"Perhaps the boys can take you for a drive, dear; and you know we're
invited to Uncle Abner's for the evening."

"A drive!" replied Lilian, scornfully. "I hate driving, all alone, along
these endless roads. Nothing but snow, snow, until I am nearly blind."

"You have your books, Lilian; and your father likes perfect lessons."

"Yes, I can have books any day. But think of the girls at home--what
they are having. They are getting their tables ready, this very minute.
They will darken the parlors and have gas-light, and pretty dresses and
lots of callers."

Here Lilian broke down and sobbed. Her mother came to her side and
stroked her hair.

"Be brave, daughter," she whispered. "I know it is a great change. But I
have often told you we must bear in mind why we left the East, and why
we are here. Father would not have been alive but for this change of
climate and open-air life. You know he is getting well, and is so happy
in that. We ought not to mind anything if he can be well again."

Lilian felt ashamed, and tried to dry her tears. Yet she was unwilling
to quite give up her discontent.

"If only something would happen!" she said. Then, desperately, "I wish
there would be a cyclone or a blizzard, or a prairie fire! I wish the
Indians would make a raid!"

"We don't have cyclones and prairie fires in winter," her mother said,