the pipe in the liveliest kind of a way, so it must have crawled up
the logs to the roof, and finding the warmth of the pipe, got too
close to the opening and slipped through. However that may be, he got
into the room where the three little children were playing alone.
Fortunately, the oldest recognized the danger at once, and ran
screaming to her mother, the other two following. Mrs. Hunt was almost
ill over the affair, and Major Hunt kept a man on top and around the
old house hunting for snakes, until we began to fear it would be
pulled down on our heads.

This country itself is bad enough, and the location of the post is
most unfortunate, but to compel officers and men to live in these old
huts of decaying, moldy wood, which are reeking with malaria and alive
with bugs, and perhaps snakes, is wicked. Officers' families are not
obliged to remain here, of course.

But at dreadful places like this is where the plucky army wife is most
needed. Her very presence has often a refining and restraining
influence over the entire garrison, from the commanding officer down
to the last recruit. No one can as quickly grasp the possibilities of
comfort in quarters like these, or as bravely busy herself to fix them
up. She knows that the stay is indefinite, that it may be for six
months, or possibly six years, but that matters not. It is her army
home--Brass Button's home--and however discouraging its condition may
be, for his sake she pluckily, and with wifely pride, performs
miracles, always making the house comfortable and attractive.

FORT DODGE, KANSAS,
January, 1873.