ness was only a side issue with him. It 
 did get me away from thinking of my 
 own ailments. I m doubly grateful for 
 that. Heaven save us from a whining 
 man! or anybody else who dotes on 
 " symptoms " and keeps his pains posted 
 up for public inspection. Ellerton, 
 Senior, wanted me to find out the 
 worth of character in rural homes and 
 
74 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 country lives. I found it out. Give 
 me 99 per cent plus on Exhibit " A." 
 
 Mother, I found more than that. I 
 saw clearly the way of life I want to go. 
 It is in my New England blood to love 
 the soil. Am I not the son of Vermont 
 and Maine, both of my parents born 
 and reared away from the city? I 
 wakened to my kingdom one day out 
 on the Kansas prairies. It began by 
 finding fault with Seth Bronson for not 
 wanting to stay on the ranch with his 
 father. What he was turning down 
 seemed so full of promise to me. I 
 love those grand, open fields on the 
 sunny plains. The growing crops and 
 fattening stock, the bounty of Nature, 
 and the chance to think and live all 
 called to me as nothing else in this world 
 ever did or ever will. 
 
 Yes, I m fixed here, in the city, with 
 one foot lariated to an office desk-leg, 
 and I shall pay out my rope as far as 
 the parks, now and then in the spring 
 and summer time, while out in Kansas, 
 the 
 
 "Rolling prairie s billowy swell, 
 Breezy upland, and timbered dell, 
 Stately mansion, and hut forlorn 
 All are hidden by walls of corn." 
 
 I m trying heart and soul to be the 
 junior partner here and to do my work 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 75 
 
 well. And I 11 keep on till it is second 
 nature to me. 
 
 There was another lesson I learned 
 in the West, one that Father didn t 
 know was in the book, or he might not 
 have selected the Solomon Valley as a 
 sanitarium for me. Let me whisper, 
 Mummy. I learned to love a dear, 
 sweet-faced country girl, a wide-awake, 
 capable, fun-loving, but scholarly, 
 thinking girl. A girl with a life pur 
 pose of her own ding it ! a plan 
 for the future so big and definite that 
 I cut no figure in it. I ve told you 
 about Eunice Bronson and her notion 
 of being a musician. She is here now, 
 taking voice culture under New York s 
 Best. Said Best are wild about her, 
 urging her to keep to this purpose 
 she brought with her. Study here and 
 abroad! Training under the best Mas 
 ters of Europe! I hear it all the time. 
 
 For I stay pretty close to her here. 
 You can guess why I turned down Italy 
 this year. I m a fool still. Father 11 
 have to play a bigger trick yet to get 
 me altogether cured. I ? m going to 
 stay here too, as long as she is in New 
 York. It is my last, last time, you see. 
 Also, you can see how there is nothing 
 for me in the Solomon Valley now, even 
 if I could cut this business career. 
 
 Have I told her all this? Not I. I 
 tried to when we were at Waconda 
 
76 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 Springs one August evening. But I 
 read her story first and I knew it would 
 be wasted time, so I kept still. I had 
 hope then, of something changing 
 things. I haven t any more. She is 
 planning to go to Europe in June. 
 When her steamer sails, it will carry 
 my one dream of happiness with it. So, 
 I m going to keep her near me as long 
 as I can; and when she gets ready to 
 leave New York, I 11 slip up to Mon 
 treal for a fortnight, so I can t play the 
 
 blamed fool and go with her. 
 It would be like me. I m such a - 
 chump. And then when she is out in 
 mid-ocean, I 11 come back and resume 
 my fetters here. 
 
 But, mother darling, I 11 play the 
 man and make my bondage my help. 
 I m not going to be a silly kind of idiot. 
 I 11 just do the best work possible and 
 you and father will be proud of me as 
 a business man some day, I hope. 
 
 The Christmas bells are chiming, so 
 it is midnight. This is the strangest 
 Christmas I have ever known. The only 
 peace on earth for me, dear mother, is 
 the peace of overcoming. Surely there 
 will be a day when I ll forget all this 
 and be as happy as I used to be. 
 Life has these rifts, I know. But the 
 chasms close again, don t they ? * * * 
 There are the bells again, so sweet and 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 77 
 
 clear. I hope they are sounding softly 
 in dreams for Eunice, who is dreaming 
 of fame, not of me. To you and father, 
 far away, a joyous Christmas. And to 
 all the world, from Leroy Ellerton, 
 good will and peace. 
 
 Good-night and good-morning, pre 
 cious Mother. 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 ROY 
 
78 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 Letter from DANIEL BRONSON, 
 
 Kansas, to EUNICE BRON- 
 
 SON, New York 
 
 KANSAS, Christmas Eve. 
 DEAR DAUGHTER EUNICE : 
 
 This is Christmas Eve, and although 
 I am all alone, I am happy to send 
 Christmas greeting to my children. I 
 sent all the Christmas gifts by express 
 a week ago, so you will be sure to have 
 them in the morning. The house seems 
 pretty big and hollow-sounding, for it 
 is the first time in a quarter of a century 
 that I have been alone when the holiday 
 season came. 
 
 It seems such a little while ago that 
 you and Seth were toddling about in 
 our little two-roomed house. That s 
 the tool-house now. Ellerton, your 
 oldest brother, was born in a dugout 
 one Christmas Eve, twenty-four years 
 ago. Poor, little baby! He didn t 
 live the summer through. We had a 
 better home a palace it was to your 
 mother and me when you and Seth 
 came to us. And yet, how poor we 
 were ! No Christmas stockings in those 
 first years. We just kept Christmas 
 in our hearts, which isn t a bad place, 
 Eunice, to celebrate it. For we were 
 happy in each other s love, my wife and 
 I, and in our two sturdy little ones, who 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 79 
 
 never knew what sickness meant. These 
 things made up for the lack of beau 
 tiful gifts. Such a little while ago all 
 that was. And now Christmas Eve is 
 here again. The quarter section of 
 land I preempted on the frontier is 
 only one-eighth of the Bronson ranch 
 to-day. The little dugout is the dog 
 house now, and the 12x14 homestead, 
 a vine-covered tool shelter. Fourteen 
 rooms, and upper and lower verandas, 
 hot and cold water, a lighting and heat 
 ing system, etc., etc. These things have 
 grown up from year to year. 
 
 But to-night, although I am utterly 
 alone, daughter dear, I won t say I am 
 lonely, for I know my children s hearts 
 are with me. And space does n t count 
 where love is strong. 
 
 Seth writes that it is bitterly cold in 
 Seattle, and I see by the daily papers 
 that New York will have a white 
 Christmas. Out here the air is almost 
 balmy, and the skies are cloudless. 
 There is a sort of October haze over 
 the landscape, a sweet restfulness and 
 peace that seem to pervade every 
 thing. 
 
 I had business over Waconda way 
 to-day. It was sunset when I reached 
 the Springs coming home. I was in 
 no hurry, for there were no little chil 
 dren waiting at home for me to-night. 
 
so THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 So, I turned aside and went over to 
 Waconda while the sun sank from sight 
 and the twilight of this beautiful Christ 
 mas Eve came on. My heart that had 
 been sore and aching for my children 
 was at peace as I sat on the rocks and 
 thought of you. 
 
 Seth is more than making good, he 
 writes, and is infatuated with Seattle. 
 It seems a certain black-eyed Manhat 
 tan girl, a classmate of his, has gone to 
 Seattle in the interests of Domestic Sci 
 ence, and Seth, also in the interests of 
 Domestic Science, is finding that city 
 a good location. As I sat by the 
 " Spirit Springs," as we used to call it, 
 and watched the changing beauty of the 
 twilight, I lived my youth over again 
 until my own heart-ache slipped away. 
 For love is a divine thing. 
 
 " The love of home and native land, 
 And that which springs twixt son 
 
 and sire, 
 And that which welds the heart and 
 
 hand 
 
 Of man and maiden in its fire 
 Are signs by which we understand 
 The Love whose passion shook the 
 
 Cross; 
 
 And all those loves that deep and broad 
 Make princely gain or priceless loss, 
 Reveal the Love that lives in God 
 As in a blood-illumined gloss" 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY si 
 
 I thought of my daughter away to 
 the eastward. I know, Eunice, that 
 your heart is full of joy to-night, be 
 cause New York holds the best things 
 in the world for you now, although you 
 have put away the things that are mak 
 ing my boy s Christmas good. You will 
 come back to them some day, when 
 fame and success are won. God grant 
 you do not return too late. There 
 comes a time to all of us when the sweet 
 est peace we can know is the peace of 
 overcoming; of forgetting ourselves in 
 our love for our fellow man. 
 
 Believe me, dearie, there wasn t a 
 happier man in all Kansas to-night 
 than your old farmer father, driving 
 home in the quiet evening time. I 
 lifted my face to the open skies and 
 looked into the faces of the stars, the 
 same old stars that watched this valley 
 long before Waconda was here, and 
 down through countless centuries while 
 bald rock became sandy desert, and 
 sandy desert grew to grassy plain, and 
 grassy plain to verdant prairie, which 
 human hands even my hands have 
 helped to turn to fruitful fields, for a 
 h appy folk to thrive upon. 
 
 And back of these changeless stars is 
 the changeless love of the Heavenly 
 Father. His right hand has guided me 
 down the years. I love the land where 
 I have walked with Him in storm and 
 
82 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 sunshine; so the Christmas peace and 
 good will are blessing the Solomon Val 
 ley for me. 
 
 It is growing late almost midnight. 
 May the love of God, the Father Al 
 mighty, and of Jesus Christ, His Son, 
 be and abide with my children now and 
 through the coming years. 
 
 Your affectionate father, 
 
 DANIEL BRONSON 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY ss 
 
 JUNE 
 
 Letter from EUNICE BRONSON, 
 
 Talton, Kansas, to LEROY EL- 
 
 LERTON, New York City. 
 
 TALTON, KANSAS, June. 
 MY DEAR FRIEND : 
 
 Here I am again out on the ranch in 
 the Solomon Valley. Of course you, 
 with all of my New York friends, will 
 be utterly disappointed in me, for my 
 career was so full of promise. And 
 father had given full consent for me to 
 go on with my music under German 
 masters. Oh, it was a rosy world open 
 ing before me, full of busy days, of 
 struggling onward, winning my way 
 step by step, and maybe too, full of 
 rivalry and much defeat before fame 
 came. For that was what I wanted 
 or thought I wanted the sound of 
 praise, the cheering audiences, the 
 power of mastery over listening minds, 
 the rush and whirl and glitter of a grand 
 career. 
 
 When you went up to Montreal on 
 business just before I was ready to sail, 
 I don t know what led me to stop long 
 enough to sit down and take stock of 
 myself. But I did. I weighed Life 
 as if it were calculated in ounces and 
 pounds. And the result was this: I 
 gave up every plan and hope and 
 
84 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 dream and came back again to Kansas, 
 because my father wanted me and 
 needed me. He didn t tell me 
 so. Brave old farmer that he is! He 
 learned long ago how to endure and not 
 complain. One gleans that lesson from 
 the prairie sod in the years when the 
 sunshine is a furnace and the clouds for 
 get their rain and the fierce winds blow 
 all the seed away from the loose, dusty 
 earth. In such years the farmers wait 
 unchanged like Waconda, sure that 
 other seasons will bring fruition of their 
 hopes. And so my father waited, fill 
 ing every letter with cheery words. He 
 sent me all the funds I needed and put 
 no bar in the way of my doing just as 
 I chose. 
 
 Give me credit, or blame me alone, 
 for turning my face from the East. 
 And don t be too severe, please, for I 
 have valued your friendship. And now 
 that you are a fixture in the city, a 
 wheel in the great machinery of its 
 business, and I am only a home-maker 
 in a Kansas farm house, our lives will 
 run so far apart, it will be by merest 
 chance of Fate that they will ever cross 
 lines again. Please do not think I am 
 making an utter failure of living. Re 
 member me kindly if you remember at 
 all. I told you once out by Waconda, 
 the message of whose waters I could 
 never understand, that we must read 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 8 5 
 
 life, each for himself. I do not know 
 why that piece of the green ocean is held 
 here in the heart of the green prairie, 
 but I do know that my work is here 
 with my father and home and the best 
 folks on earth these lifetime neigh 
 bors and friends who are a part of 
 this Solomon River country. 
 
 If you could only see how this home 
 looks to my eyes that I thought could 
 never grow weary of city grandeur, and 
 if you could see the vast, beautiful out 
 door world unrolling its June splendor, 
 you would be gentle in your thought of 
 me. The call of the West was in 
 my ears day and night, much as I 
 tried to drown it with the noise of the 
 city and the roar of the Atlantic and 
 the cries of Fame urging me on. The 
 bustle of New York, the fever for a 
 career, go down, for me before the du 
 ties of home; and the handsome parks, 
 the huge buildings, the rushing crowds, 
 all give place to the wide Kansas prai 
 ries and the peace of the Solomon Val 
 ley. You will be disappointed in me, 
 and disgusted with me. But while I 
 miss many things I have been having 
 for nearly a year, I am finding real life 
 here, and rest, and well, you know, I 
 was born in Kansas, and after all, I m 
 happiest here. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 EUNICE BRONSON 
 
86 
 
 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 P. S. Strangely enough, I can reach 
 the high notes here when I sing out on 
 the open prairie that I never could 
 reach in the Conservatory. My voice 
 is richest here. So, I must belong in 
 the heart of Kansas. 
 
 EUNICE 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 87 
 
 Letter from LEEOY ELLERTON, 
 
 Talton, Kansas, to JOHN EL- 
 
 LERTON, Liverpool 
 
 TALTON, KANSAS, June. 
 MY DEAR FATHER: 
 
 Don t be surprised when you get this, 
 not too surprised, anyhow. I send this 
 to Liverpool so you may know what to 
 expect when you get to New York. 
 I m out hunting the rheumatism I lost 
 here once. 
 
 You see, Father, I came West first 
 against my will, for I am a born New 
 Yorker, that is to say I was a narrow 
 provincial. It didn t take many weeks 
 for me to learn my lesson that this is 
 the real thing, not mere sham living, as 
 I had supposed it would be. More 
 than that, I found the dearest girl in 
 the world out here. I lost my rheuma 
 tism and heart at the same time. And 
 I learned to detest the city jungle as I 
 learned to love this valley. The only 
 thing I have ever really wanted to do 
 is to put my whole energy into the life 
 and work of a Kansas ranch. Maybe 
 nobody ever heard of a city boy want 
 ing to become a farmer. Let me tell 
 you that lazy Leroy Ellerton never 
 really lived in any city; he just stayed 
 there to be with his parents and 
 give dignity to the family through his 
 infancy and boyhood, and until he 
 had finished college. One day, out in 
 
88 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 the Solomon Valley, his real self awoke, 
 and clamored for its rights. Day by 
 day through a glorious Summer he saw 
 more and more clearly the work his 
 heart and hand were yearning for. 
 There are so many misfits in this world, 
 the wonder is there is any success at all. 
 So many " square men in round holes," 
 etc., and the trouble generally comes in 
 trying to make a "rounder" of the 
 square man instead of working a little 
 on the hole he must fit into. 
 
 Anyhow, the same Leroy boy knew 
 eternally well what he could do best and 
 was just planning to negotiate matters 
 for getting into it, when there came the 
 decree that he must give it up. And 
 he gave it up, knowing, like Kipling s 
 fool, when he did it that 
 
 "Part of Mm lived, but most of him 
 died" 
 
 But I obeyed to a degree. I tried 
 honestly to do your bidding. When I 
 had left Kansas and reached the city, 
 intending to take the steamer the next 
 day for Liverpool, your cablegram kept 
 me back for a brief time. Then Eunice 
 came to New York, and somehow a 
 pleasure trip through Italy looked like 
 hard work at once, and I cut it out. But 
 I buckled down to real hard labor, 
 and I worked all the harder to fill my 
 place with you when Eunice thought 
 her pleasure lay in a singer s career. I 
 never tried to persuade her away from 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 89 
 
 it. She gave it up herself, and came 
 back to make her home in Kansas and 
 to make her father happy. And the 
 joy of duty done was hers. 
 
 When Eunice was ready to sail for 
 Europe, I knew I d make a fool of my 
 self if I stayed visibly in New York. So, 
 I told her I was going to Montreal on 
 business. I knew in a thousand years 
 the Ellertons had never had any busi 
 ness in Montreal. But I told her that, 
 intending to hide around a corner. 
 
 That wasn t going to work, I soon 
 found out, so I put off on a penance 
 pilgrimage to East Machias, Maine. 
 
 Father, I understand now all about 
 the reward of humble sacrifice. I went 
 up to cheer Aunt Prudence in her 
 lonely hours. And it happened that 
 Aunt Pru was the one to confer bene 
 fits. One evening, sitting in the twi 
 light by the wood fire, somehow Lord 
 knows the dear old lady drew me on 
 and on to talk to her as I never dreamed 
 of talking to anybodv but my own 
 Mummy. 
 
 And then, with the firelight on her 
 sweet old face and her snowy hair and 
 with the wisdom of her eighty years of 
 thoughtful living and good deeds to 
 others, she seemed a sort of saint to me. 
 
 " Eunice is n t doing her duty to her 
 father, so much as to herself," Aunt 
 Pru declared. " Far down in the girl s 
 heart there is a voice calling her away 
 
90 THE PEACE OF THE 
 
 from all this thing she has planned, or 
 she could not leave it. Take my word, 
 Leroy, the girl isn t happy here, and 
 she knows where her duty lies." 
 
 "But what should I do, Aunt Pru 
 dence?" I asked her. 
 
 " The work you can do best and love 
 the doing. It s not always the easiest 
 work, as labor goes, nor the work that 
 brings the most money, but if it s the 
 thing you love to do, and can work the 
 prettiest pattern into it, do that." 
 
 Then I saw my duty. Father, I 
 hate Wall Street, and I ve come out 
 here to live a broad, busy, free life, to be 
 a farmer in the Solomon Valley. To 
 the life I leave behind me in the city, it 
 is as health to fever ; as peace after tur 
 moil. This is the best place on earth 
 for me, for while our families are widely 
 separated you and mother in New 
 York and Seth Bronson in Seattle 
 they centre here. 
 
 I know all about your friendship for 
 Daniel Bronson, you two old sinners! 
 I ought to be obliged to you for letting 
 me make a fool of myself, for it was 
 good for me, maybe. Only nobody, 
 least of all a New Yorker, cares to 
 make a fool of himself. I came here 
 two days ago. Last night we went in 
 the auto over to that same lost bit of 
 the sea, I wrote you about last year I 
 mean Waconda Springs. 
 
 Sitting on the rocks looking out 
 
SOLOMON VALLEY 91 
 
 toward the Solomon River, we saw the 
 full moon make a new heaven and a 
 new earth for this exquisite June night. 
 I asked Eunice again, as I had asked 
 her once before, if she knew the mystery 
 of old Waconda, and the message of 
 the waters to us. 
 
 "I cannot understand why this 
 spring was left here all these years," 
 she said. " It is a mystery I could never 
 fathom." 
 
 And then I told her what the waters 
 had told me; that this tiny bit of the 
 sea, left here for so many centuries, had 
 so loved this place, so rested in the peace 
 and beauty of the valley, sun-kissed and 
 mist-swathed, with the tenderness of the 
 springtime, the glory of mid-summer, 
 the splendor of autumn, that it chose 
 to stay here; chose to forsake the rest 
 less, stormy, seething ocean that ham 
 mers forever on its shores and here to 
 watch the unfolding of a kingdom, the 
 life of a people coming at last into their 
 own. 
 
 The clear green water dimpled in 
 silver sparkles under the glorious moon, 
 and the peace of the Solomon Valley 
 mingled with the peace of our own 
 hearts. For we, too, had found our 
 own at last, our kingdom here in 
 Kansas. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 ROY 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
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