"It was high noon in the desert, but there was no dazzling sunlight. Over the earth hung a twilight, a yellow-pink softness that flushed across the sky like the approach of a shadow, covering everything yet concealing nothing, creeping steadily onward, yet seemingly still, until, pressing low over the earth, it took on changing color, from pink to gray, from gray to black-gloom that precedes tropical showers. Then the wind came-a breeze rising as it were from the hot earth-forcing the Spanish dagger to dipping acknowledgment, sending dust-devils swirling across the slow curves of the desert-and then the storm burst in all its might. For this was a storm-a sand-storm of the Southwest."

"MARY was worried. To-morrow would be Christmas. Christmas! a day always spent close to New York City, that place where Santa Claus obtained all the contents of his wonderful pack. Here she was, out in the heart of the great Arizona Desert. Her little head was sorely puzzled over many things. Around her were sand, rocks and mountains; no snow, no ice, save on the tops of the distant peaks. How was Santa to draw his gift-laden sleigh over barren stretches of sage brush and sand? Besides, he surely would be far too warm, with his heavy fur coat and cap, to say nothing of the poor reindeer who could scarcely live in such a country."

"It was high noon in the desert, but there was no dazzling sunlight. Over the earth hung a twilight, a yellow-pink softness that flushed across the sky like the approach of a shadow, covering everything yet concealing nothing, creeping steadily onward, yet seemingly still, until, pressing low over the earth, it took on changing color, from pink to gray, from gray to black-gloom that precedes tropical showers. Then the wind came-a breeze rising as it were from the hot earth-forcing the Spanish dagger to dipping acknowledgment, sending dust-devils swirling across the slow curves of the desert-and then the storm burst in all its might. For this was a storm-a sand-storm of the Southwest."