[figure description] Page 408.[end figure description]

Greenfield, Iowa,
March 15.
My dear Cousin, —

Yours of the 10th duly received, and as welcome as your
letters always are. So you have seen the kingdoms of the
world and the glory thereof, and find that all is vanity, as
saith the Preacher. Do not imagine that I am studying divinity
instead of medicine; but to-day is Sunday, and I have
been twice to meeting, and taken tea with the minister
besides.

But to return to our mutton. Nothing could be more delightful,
or, on the whole, more probable to me, than your
decision to return to Outpost, instead of settling in Boston
or New York. I can hardly fancy my cousin Dora changed
into a fine lady, and fretting herself thin over the color of a
ribbon, or the trail of a skirt; and I am not surprised that
she finds what is called “society” puzzling and wearisome.
Your life, Dora, began upon too wide a plan to bear narrowing
down into conventional limits now; and I feel

[figure description] Page 409.[end figure description]

through my own heart the thrill with which you wrote the
words, —

“I long for the opportunity of action and usefulness;
I long for the freedom of the prairie, and the dignity of labor;
I long to resume my old life, and to see my husband
begin his new one.”

But, to be quite frank, I was a little surprised that Mr.
Burroughs should enter so heartily into your plan of resuming
the farm. To be sure, I suppose the land-agency, and
the practice of his profession, will occupy most of his time;
and his principal concern with the estate will be to admire
your able management of it. You and he, my dear Dora,
seem to form not only a mutual-admiration, but a mutualencouragement
and mutual-assistance society; and I wish
my partnership with Dr. Gershom was half as satisfactory
an arrangement.

Yesterday, after receiving your letter, I rode directly to
Outpost, and communicated your wishes to Seth and Mehitable.
The former threw the chip he was whittling into the
fire, and said, —

“Miss Burroughs coming back? Waal, then, I'll stop;
but I own, doctor, I wouldn't ha' done it ef she hadn't. It's
took all the heart out o' the place, her bein' gone so.”

And Mehitable and he joined in a chorus of praises and

[figure description] Page 410.[end figure description]

reminiscences, which, pleasant though I found it, I will not
put you to the blush by repeating. Both, however, promised
faithfully that the house and farm should be ready for
you by the middle of April; and Seth says he can take hold
“right smart” at helping put up the new house, as he was
“raised a carpenter,” in part at least.

You ask about me, my dear cousin; but what have I to
tell? I work hard at my profession, and take nearly all
the night-practice off Dr. Gershom's hands; so I have very
little leisure for any thing besides: and you say to be useful
is to be happy; so I suppose I am happy; but, if I may be
allowed the suggestion, it is rather a negative kind of bliss,
and will be decidedly augmented when Outpost is once
again open to me as a second home (I assure you I shall be
a frequent visitor), and when Burroughs comes to occupy
an office beside my own.

As for the rumor of my engagement to Sarah Gershom, it
is quite unfounded. I am not thinking of marrying at present.

A letter from Kitty, received a few days since, brings
very satisfactory accounts of her progress in learning and
in life. She is as happy as possible in her engagement to
Frank Brown, and improves, under his tuition, beyond my
wildest hopes. She has a strong nature and a deep heart,
has Kitty; and I believe Brown understands and can guide

[figure description] Page 411.[end figure description]

them both. Kitty tells me, also, that Theodore Ginniss is
taking high honors in his class, and is one of the most promising
fellows at Antioch College. He will yet become a
man of mark, and Mrs. Degrange may well be proud of
her protégé. Give her my regards, please; and a thousand
kisses to Dolce, whom I thank most humbly for her kind
message to her poor old Karlo. I hope to see her again in
my little vacation next summer. Remember me, too, most
kindly to your husband, upon whose coming to Greenfield I
am depending a good deal, as I do not suffer, like you, from
too much society; and I shall be glad to associate with one
man who does not chew tobacco, or sit in the house with
his hat on.

And now, dear Dora, good-night, and good-by for a little
while.