PROTEGEE 
 OF -JKCK 
 HAMLIN'S'BY 
 BRET- HKRTE 
 
ORARY 
 
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 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK. 
 
A PROTfiGEE OF JACK 
 HAMLIN'S 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 BRET HARTE 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 1894 
 
Copyright, 1894, 
 BY BRET HARTE. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass.. U.S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A PROTEGEE OF JACK HAMLIN'S .... 1 
 AN INGENUE OF THE SIERRAS .... 58 
 THE REFORMATION OF JAMES REDDY . . 93 
 
 THE HEIR OF THE McHuiiSHES . . . 154 
 AN EPISODE OF WEST WOODLANDS . . . 221 
 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES . . . 272 
 
A PROTEGEE OF JACK HAMLIN'S. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE steamer Silveropolis was sharply 
 and steadily cleaving the broad, placid shal- 
 lows of the Sacramento River. A large 
 wave like an eagre, diverging from its bow, 
 was extending to either bank, swamping 
 the tules and threatening to submerge the 
 lower levees. The great boat itself a vast 
 but delicate structure of airy stories, hang- 
 ing galleries, fragile colonnades, gilded cor- 
 nices, and resplendent frescoes was throb- 
 bing throughout its whole perilous length 
 with the pulse of high pressure and the 
 strong monotonous beat of a powerful pis- 
 ton. Floods of foam pouring from the 
 high paddle - boxes on either side and re- 
 uniting in the wake of the boat left behind 
 a track of dazzling whiteness, over which 
 trailed two dense black banners flung from 
 its lofty smokestacks. 
 
2 A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 Mr. Jack Hamlin had quietly emerged 
 from his stateroom on deck and was look- 
 ing over the guards. His hands were rest- 
 ing lightly on his hips over the delicate 
 curves of his white waistcoat, and he was 
 whistling softly, possibly some air to which 
 he had made certain card-playing passen- 
 gers dance the night before. He was in 
 comfortable case, and his soft brown eyes 
 under their long lashes were veiled with 
 gentle tolerance of all things. He glanced 
 lazily along the empty hurricane deck for- 
 ward; he glanced lazily down to the saloon 
 deck below him. Far out against the 
 guards below him leaned a young girl. 
 Mr. Hamlin knitted his brows slightly. 
 
 He remembered her at once. She had 
 come on board that morning with one Ned 
 Stratton, a brother gambler, but neither a 
 favorite nor intimate of Jack's. From cer- 
 tain indications in the pair, Jack had in- 
 ferred that she was some foolish or reckless 
 creature whom "Ed '" had "got on a string," 
 and was spiriting away from her friends 
 and family. With the abstract morality of 
 this situation Jack was not in the least con- 
 cerned. For himself he did not indulge in 
 that sort of game; the inexperience and 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlins. 3 
 
 vacillations of innocence were apt to be 
 bothersome, and besides, a certain modest 
 doubt of his own competency to make an 
 original selection had always made him pre- 
 fer to confine his gallantries to the wives of 
 men of greater judgment than himself who 
 had. But it suddenly occurred to him that 
 he had seen Stratton quickly slip off the 
 boat at the last landing stage. Ah! that 
 was it ; he had cast away and deserted her. 
 It was an old story. Jack smiled. But he 
 was not greatly amused with Stratton. 
 
 She was very pale, and seemed to be cling- 
 ing to the network railing, as if to support 
 herself, although she was gazing fixedly at 
 the yellow glancing current below, which 
 seemed to be sucked down and swallowed 
 in the paddle-box as the boat swept on. It 
 certainly was a fascinating sight this 
 sloping rapid, hurrying on to bury itself 
 under the crushing wheels. For a brief 
 moment Jack saw how they would seize any- 
 thing floating on that ghastly incline, whirl 
 it round in one awful revolution of the beat- 
 ing paddles, and then bury it, broken and 
 shattered out of all recognition, deep in the 
 muddy undercurrent of the stream behind 
 them. 
 
4 A Protegee of Jack Hamlins. 
 
 She moved away presently with an odd, 
 stiff step, chafing her gloved hands together 
 as if they had become stiffened too in her 
 rigid grasp of the railing. Jack leisurely 
 watched her as she moved along the narrow 
 strip of deck. She was not at all to his 
 taste, a rather plump girl with a rustic 
 manner and a great deal of brown hair 
 under her straw hat. She might have 
 looked better had she not been so haggard. 
 When she reached the door of the saloon 
 she paused, and then, turning suddenly, 
 began to walk quickly back again. As she 
 neared the spot where she had been stand- 
 ing her pace slackened, and when she 
 reached the railing she seemed to relapse 
 against it in her former helpless fashion. 
 Jack became lazily interested. Suddenly 
 she lifted her head and cast a quick glance 
 around and above her. In that momentary 
 lifting of her face Jack saw her expres- 
 sion. Whatever it was, his own changed in- 
 stantly; the next moment there was a crash 
 on the lower deck. It was Jack who had 
 swung himself over the rail and dropped ten 
 feet, to her side. But not before she had 
 placed one foot in the meshes of the netting 
 and had gripped the railing for a spring. 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 5 
 
 The noise of Jack's fall might have 
 seemed to her bewildered fancy as a part 
 of her frantic act, for she fell forward 
 vacantly on the railing. But by this time 
 Jack had grasped her arm as if to help 
 himself to his feet. 
 
 "I might have killed myself by that 
 foolin', mightn't I?" he said cheerfully. 
 
 The sound of a voice so near her seemed 
 to recall to her dazed sense the uncompleted 
 action his fall had arrested. She made a 
 convulsive bound towards the railing, but 
 Jack held her fast. 
 
 "Don't," he said in a low voice, "don't, 
 it won't pay. It 's the sickest game that 
 ever was played by man or woman. Come 
 here!" 
 
 He drew her towards an empty state- 
 room whose door was swinging on its hinges 
 a few feet from them. She was trembling 
 violently ; he half led, half pushed her into 
 the room, closed the door and stood with his 
 back against it as she dropped into a chair. 
 She looked at him vacantly; the agitation 
 she was undergoing inwardly had left her 
 no sense of outward perception. 
 
 "You know Stratton would be awfully 
 riled," continued Jack easily. "He's just 
 
6 A Protegee of Jack Hamliris. 
 
 stepped out to see a friend and got left by 
 the fool boat. He '11 be along by the next 
 steamer, and you 're bound to meet him in 
 Sacramento." 
 
 Her staring eyes seemed suddenly to 
 grasp his meaning. But to his surprise she 
 burst out with a certain hysterical despera- 
 tion, "No! no! Never! never again! Let 
 me pass! I must go," and struggled to 
 regain the door. Jack, albeit singularly 
 relieved to know that she shared his private 
 sentiments regarding Stratton, nevertheless 
 resisted her. Whereat she suddenly turned 
 white, reeled back, and sank in a dead faint 
 in the chair. 
 
 The gambler turned, drew the key from 
 the inside of the door, passed out, locking 
 it behind him, and walked leisurely into the 
 main saloon. "Mrs. Johnson," he said 
 gravely, addressing the stewardess, a tall 
 mulatto, with his usual winsome suprem- 
 acy over dependents and children, "you '11 
 oblige me if you '11 corral a few smelling- 
 salts, vinaigrettes, hairpins, and violet pow- 
 der, and unload them in deck stateroom No. 
 257. There's a lady "- 
 
 "A lady, Marse Hamlin?" interrupted 
 the mulatto, with an archly significant flash 
 of her white teeth. 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamliris. 1 
 
 "A lady," continued Jack with una- 
 bashed gravity, "in a sort of conniption 
 fit. A relative of mine; in fact a niece, 
 my only sister's child. Had n't seen each 
 other for ten years, and it was too much for 
 her." 
 
 The woman glanced at him with a min- 
 gling of incredulous belief, but delighted 
 obedience, hurriedly gathered a few arti- 
 cles from her cabin, and followed him to No. 
 257. The young girl was still unconscious. 
 The stewardess applied a few restoratives 
 with the skill of long experience, and the 
 young girl opened her eyes. They turned 
 vacantly from the stewardess to Jack with 
 a look of half recognition and half fright- 
 ened inquiry. "Yes," said Jack, address- 
 ing the eyes, although ostentatiously speak- 
 ing to Mrs. Johnson, "she'd only just 
 come by steamer to 'Frisco and was n't ex- 
 pecting to see me, and we dropped right 
 into each other here on the boat. And I 
 haven't seen her since she was so high. 
 Sister Mary ought to have warned me by 
 letter; but she was always a slouch at letter 
 writing. There, that '11 do, Mrs. Johnson. 
 She 's coming round; I reckon I can man- 
 age the rest. But you go now and tell the 
 
8 A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 purser I want one of those inside staterooms 
 for my niece, my niece, you hear, so 
 that you can be near her and look after 
 her." 
 
 As the stewardess turned obediently away 
 the young girl attempted to rise, but Jack 
 checked her. "No," he said, almost 
 brusquely; "you and I have some talking 
 to do before she gets back, and we 've no 
 time for foolin'. You heard what I told 
 her just now! Well, it 's got to be as I 
 said, you sdbe. As long as you 're on this 
 boat you 're my niece, and my sister Mary's 
 child. As I have n't got any sister Mary, 
 you don't run any risk of falling foul of 
 her, and you ain't taking any one's place. 
 That settles that. Now, do you or do you 
 not want to see that man again ? Say yes, 
 and if he 's anywhere above ground I '11 
 yank him over to you as soon as we touch 
 shore." He had no idea of interfering with 
 his colleague's amours, but he had deter- 
 mined to make Stratton pay for the bother 
 their slovenly sequence had caused him. 
 Yet he was relieved and astonished by 
 her frantic gesture of indignation and ab- 
 horrence. " No ? " he repeated grimly. 
 "Well, that settles that. Now, look here; 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 9 
 
 quick, before she comes do you want to 
 go back home to your" friends ?" 
 
 But here occurred what he had dreaded 
 most and probably thought he had escaped. 
 She had stared at him, at the stewardess, 
 at the walls, with abstracted, vacant, and 
 bewildered, but always undimmed and un- 
 moistened eyes. A sudden convulsion 
 shook her whole frame, her blank expres- 
 sion broke like a shattered mirror, she 
 threw her hands over her eyes and fell for- 
 ward with her face to the back of her chair 
 in an outburst of tears. 
 
 Alas for Jack! with the breaking up of 
 those sealed fountains came her speech also, 
 at first disconnected and incoherent, and 
 then despairing and passionate. No! she 
 had no longer friends or home! She had 
 lost and disgraced them! She had dis- 
 graced herself! There was no home for 
 her but the grave. Why had Jack snatched 
 her from it? Then, bit by bit, she yielded 
 up her story, a story decidedly common- 
 place to Jack, uninteresting, and even irri- 
 tating to his fastidiousness. She was a 
 schoolgirl (not even a convent girl, but the 
 inmate of a Presbyterian female academy 
 at Napa. Jack shuddered as he remembered 
 
10 A Protegee of Jack Hamlins. 
 
 to have once seen certain of the pupils walk- 
 ing with a teacher), and she lived with her 
 married sister. She had seen Stratton while 
 going to and fro on the San Francisco boat ; 
 she had exchanged notes with him, had met 
 him secretly, and finally consented to elope 
 with him to Sacramento, only to discover 
 when the boat had left the wharf the real na- 
 ture of his intentions. Jack listened with 
 infinite weariness and inward chafing. He 
 had read all this before in cheap novelettes, 
 in the police reports, in the Sunday papers ; 
 he had heard a street preacher declaim 
 against it, and warn young women of the 
 serpent-like wiles of tempters of the Strat- 
 ton variety. But even now Jack failed to 
 recognize Stratton as a serpent, or indeed 
 anything but a blundering cheat and clown, 
 who had left his dirty 'prentice work on his 
 (Jack's) hands. But the girl was helpless 
 and, it seemed, homeless, all through a cer- 
 tain desperation of feeling which, in spite 
 of her tears, he could not but respect. That 
 momentary shadow of death had exalted 
 her. He stroked his mustache, pulled down 
 his white waistcoat and her cry, without 
 saying anything. He did not know that 
 this most objectionable phase of her misery 
 was her salvation and his own. 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamliris. 11 
 
 But the stewardess would return in a 
 moment. "You 'd better tell me what to 
 call you," he said quietly. "I ought to 
 know my niece's first name." 
 
 The girl caught her breath, and, between 
 two sobs, said, "Sophonisba." 
 
 Jack winced. It seemed only to need 
 this last sentimental touch to complete the 
 idiotic situation. "I '11 call you Sophy," 
 he said hurriedly and with an effort. 
 "And now look here! You are going in 
 that cabin with Mrs. Johnson where she 
 can look after you, but I can't. So I '11 
 have to take your word, for I 'm not going 
 to give you away before Mrs. Johnson, that 
 you won't try that foolishness you know 
 what I mean before I see you again. 
 Can I trust you?" 
 
 With her head still bowed over the chair 
 back, she murmured slowly somewhere from 
 under her disheveled hair : 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Honest Injin? " adjured Jack gravely. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The shuffling step of the stewardess was 
 heard slowly approaching. "Yes," contin- 
 ued Jack abruptly, lightly lifting his voice 
 as Mrs. Johnson opened the door, "yes, 
 
12 A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 
 
 if you 'd only had some of those spearmint 
 drops of your aunt Rachel's that she al- 
 ways gave you when these fits came on 
 you 'd have been all right inside of five 
 minutes. Aunty was no slouch of a doctor, 
 was she? Dear me, it only seems yester- 
 day since I saw her. You were just play- 
 ing round her knee like a kitten on the 
 back porch. How time does fly! But 
 here 's Mrs. Johnson coming to take you 
 in. Now rouse up, Sophy, and just hook 
 yourself on to Mrs. Johnson on that side, 
 and we '11 toddle along." 
 
 The young girl put back her heavy hair, 
 and with her face still averted submitted 
 to be helped to her feet by the kindly stew- 
 ardess. Perhaps something homely sympa- 
 thetic and nurse-like in the touch of the 
 mulatto gave her assurance and confidence, 
 for her head lapsed quite naturally against 
 the woman's shoulder, and her face was 
 partly hidden as she moved slowly along 
 the deck. Jack accompanied them to the 
 saloon and the inner stateroom door. A 
 few passengers gathered curiously near, as 
 much attracted by the unusual presence of 
 Jack Hamlin in such a procession as by the 
 girl herself. "You '11 look after her spe- 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 13 
 
 cially, Mrs. Johnson," said Jack, in un- 
 usually deliberate terms. "She's been a 
 good deal petted at home, and my sister 
 perhaps has rather spoilt her. She 's pretty 
 much of a child still, and you '11 have to 
 humor her. Sophy," he continued, with 
 ostentatious playfulness, directing his voice 
 to the dim recesses of the stateroom, 
 "you '11 just think Mrs. Johnson 's your 
 old nurse, won't you? Think it 's old 
 Katy, hey?" 
 
 To his great consternation the girl 
 approached tremblingly from the inner 
 shadow. The faintest and saddest of smiles 
 for a moment played around the corners of 
 her drawn mouth and tear-dimmed eyes as 
 she held out her hand and said : 
 
 "God bless you for being so kind." 
 
 Jack shuddered and glanced quickly 
 round. But luckily no one heard this 
 crushing sentimentalism, and the next mo- 
 ment the door closed upon her and Mrs. 
 Johnson. 
 
 It was past midnight, and the moon was 
 riding high over the narrowing yellow 
 river, when Jack again stepped out on deck. 
 He had just left the captain's cabin, and a 
 small social game with the officers, which 
 
14 A Protegee of Jack Hamlin'x. 
 
 had served to some extent to vaguely relieve 
 his irritation and their pockets. He had 
 presumably quite forgotten the incident of 
 the afternoon, as he looked about him, and 
 complacently took in the quiet beauty of 
 the night. 
 
 The low banks on either side offered no 
 break to the uninterrupted level of the 
 landscape, through which the river seemed 
 to wind only as a race track for the rushing 
 boat. Every fibre of her vast but fragile 
 bulk quivered under the goad of her power- 
 ful engines. There was no other movement 
 but hers, no other sound but this mon- 
 strous beat and panting ; the whole tranquil 
 landscape seemed to breathe and pulsate 
 with her ; dwellers in the tules, miles away, 
 heard and felt her as she passed, and it 
 seemed to Jack, leaning over the railing, 
 as if the whole river swept like a sluice 
 through her paddle-boxes. 
 
 Jack had quite unconsciously lounged 
 before that part of the railing where the 
 young girl had leaned a few hours ago. 
 As he looked down upon the streaming 
 yellow mill-race below him, he noticed 
 what neither he nor the girl had probably 
 noticed before that a space of the top bar 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamliris. 15 
 
 of the railing was hinged, and could be 
 lifted by withdrawing a small bolt, thus 
 giving easy access to the guards. He was 
 still looking at it, whistling softly, when 
 footsteps approached. 
 
 "Jack," said a lazy voice, "how's sister 
 Mary?" 
 
 "It 's a long time since you 've seen her 
 only child, Jack, ain't it?" said a second 
 voice; "and yet it sort o' seems to me some- 
 how that I 've seen her before." 
 
 Jack recognized the voice of two of his 
 late companions at the card -table. His 
 whistling ceased ; so also dropped every 
 trace of color and expression from his hand- 
 some face. But he did not turn, and re- 
 mained quietly gazing at the water. 
 
 "Aunt Eachel, too, must be getting on 
 in years, Jack," continued the first speaker, 
 halting behind Jack. 
 
 "And Mrs. Johnson does not look so 
 much like Sophy's old nurse as she used 
 to," remarked the second, following his ex- 
 ample. Still Jack remained unmoved. 
 
 "You don't seem to be interested, Jack," 
 continued the first speaker. " What are you 
 looking at?" 
 
 Without turning his head the gambler 
 
16 A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 replied, "Looking at the boat ; she 's boom- 
 ing along, just chawing up and spitting out 
 the river, ain't she? Look at that sweep 
 of water going under her paddle-wheels," 
 he continued, unbolting the rail and lift- 
 ing it to allow the two men to peer curiously 
 over the guards as he pointed to the mur- 
 derous incline beneath them ; " a man 
 wouldn't stand much show who got dropped 
 into it. How these paddles would just 
 snatch him bald-headed, pick him up and 
 slosh him round and round, and then sling 
 him out down there in such a shape that his 
 own father wouldn't know him." 
 
 "Yes," said the first speaker, with an 
 ostentatious little laugh, "but all that ain't 
 telling us how sister Mary is." 
 
 "No," said the gambler slipping into the 
 opening with a white and rigid face in 
 which nothing seemed living but the eyes, 
 "no, but it's telling you how two d d 
 fools who did n't know when to shut their 
 mouths might get them shut once and for- 
 ever. It 's telling you what might hap- 
 pen to two men who tried to 'play ' a man 
 who didn't care to be 'played,' a man 
 who did n't care much what he did, when he 
 did it, or how he did it, but would do what 
 
A Protegee of Jack, Hamlin's. 17 
 
 he 'd set out to do even if in doing it he 
 went to hell with the men he sent there." 
 
 He had stepped out on the guards, beside 
 the two men, closing the rail behind him. 
 He had placed his hands on their shoul- 
 ders; they had both gripped his arms; yet, 
 viewed from the deck above, they seemed at 
 that moment an amicable, even fraternal 
 group, albeit the faces of the three were 
 dead white in the moonlight. 
 
 "I don't think I 'm so very much inter- 
 ested in sister Mary," said the first speaker 
 quietly, after a pause. 
 
 "And I don't seem to think so much of 
 aunt Eachel as I did," said his companion. 
 
 "I thought you wouldn't," said Jack, 
 coolly reopening the rail and stepping back 
 again. "It all depends upon the way you 
 look at those things. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night." 
 
 The three men paused, shook each other's 
 hands silently, and separated, Jack saunter- 
 ing slowly back to his stateroom. 
 
 n. 
 
 The educational establishment of Mrs. 
 Mix and Madame Bance, situated in the 
 
18 A Protegee of Jack Hamlins. 
 
 best quarter of Sacramento and patronized 
 by the highest state officials and members 
 of the clergy, was a pretty if not an im- 
 posing edifice. Although surrounded by a 
 high white picket fence and entered through 
 a heavily boarded gate, its balconies fes- 
 tooned with jasmine and roses, and its spot- 
 lessly draped windows as often graced with 
 fresh, flower-like faces, were still plainly 
 and provokingly visible above the ostenta- 
 tious spikes of the pickets. Nevertheless, 
 Mr. Jack Hamlin, who had six months be- 
 fore placed his niece, Miss Sophonisba 
 Brown, under its protecting care, felt a 
 degree of uneasiness, even bordering on 
 timidity, which was new to that usually self- 
 confident man. Remembering how his first 
 appearance had fluttered this dovecote and 
 awakened a severe suspicion in the minds 
 of the two principals, he had discarded his 
 usual fashionable attire and elegantly fitting 
 garments for a rough, homespun suit, sup- 
 posed to represent a homely agriculturist, 
 but which had the effect of transforming 
 him into an adorable Strephon, infinitely 
 more dangerous in his rustic shepherd-like 
 simplicity. He had also shaved off his 
 silken mustache for the same prudential 
 
A Protegee, of Jack Hamlin^s. 19 
 
 reasons, but had only succeeded in uncover- 
 ing the delicate lines of his handsome 
 mouth, and so absurdly reducing his ap- 
 parent years that his avuncular pretensions 
 seemed more preposterous than ever; and 
 when he had rung the bell and was admitted 
 by a severe Hibernian porteress, his mo- 
 mentary hesitation and half humorous diffi- 
 dence had such an unexpected effect upon 
 her, that it seemed doubtful if he would 
 be allowed to pass beyond the vestibule. 
 "Shure, miss," she said in a whisper to an 
 under teacher, "there's wan at the dhure 
 who calls himself, 'Mister ' Hamlin, but av 
 it is not a young lady maskeradin' in her 
 brother's clothes Oim very much mistaken; 
 and av it 's a boy, one of the pupil's bro- 
 thers, shure ye might put a dhress on him 
 when you take the others out for a walk, 
 and he 'd pass for the beauty of the whole 
 school." 
 
 Meantime, the unconscious subject of 
 this criticism was pacing somewhat uneasily 
 up and down the formal reception room into 
 which he had been finally ushered. Its 
 farther end was filled by an enormous par- 
 lor organ, a number of music books, and a 
 cheerfully variegated globe. A large pres- 
 
20 A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 
 
 entation Bible, an equally massive illus- 
 trated volume on the Holy Land, a few 
 landscapes in cold, bluish milk and water 
 colors, and rigid heads in crayons the 
 work of pupils were presumably orna- 
 mental. An imposing mahogany sofa and 
 what seemed to be a disproportionate ex- 
 cess of chairs somewhat coldly furnished 
 the room. Jack had reluctantly made up 
 his mind that, if Sophy was accompanied 
 by any one, he would be obliged to kiss her 
 to keep up his assumed relationship. As 
 she entered the room with Miss Mix, Jack 
 advanced and soberly saluted her on the 
 cheek. But so positive and apparent was 
 the gallantry of his presence, and perhaps 
 so suggestive of some pastoral flirtation, 
 that Miss Mix, to Jack's surprise, winced 
 perceptibly and became stony. But he was 
 still more surprised that the young lady 
 herself shrank half uneasily from his lips, 
 and uttered a slight exclamation. It was a 
 new experience to Mr. Hamlin. 
 
 But this somewhat mollified Miss Mix, 
 and she slightly relaxed her austerity. She 
 was glad to be able to give the best accounts 
 of Miss Brown, not only as regarded her 
 studies, but as to her conduct and deport- 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlin s. 21 
 
 ment. Really, with the present freedom of 
 manners and laxity of home discipline in 
 California, it was gratifying to meet a 
 young lady who seemed to value the impor- 
 tance of a proper decorum and behavior, 
 especially towards the opposite sex. Mr. 
 Hamlin, although her guardian, was per- 
 haps too young to understand and appreci- 
 ate this. To this experience she must also 
 attribute the indiscretion of his calling dur- 
 ing school hours and without preliminary 
 warning. She trusted, however, that this 
 informality could be overlooked after con- 
 sultation with Madame Bance, but in the 
 mean time, perhaps for half an hour, she 
 must withdraw Miss Brown and return with 
 her to the class. Mr. Hamlin could wait 
 in this public room, reserved especially for 
 visitors, until they returned. Or, if he 
 cared to accompany one of the teachers in a 
 formal inspection of the school, she added, 
 doubtfully, with a glance at Jack's distract- 
 ing attractions, she would submit this also 
 to Madame Bance. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," returned Jack 
 hurriedly, as a depressing vision of the fifty 
 or sixty scholars rose before his eyes, "but 
 I 'd rather not. I mean, you know, I 'd 
 
22 A Protegee of Jack Hamliris. 
 
 just as lief stay here alone. I would n't 
 have called anyway, don't you see, only I 
 had a day off, and and I wanted to 
 talk with my niece on family matters." 
 He did not say that he had received a some- 
 what distressful letter from her asking him 
 to come ; a new instinct made him cautious. 
 Considerably relieved by Jack's unex- 
 pected abstention, which seemed to spare 
 her pupils the distraction of his graces, 
 Miss Mix smiled more amicably and retired 
 with her charge-. In the single glance he 
 had exchanged with Sophy he saw that, 
 although resigned and apparently self-con- 
 trolled, she still appeared thoughtful and 
 melancholy. She had improved in appear- 
 ance and seemed more refined and less rus- 
 tic in her school dress, but he was conscious 
 of the same distinct separation of her per- 
 sonality (which was uninteresting to him) 
 from the sentiment that had impelled him 
 to visit her. She was possibly still han- 
 kering after that fellow Stratton, in spite of 
 her protestations to the contrary; perhaps 
 she wanted to go back to her sister, al- 
 though she had declared she would die first, 
 and had always refused to disclose her real 
 name or give any clue by which he could 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlins. 23 
 
 have traced her relations. She would cry, 
 of course ; he almost hoped that she would 
 not return alone ; he half regretted he had 
 come. She still held him only by a single 
 quality of her nature, the desperation she 
 had shown in the boat; that was something 
 he understood and respected. 
 
 He walked discontentedly to the window 
 and looked out ; he walked discontentedly to 
 the end of the room and stopped before the 
 organ. It was a fine instrument; he could 
 see that with an admiring and experienced 
 eye. He was alone in the room; in fact, 
 quite alone in that part of the house which 
 was separated from the class-rooms. He 
 would disturb no one by trying it. And if 
 he did, what then? He smiled a little reck- 
 lessly, slowly pulled off his gloves, and sat 
 down before it. 
 
 He played cautiously at first, with the 
 soft pedal down. The instrument had never 
 known a strong masculine hand before, 
 having been fumbled and friveled over by 
 softly incompetent, feminine fingers. But 
 presently it began to thrill under the pas- 
 sionate hand of its lover, and carried away 
 by his one innocent weakness, Jack was 
 launched upon a sea of musical remiiiis- 
 
24 A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 cences. Scraps of church music, Puritan 
 psalms of his boyhood ; dying strains from 
 sad, forgotten operas, fragments of oratorios 
 and symphonies, but chiefly phrases from 
 old masses heard at the missions of San 
 Pedro and Santa Isabel, swelled up from 
 his loving and masterful fingers. He had 
 finished an Agnus Dei; the formal room 
 was pulsating with divine aspirations; the 
 rascal's hands were resting listlessly on the 
 keys, his brown lashes lifted, in an effort of 
 memory, tenderly towards the ceiling. 
 
 Suddenly, a subdued murmur of applause 
 and a slight rustle behind him recalled him 
 to himself again. He wheeled his chair 
 quickly round. The two principals of the 
 school and half a dozen teachers were stand- 
 ing gravely behind him, and at the open 
 door a dozen curled and frizzled youthful 
 heads peered in eagerly, but half restrained 
 by their teachers. The relaxed features and 
 apologetic attitude of Madame Bance and 
 Miss Mix showed that Mr. Hamlin had un- 
 consciously achieved a triumph. 
 
 He might not have been as pleased to 
 know that his extraordinary performance 
 had solved a difficulty, effaced his other 
 graces, and enabled them to place him on 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 25 
 
 the moral pedestal of a mere musician, to 
 whom these eccentricities were allowable 
 and privileged. He shared the admiration 
 extended by the young ladies to their music 
 teacher, which was always understood to be 
 a sexless enthusiasm and a contagious juve- 
 nile disorder. It was also a fine advertise- 
 ment for the organ. Madame Bance smiled 
 blandly, improved the occasion by thanking 
 Mr. Hamlin for having given the scholars a 
 gratuitous lesson on the capabilities of the 
 instrument, and was glad to be able to give 
 Miss Brown a half-holiday to spend with 
 her accomplished relative. Miss Brown was 
 even now upstairs, putting on her hat and 
 mantle. Jack was relieved. Sophy would 
 not attempt to cry on the street. 
 
 Nevertheless, when they reached it and 
 the gate closed behind them, he again be- 
 came uneasy. The girl's clouded face and 
 melancholy manner were not promising. It 
 also occurred to him that he might meet 
 some one who knew him and thus compro- 
 mise her. This was to be avoided at all 
 hazards. He began with forced gayety: 
 "Well, now, where shall we go?" 
 She slightly raised her tear-dimmed eyes. 
 "Where you please I don't care." 
 
26 A Protegee of , Jack flamlin's. 
 
 "There isn't any show going on here, is 
 there?" He had a vague idea of a circus 
 or menagerie himself in the shadow of 
 the box behind her. 
 
 "I don't know of any." 
 
 "Or any restaurant or cake shop? " 
 
 "There 's a place where the girls go to 
 get candy on Main Street. Some of them 
 are there now." 
 
 Jack shuddered; this was not to be 
 thought of. "But where do you walk? " 
 
 "Up and down Main Street." 
 
 "Where everybody can see you?" said 
 Jack, scandalized. 
 
 The girl nodded. 
 
 They walked on in silence for a few mo- 
 ments. Then a bright idea struck Mr. 
 Hamlin. He suddenly remembered that in 
 one of his many fits of impulsive generosity 
 and largesse he had given to an old negro 
 retainer whose wife had nursed him 
 through a dangerous illness a house and 
 lot on the river bank. He had been told 
 that they had opened a small laundry or 
 wash-house. It occurred to him that a 
 stroll there and a call upon "Uncle Han- 
 nibal and Aunt Chloe " combined the pro- 
 priety and respectability due to the young 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 27 
 
 person he was with, and the requisite se- 
 crecy and absence of publicity due to him- 
 self. He at once suggested it. 
 
 "You see she was a mighty good woman 
 and you ought to know her, for she was my 
 old nurse " 
 
 The girl glanced at him with a sudden 
 impatience. 
 
 " Honest Injin," said Jack solemnly ; 
 "she did nurse me through my last cough. 
 I ain't playing old family gags on you 
 now." 
 
 "Oh, dear," burst out the girl impul- 
 sively, "I do wish you would n't ever play 
 them again. I wish you would n't pre- 
 tend to be my uncle; I wish you would n't 
 make me pass for your niece. It is n't 
 right. It 's all wrong. Oh, don't you know 
 it 's all wrong, and can't come right any 
 way? It's just killing me. I can't stand 
 it. I 'd rather you 'd say what I am and 
 how I came to you and how you pitied me." 
 
 They had luckily entered a narrow side 
 street, and the sobs which shook the young 
 girl's frame were unnoticed. For a few 
 moments Jack felt a horrible conviction 
 stealing over him, that in his present atti- 
 tude towards her he was not unlike that 
 
28 A Protegee of Jack ffamlin's. 
 
 hound Stratton, and that, however innocent 
 his own intent, there was a sickening resem- 
 blance to the situation on the boat in the 
 base advantage he had taken of her friend- 
 lessness. He had never told her that he 
 was a gambler like Stratton, and that his 
 peculiarly infelix reputation among women 
 made it impossible for him to assist her, 
 except by a stealth or the deception he had 
 practiced, without compromising her. He 
 who had for years faced the sneers and 
 half - frightened opposition of the world 
 dared not tell the truth to this girl, from 
 whom he expected nothing and who did not 
 interest him. He felt he was almost slink- 
 ing at her side. At last he said desper- 
 ately : 
 
 "But I snatched them bald-headed at the 
 organ, Sophy, didn't I?" 
 
 "Oh yes," said the girl, "you played 
 beautifully and grandly. It was so good of 
 you, too. For I think, somehow, Madame 
 Bance had been a little suspicious of you, 
 but that settled it. Everybody thought it 
 was fine, and some thought it was your 
 profession. Perhaps," she added timidly, 
 "it is?" 
 
 "I play a good deal, I reckon," said 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlins. 29 
 
 Jack, with a grim humor which did not, 
 however, amuse him. 
 
 "I wish /could, and make money by it," 
 said the girl eagerly. Jack winced, but 
 she did not notice it as she went on hur- 
 riedly: "That's what I wanted to talk to 
 you about. I want to leave the school and 
 make my own living. Anywhere where 
 people won't know me and where I can be 
 alone and work. I shall die here among 
 these girls with all their talk of their 
 friends and their sisters, and their 
 questions about you." 
 
 "Tell 'em to dry up," said Jack indig- 
 nantly. "Take 'em to the cake shop and 
 load 'em up with candy and ice cream. 
 That '11 stop their mouths. You 've got 
 money, you got my last remittance, did n't 
 you ? " he repeated quickly. " If you 
 did n't, here 's" his hand was already in 
 his pocket when she stopped him with a 
 despairing gesture. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I got it all. I have n't 
 touched it. I don't want it. For I can't 
 live on you. Don't you understand, I 
 want to work. Listen, I can draw and 
 paint. Madame Bance says I do it well; 
 my drawing-master says I might in time 
 
30 A Protegee of Jack Hamlivis. 
 
 take portraits and get paid for it. And 
 even now I can retouch photographs and 
 make colored miniatures from them. And," 
 she stopped and glanced at Jack half -tim- 
 idly, "I 've done some already." 
 
 A glow of surprised relief suffused the 
 gambler. Not so much at this astonishing 
 revelation as at the change it seemed to 
 effect in her. Her pale blue eyes, made 
 paler by tears, cleared and brightened un- 
 der their swollen lids like wiped steel; the 
 lines of her depressed mouth straightened 
 and became firm. Her voice had lost its 
 hopeless monotone. 
 
 "There's a shop in the next street, a 
 photographer's, where they have one of 
 mine in their windows," she went on, reas- 
 sured by Jack's unaffected interest. "It 's 
 only round the corner, if you care to see." 
 
 Jack assented; a few paces farther 
 brought them to the corner of a narrow 
 street, where they presently turned into a 
 broader thoroughfare and stopped before 
 the window of a photographer. Sophy 
 pointed to an oval frame, containing a 
 portrait painted 011 porcelain. Mr. Hamlin 
 was startled. Inexperienced as he was, a 
 certain artistic inclination told him it was 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 31 
 
 good, although it is to be feared he would 
 have been astonished even if it had been 
 worse. The mere fact that this headstrong 
 country girl, who had run away with a cur 
 like Stratton, should be able to do anything 
 else took him by surprise. 
 
 "I got ten dollars for that," she said hesi- 
 tatingly, "and I could have got more for a 
 larger one, but I had to do that in my room, 
 during recreation hours. If I had more 
 time and a place where I could work" 
 she stopped timidly and looked tentatively 
 at Jack. But he was already indulging in 
 a characteristically reckless idea of coming 
 back after he had left Sophy, buying the 
 miniature at an extravagant price, and or- 
 dering half a dozen more at extraordinary 
 figures. Here, however, two passers-by, 
 stopping ostensibly to look in the window, 
 but really attracted by the picturesque spec- 
 tacle of the handsome young rustic and his 
 schoolgirl companion, gave Jack such a 
 fright that he hurried Sophy away again 
 into the side street. "There's nothing 
 mean about that picture business," he said 
 cheerfully; "it looks like a square kind of 
 game," and relapsed into thoughtful silence. 
 
 At which, Sophy, the ice of restraint 
 
32 A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 broken, again burst into passionate appeal. 
 If she could only go away somewhere 
 where she saw no one but the people who 
 would buy her work, who knew nothing of 
 her past nor cared to know who were her 
 relations ! She would work hard ; she knew 
 she could support herself in time. She 
 would keep the name he had given her, it 
 was not distinctive enough to challenge any 
 inquiry, but nothing more. She need not 
 assume to be his niece ; he would always be 
 her kind friend, to whom she owed every- 
 thing, even her miserable life. She trusted 
 still to his honor never to seek to know her 
 real name, nor ever to speak to her of that 
 man if he ever met him. It would do no 
 good to her or to them ; it might drive her, 
 for she was not yet quite sure of herself, to 
 do that which she had promised him never 
 to do again. 
 
 There was no threat, impatience, or act- 
 ing in her voice, but he recognized the same 
 dull desperation he had once heard in it, 
 and her eyes, which a moment before were 
 quick and mobile, had become fixed and set. 
 He had no idea of trying to penetrate the 
 foolish secret of her name and relations; he 
 had never had the slightest curiosity, but it 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlin 1 s. 33 
 
 struck him now that Stratton might at any 
 time force it upon him. The only way that 
 he could prevent it was to let it be known 
 that, for unexpressed reasons, he would 
 shoot Stratton "on sight." This would 
 naturally restrict any verbal communication 
 between them. Jack's ideas of morality 
 were vague, but his convictions on points of 
 honor were singularly direct and positive. 
 
 in. 
 
 Meantime Hamlin and Sophy were pass- 
 ing the outskirts of the town ; the open lots 
 and cleared spaces were giving way to 
 grassy stretches, willow copses, and groups 
 of cottonwood and sycamore; and beyond 
 the level of yellowing tules appeared the 
 fringed and raised banks of the river. 
 Half tropical looking cottages with deep 
 verandas the homes of early Southern 
 pioneers took the place of incomplete 
 blocks of modern houses, monotonously 
 alike. In these sylvan surroundings Mr. 
 Hamlin 's picturesque rusticity looked less 
 incongruous and more Arcadian ; the young 
 girl had lost some of her restraint with her 
 confidences, and lounging together side by 
 
34 A Protegee of Jack Hamlins. 
 
 side, without the least consciousness of any 
 sentiment in their words or actions, they 
 nevertheless contrived to impress the spec- 
 tator with the idea that they were a charm- 
 ing pair of pastoral lovers. So strong was 
 this impression that, as they approached 
 Aunt Chloe's laundry, a pretty rose-covered 
 cottage with an enormous whitewashed 
 barn -like extension in the rear, the black 
 proprietress herself, standing at the door, 
 called her husband to come and look at 
 them, and flashed her white teeth in such 
 unqualified commendation and patronage 
 that Mr. Hamlin, withdrawing himself 
 from Sophy's side, instantly charged down 
 upon them. 
 
 "If you don't slide the lid back over that 
 grinning box of dominoes of yours and take 
 it inside, I '11 just carry Hannibal off with 
 me," he said in a quick whisper, with a 
 half-wicked, half-mischievous glitter in his 
 brown eyes. "That young lady 's a lady 
 do you understand? No riffraff friend 
 of mine, but a regular nun a saint do 
 you hear? So you just stand back and let 
 her take a good look round, and rest her- 
 self, until she wants you." "Two black 
 idiots, Miss Brown," he continued cheer- 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 35 
 
 fully in a higher voice of explanation, as 
 Sophy approached, "who think because one 
 of 'em used to shave me and the other saved 
 my life they 've got a right to stand at their 
 humble cottage door and frighten horses ! " 
 
 So great was Mr. Hamlin's ascendency 
 over his former servants that even this in- 
 genious pleasantry was received with every 
 sign of affection and appreciation of the 
 humorist, and of the profound respect for 
 his companion. Aunt Chloe showed them 
 effusively into her parlor, a small but scru- 
 pulously neat and sweet-smelling apartment, 
 inordinately furnished with a huge mahog- 
 any centre-table and chairs, and the most 
 fragile and meretricious china and glass 
 ornaments on the mantel. But the three 
 jasmine-edged lattice windows opened upon 
 a homely garden of old-fashioned herbs and 
 flowers, and their fragrance filled the room. 
 The cleanest and starchiest of curtains, the 
 most dazzling and whitest of tidies and 
 chair-covers, bespoke the adjacent laundry; 
 indeed, the whole cottage seemed to exhale 
 the odors of lavender soap and freshly 
 ironed linen. Yet the cottage was large 
 for the couple and their assistants. "Dar 
 was two front rooms on de next flo' dat 
 
36 A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 dey never used," explained Aunt Chloe; 
 "friends allowed dat dey could let 'em to 
 white folks, but dey had always been done 
 kep' for Marse Hamlin, ef he ever wanted 
 to be wid his old niggers again." Jack 
 looked up quickly with a brightened face, 
 made a sign to Hannibal, and the two left 
 the room together. 
 
 When he came through the passage a few 
 moments later, there was a sound of laugh- 
 ter in the parlor. He recognized the full, 
 round lazy chuckle of Aunt Chloe, but 
 there was a higher girlish ripple that he 
 did not know. He had never heard Sophy 
 laugh before. Nor, when he entered, had 
 he ever seen her so animated. She was 
 helping Chloe set the table, to that lady's 
 intense delight at "Missy's" girlish house- 
 wifery. She was picking the berries fresh 
 from the garden, buttering the Sally Lunn, 
 making the tea, and arranging the details 
 of the repast with apparently no trace of 
 her former discontent and unhappiness in 
 either face or manner. He dropped quietly 
 into a chair by the window, and, with the 
 homely scents of the garden mixing with 
 the honest odors of Aunt Chloe 's cookery, 
 watched her with an amusement that was as 
 
A Protegee of Jack Ufamlin's. 37 
 
 pleasant and grateful as it was strange and 
 unprecedented. 
 
 "Now den," said Aunt Chloe to her hus- 
 band, as she put the finishing touch to the 
 repast in a plate of doughnuts as exquisitely 
 brown and shining as Jack's eyes were at 
 that moment, "Hannibal, you just come 
 away, and let dem two white quality chil- 
 lens have dey tea. Dey 's done starved, 
 shuah." And with an approving nod to 
 Jack, she bundled her husband from the 
 room. 
 
 The door closed ; the young girl began to 
 pour out the tea, but Jack remained in his 
 seat by the window. It was a singular sen- 
 sation which he did not care to disturb. It 
 was no new thing for Mr. Hamlin to find 
 himself at a tete-a-tete repast with the ad- 
 miring and complaisant fair; there was a 
 cabinet particulier iir a certain San Fran- 
 cisco restaurant which had listened to their 
 various vanities and professions of undying 
 faith ; he might have recalled certain festal 
 rendezvous with a widow whose piety and 
 impeccable reputation made it a moral duty 
 for her to come to him only in disguise; it 
 was but a few days before that he had been 
 let privately into the palatial mansion of a 
 
38 A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 high official for a midnight supper with a 
 foolish wife. It was not strange, therefore, 
 that he should be alone here, secretly with 
 a member of that indirect, loving sex. But 
 that he should be sitting there in a cheap 
 negro laundry with absolutely no sentiment 
 of any kind towards the heavy - haired, 
 freckle - faced country schoolgirl opposite 
 him, from whom he sought and expected 
 nothing, and enjoying it without scorn of 
 himself or his companion, to use his own 
 expression, "got him." Presently he rose 
 and sauntered to the table with shining 
 
 "Well, what do you think of Aunt 
 Chloe's shebang? " he asked smilingly. 
 
 "Oh, it's so sweet and clean and home- 
 like," said the girl quickly. At any other 
 time he would have winced at the last ad- 
 jective. It struck him now as exactly the 
 word. 
 
 "Would you like to live here, if you 
 could?" 
 
 Her face brightened. She put the tea- 
 pot down and gazed fixedly at Jack. 
 
 "Because you can. Look here. I spoke 
 to Hannibal about it. You can have the 
 two front rooms if you want to. One of 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlirts. 39 
 
 'em is big enough and light enough for a 
 studio to do your work in. You tell that 
 nigger what you want to put in 'em, and 
 he 's got my orders to do it. I told him 
 about your painting; said you were the 
 daughter of an old friend, you know. 
 Hold on, Sophy; d n it all, I 've got to 
 do a little gilt-edged lying; but I let you 
 out of the niece business this time. Yes, 
 from this moment I 'm no longer your 
 uncle. I renounce the relationship. It 's 
 hard," continued the rascal, "after all these 
 years and considering sister Mary's feel- 
 ings; but, as you seem to wish it, it must 
 be done." 
 
 Sophy's steel-blue eyes softened. She 
 slid her long brown hand across the table 
 and grasped Jack's. He returned the pres- 
 sure quickly and fraternally, even to that 
 half-shamed, half-hurried evasion of emo- 
 tion peculiar to all brothers. This was 
 also a new sensation; but he liked it. 
 
 "You are too too good, Mr. Hamlin," 
 she said quietly. 
 
 "Yes," said Jack cheerfully, "that 's 
 what 's the matter with me. It isn't natu- 
 ral, and if I keep it up too long it brings 
 on my cough." 
 
40 A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 
 
 Nevertheless, they were happy in a boy 
 and girl "fashion, eating heartily, and, I 
 fear, not always decorously; scrambling 
 somewhat for the strawberries, and smack- 
 ing their lips over the Sally Lunn. Mean- 
 time, it was arranged that Mr. Hamlin 
 should inform Miss Mix that Sophy would 
 leave school at the end of the term, only a 
 few days hence, and then transfer herself 
 to lodgings with some old family servants, 
 where she could more easily pursue her 
 studies in her own profession. She need 
 not make her place of abode a secret, 
 neither need she court publicity. She 
 would write to Jack regularly, informing 
 him of her progress, and he would visit her 
 whenever he could. Jack assented gravely 
 to the further proposition that he was to 
 keep a strict account of all the moneys he 
 advanced her, and that she was to repay 
 him out of the proceeds of her first pictures. 
 He had promised also, with a slight mental 
 reservation, not to buy them all himself, but 
 to trust to her success with the public. 
 They were never to talk of what had hap- 
 pened before; she was to begin life anew. 
 Of such were their confidences, spoken often 
 together at the same moment, and with 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 41 
 
 their mouths full. Only one thing troubled 
 Jack; he had not yet told her frankly who 
 he was and what was his reputation; he 
 had hitherto carelessly supposed she would 
 learn it, and in truth had cared little if she 
 did; but it was evident from her conversa- 
 tion that day that by some miracle she was 
 still in ignorance. Unable to tell her him- 
 self, he had charged Hannibal to break it 
 to her casually after he was gone. "You 
 can let me down easy if you like, but you 'd 
 better make a square deal of it while you 're 
 about it. And," Jack had added cheer- 
 fully, "if she thinks after that she 'd better 
 drop me entirely, you just say that if she 
 wishes to stay, you '11 see that I don't ever 
 come here again. And you keep your word 
 about it too, you black nigger, or I '11 be 
 the first to thrash you." 
 
 Nevertheless, when Hannibal and Aunt 
 Chloe returned to clear away the repast, 
 they were a harmonious party; albeit, Mr. 
 Hamlin seemed more content to watch them 
 silently from his chair by the window, a 
 cigar between his lips, and the pleasant dis- 
 traction of tne homely scents and sounds of 
 the garden in his senses. Allusion having 
 been made again to the morning perform- 
 
42 A Protegee, of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 ance of the organ, he was implored by 
 Hannibal to diversify his talent by exercis- 
 ing it on an old guitar which had passed 
 into that retainer's possession with certain 
 clothes of his master's when they separated. 
 Mr. Hamlin accepted it dubiously; it had 
 twanged under his volatile fingers in more 
 pretentious but less innocent halls. But 
 presently he raised his tenor voice and soft 
 brown lashes to the humble ceiling and 
 sang. 
 
 " Way down upon the Swanee River," 
 
 Discoursed Jack plaintively, 
 
 " Far, far away, 
 
 Thar 's whar my heart is turning ever, 
 Thar 's whar the old folks stay." 
 
 The two dusky scions of an emotional 
 race, that had been wont to sweeten its toil 
 and condone its wrongs with music, sat 
 wrapt and silent, swaying with Jack's voice 
 until they could burst in upon the chorus. 
 The jasmine vines trilled softly with the 
 afternoon breeze ; a slender yellow-hammer, 
 perhaps, emulous of Jack, swung himself 
 from an outer spray and peered curiously 
 into the room ; and a few neighbors, gather- 
 ing at their doors and windows, remarked 
 that "after all, when it came to real sing- 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 43 
 
 ing, no one could beat those d d nig- 
 gers." 
 
 The sun was slowly sinking in the rolling 
 gold of the river when Jack and Sophy 
 started leisurely back through the broken 
 shafts of light, and across the far-stretching 
 shadows of the cotton woods. In the midst 
 of a lazy silence they were presently con- 
 scious of a distant monotonous throb, the 
 booming of the up boat on the river. The 
 sound came nearer passed them, the boat 
 itself hidden by the trees; but a trailing 
 cloud of smoke above cast a momentary 
 shadow upon their path. The girl looked 
 up at Jack with a troubled face. Mr. 
 Hamlin smiled reassuringly; but in that 
 instant he had made up his mind that it was 
 his moral duty to kill Mr. Edward Strat- 
 ton. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For the next two months Mr. Hamlin 
 was professionally engaged in San Fran- 
 cisco and Marysville, and the transfer of 
 Sophy from the school to her new home 
 was effected without his supervision. From 
 letters received by him during that interval, 
 it seemed that the young girl had entered 
 
44 A Protegee of Jack Hamlins. 
 
 energetically upon her new career, and that 
 her artistic efforts were crowned with suc- 
 cess. There were a few Indian-ink sketches, 
 studies made at school and expanded in her 
 own "studio," which were eagerly bought 
 as soon as exhibited in the photographer's 
 window, notably by a florid and inar- 
 tistic bookkeeper, an old negro woman, a 
 slangy stable boy, a gorgeously dressed and 
 painted female, and the bearded second 
 officer of a river steamboat, without hesita- 
 tion and without comment. This, as Mr. 
 Hamlin intelligently pointed out in a letter 
 to Sophy, showed a general and diversified 
 appreciation on the part of the public. In- 
 deed, it emboldened her, in the retouching 
 of photographs, to offer sittings to the sub- 
 jects, and to undertake even large crayon 
 copies, which had resulted in her getting so 
 many orders that she was no longer obliged 
 to sell her drawings, but restricted herself 
 solely to profitable portraiture. The studio 
 became known; even its quaint surround- 
 ings added to the popular interest, and the 
 originality and independence of the young 
 painter helped her to a genuine success. 
 All this she wrote to Jack. Meantime 
 Hannibal had assured him that he had car- 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlins. 45 
 
 ried out his instructions by informing 
 "Missy" of his old master's real occupa- 
 tion and reputation, but that the young lady 
 hadn't "took no notice." Certainly there 
 was no allusion to it in her letters, nor any 
 indication in her manner. Mr. Hamlin 
 was greatly, and it seemed to him properly, 
 relieved. And he looked forward with con- 
 siderable satisfaction to an early visit to old 
 Hannibal's laundry. 
 
 It must be confessed, also, that another 
 matter, a simple affair of gallantry, was 
 giving him an equally unusual, unexpected, 
 and absurd annoyance, which he had never 
 before permitted to such trivialities. In a 
 recent visit to a fashionable watering-place, 
 he had attracted the attention of what ap- 
 peared to be a respectable, matter of fact 
 woman, the wife of a recently elected rural 
 Senator. She was, however, singularly 
 beautiful, and as singularly cold. It was 
 perhaps this quality, and her evident annoy- 
 ance at some unreasoning prepossession 
 which Jack's fascinations exercised upon 
 her, that heightened that reckless desire for 
 risk and excitement which really made up 
 the greater part of his gallantry. Never- 
 theless, as was his habit, he had treated her 
 
46 A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 always with a charming unconsciousness of 
 his own attentions, and a frankness that 
 seemed inconsistent with any insidious ap- 
 proach. In fact, Mr. Hamlin seldom made 
 love to anybody, but permitted it to be 
 made to him with good-humored depreca- 
 tion and cheerful skepticism. He had once, 
 quite accidentally, while riding, come upon 
 her when she had strayed from her own 
 riding party, and had behaved with such 
 unexpected circumspection and propriety, 
 not to mention a certain thoughtful abstrac- 
 tion, it was the day he had received 
 Sophy's letter, that she was constrained 
 to make the first advances. This led to a 
 later innocent rendezvous, in which Mrs. 
 Camperly was impelled to confide to Mr. 
 Hamlin the fact that her husband had 
 really never understood her. Jack listened 
 with an understanding and sympathy quick- 
 ened by long experience of such confessions. 
 If anything had ever kept him from mar- 
 riage it was this evident incompatibility of 
 the conjugal relations with a just concep- 
 tion of the feminine soul and its aspirations. 
 And so eventually this yearning for sym- 
 pathy dragged Mrs. Camperly 's clean skirts 
 and rustic purity after Jack's heels into 
 
A Protegee of Jack ffamlirfs. 47 
 
 various places and various situations not so 
 clean, rural, or innocent ; made her misera- 
 bly unhappy in his absence, and still more 
 miserably happy in his presence; impelled 
 her to lie, cheat, and bear false witness; 
 forced her to listen with mingled shame and 
 admiration to narrow criticism of his faults, 
 from natures so palpably inferior to his 
 own that her moral sense was confused and 
 shaken; gave her two distinct lives, but so 
 unreal and feverish that, with a reckless- 
 ness equal to his own, she was at last ready 
 to merge them both into his. For the first 
 time in his life Mr. Hamlin found himself 
 bored at the beginning of an affair, actually 
 hesitated, and suddenly disappeared from 
 San Francisco. 
 
 He turned up a few days later at Aunt 
 Chloe's door, with various packages of pres- 
 ents and quite the air of a returning father 
 of a family, to the intense delight of that 
 lady and to Sophy's proud gratification. 
 For he was lost in a profuse, boyish admi- 
 ration of her pretty studio, and of whole- 
 some reverence for her art and her astound- 
 ing progress. They were also amused at 
 his awe and evident alarm at the portraits 
 of two ladies, her latest sitters, that were 
 
48 A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 
 
 still on the easels, and, in consideration of 
 his half -assumed, half -real bashfulness, they 
 turned their faces to the wall. Then his 
 quick, observant eye detected a photograph 
 of himself on the mantel. 
 
 "What 's that? " he asked suddenly. 
 
 Sophy and Aunt Chloe exchanged mean- 
 ing glances. Sophy had, as a surprise to 
 Jack, just completed a handsome crayon 
 portrait of himself from an old photograph 
 furnished by Hannibal, and the picture was 
 at that moment in the window of her former 
 patron, the photographer. 
 
 "Oh, dat! Miss Sophy jus' put it dar fo' 
 de lady sitters to look at to gib 'em a pleasant 
 'spresshion," said Aunt Chloe, chuckling. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin did not laugh, but quietly 
 slipped the photograph into his pocket. 
 Yet, perhaps, it had not been recognized. 
 
 Then Sophy proposed to have luncheon 
 in the studio; it was quite "Bohemian " and 
 fashionable, and many artists did it. But 
 to her great surprise Jack gravely objected, 
 preferring the little parlor of Aunt Chloe, 
 the vine-fringed windows, and the heavy 
 respectable furniture. He thought it was 
 profaning the studio, and then anybody 
 might come in. This unusual circumspec- 
 
A Protegee of Jack ffamliris. 49 
 
 tion amused them, and was believed to be 
 part of the boyish awe with which Jack 
 regarded the models, the draperies, and the 
 studies on the walls. Certain it was that 
 he was much more at his ease in the parlor, 
 and when he and Sophy were once more 
 alone at their meal, although he ate nothing, 
 he had regained all his old naivete. Pres- 
 ently he leaned forward and placed his hand 
 fraternally on her arm. Sophy looked up 
 with an equally frank smile. 
 
 "You know I promised to let bygones 
 be bygones, eh? Well, I intended it, and 
 more, I intended to make 'em so. I 
 told you I 'd never speak to you again of 
 that man who tried to run you off, and I 
 intended that no one else should. Well, as 
 he was the only one who could talk that 
 meant him. But the cards are out of my 
 hands; the game 's been played without me. 
 For he's dead!" 
 
 The girl started. Mr. Hamlin's hand 
 passed caressingly twice or thrice along her 
 sleeve with a peculiar gentleness that seemed 
 to magnetize her. 
 
 "Dead," he repeated slowly. "Shot in 
 San Diego by another man, but not by me. 
 I had him tracked as far as that, and had 
 
50 A Protegee of Jack Hamliris. 
 
 my eyes on him, but it wasn't my deal. 
 But there," he added, giving her magnet- 
 ized arm a gentle and final tap as if to 
 awaken it, "he 's dead, and so is the whole 
 story. And now we '11 drop it forever." 
 
 The girl's downcast eyes were fixed on 
 the table. "But there's my sister," she 
 murmured. 
 
 "Did she know you went with him?" 
 asked Jack. 
 
 "No; but she knows I ran away." 
 
 " Well, you ran away from home to study 
 how to be an artist, don't you see? Some 
 day she '11 find out you are one ; that settles 
 the whole thing." 
 
 They were both quite cheerful again 
 when Aunt Chloe returned to clear the 
 table, especially Jack, who was in the best 
 spirits, with preternaturally bright eyes and 
 a somewhat rare color on his cheeks. Aunt 
 Chloe, who had noticed that his breathing 
 was hurried at times, watched him nar- 
 rowly, and when later he slipped from the 
 room, followed him into the passage. He 
 was leaning against the wall. In an instant 
 the negress was at his side. 
 
 "De Lawdy Gawd, M^rse Jack, not 
 ay in ? " 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 51 
 
 He took his handkerchief, slightly 
 streaked with blood, from his lips and said 
 faintly, "Yes, it came on on the boat; 
 but I thought the d d thing was over. 
 Get me out of this, quick, to some hotel, 
 before she knows it. You can tell her I 
 was called away. Say that " but his 
 breath failed him, and when Aunt Chloe 
 caught him like a child in her strong arms 
 he could make no resistance. 
 
 In another hour he was unconscious, with 
 two doctors at his bedside, in the little room 
 that had been occupied by Sophy. It was 
 a sharp attack, but prompt attendance and 
 skillful nursing availed; he rallied the next 
 day, but it would be weeks, the doctors 
 said, before he could be removed in safety. 
 Sophy was transferred to the parlor, but 
 spent most of her time at Jack's bedside 
 with Aunt Chloe, or in the studio with the 
 door open between it and the bedroom. In 
 spite of his enforced idleness and weakness, 
 it was again a singularly pleasant experience 
 to Jack; it amused him to sometimes see 
 Sophy at her work through the open door, 
 and when sitters came, for he had in- 
 sisted on her continuing her duties as before, 
 keeping his invalid presence in the house a 
 
52 A Protegee of Jack Ifamlin's. 
 
 secret, he had all the satisfaction of a 
 mischievous boy in rehearsing to Sophy such 
 of the conversation as could be overheard 
 through the .closed door, and speculating on 
 the possible wonder and chagrin of the sit- 
 ters had they discovered him. Even when 
 he was convalescent and strong enough to 
 be helped into the parlor and garden, he 
 preferred to remain propped up in Sophy's 
 little bedroom. It was evident, however, 
 that this predilection was connected with no 
 suggestion nor reminiscence of Sophy her- 
 self. It was true that he had once asked 
 her if it didn't make her "feel like home." 
 The decided negative from Sophy seemed 
 to mildly surprise him. "That's odd," he 
 said; "now all these fixings and things," 
 pointing to the flowers in a vase, the little 
 hanging shelf of books, the knickknacks 
 on the mantel-shelf, and the few feminine 
 ornaments that still remained, "look rather 
 like home to me." 
 
 So the days slipped by, and although 
 Mr. Hamlin was soon able to walk short 
 distances, leaning on Sophy's arm, in the 
 evening twilight, along the river bank, he 
 was still missed from the haunts of dis- 
 sipated men. A good many people won- 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlirfs. 53 
 
 dered, and others, chiefly of the more ir- 
 repressible sex, were singularly concerned. 
 Apparently one of these, one sultry after- 
 noon, stopped before the shadowed window 
 of a photographer's; she was a handsome, 
 well-dressed woman, yet bearing a certain 
 countrylike simplicity that was unlike the 
 restless smartness of the more urban prom- 
 enaders that passed her. Nevertheless she 
 had halted before Mr. Hamlin's picture, 
 which Sophy had not yet dared to bring 
 home and present to him, and was gazing 
 at it with rapt and breathless attention. 
 Suddenly she shook down her veil and en- 
 tered the shop. Could the proprietor kindly 
 tell her if that portrait was the work of a 
 local artist? 
 
 The proprietor was both proud and 
 pleased to say that it was! It was the 
 work of a Miss Brown, a young girl stu- 
 dent; in fact, a mere schoolgirl one might 
 say. He could show her others of her pic- 
 tures. 
 
 Thanks. But could he tell her if this 
 portrait was from life ? 
 
 No doubt ; the young lady had a studio, 
 and he himself had sent her sitters. 
 
 And perhaps this was the portrait of one 
 that he had sent her ? 
 
64 A Protegee of Jack Hamliris. 
 
 No; but she was very popular and be- 
 coming quite the fashion. Very probably 
 this gentleman, whom he understood was 
 quite a public character, had heard of her, 
 and selected her on that account. 
 
 The lady's face flushed slightly. The 
 photographer continued. The picture was 
 not for sale; it was only there on exhibi- 
 tion ; in fact it was to be returned to-mor- 
 row. 
 
 To the sitter? 
 
 He couldn't say. It was to go back to 
 the studio. Perhaps the sitter would be 
 there. 
 
 And this studio ? Could she have its 
 address? 
 
 The man wrote a few lines on his card. 
 Perhaps the lady would be kind enough 
 to say that he had sent her. The lady, 
 thanking him, partly lifted her veil to show 
 a charming smile, and gracefully with- 
 drew. The photographer was pleased. Miss 
 Brown had evidently got another sitter, 
 and, from that momentary glimpse of her 
 face, it would be a picture as beautiful and 
 attractive as the man's. But what was the 
 odd idea that struck him? She certainly 
 reminded him of some one ! There was the 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 55 
 
 same heavy hair, only this lady's was 
 golden, and she was older and more mature. 
 And he remained for a moment with knitted 
 brows musing over his counter. 
 
 Meantime the fair stranger was making 
 her way towards the river suburb. When 
 she reached Aunt Chloe's cottage, she 
 paused, with the unfamiliar curiosity of a 
 newcomer, over its quaint and incongruous 
 exterior. She hesitated a moment also 
 when Aunt Chloe appeared in the doorway, 
 and, with a puzzled survey of her features, 
 went upstairs to announce a visitor. There 
 was the sound of hurried shutting of doors, 
 of the moving of furniture, quick foot- 
 steps across the floor, and then a girlish 
 laugh that startled her. She ascended the 
 stairs breathlessly to Aunt Chloe's sum- 
 mons, found the negress on the landing, 
 and knocked at a door which bore a card 
 marked "Studio." The door opened; she 
 entered; there were two sudden outcries 
 that might have come from one voice. 
 
 "Sophonisba!" 
 
 "Marianne!" 
 
 "Hush." 
 
 The woman had seized Sophy by the 
 wrist and dragged her to the window. 
 
56 A Protegee of Jack Hamlin 1 s. 
 
 There was a haggard look of desperation in 
 her face akin to that which Hamlin had 
 once seen in her sister's eyes on the boat, 
 as she said huskily : " I did not know you 
 were here. I came to see the woman who 
 had painted Mr. Hamlin' s portrait. I did 
 not know it was you. Listen! Quick! 
 answer me one question. Tell me I im- 
 plore you for the sake of the mother who 
 bore us both ! tell me is this the man 
 for whom you left home? " 
 
 "No ! No ! A hundred times no ! " 
 
 Then there was a silence. Mr. Hamlin 
 from the bedroom heard no more. 
 
 An hour later, when the two women 
 opened the studio door, pale but composed, 
 they were met by the anxious and tearful 
 face of Aunt Chloe. 
 
 "Lawdy Gawd, Missy, but dey done 
 gone ! bofe of 'em ! " 
 
 "Who is gone? " demanded Sophy, as the 
 woman beside her trembled and grew paler 
 still. 
 
 "Marse Jack and dat fool nigger, Han- 
 nibal." 
 
 "Mr. Hamlin gone?" repeated Sophy 
 incredulously. " When ? Where ? " 
 
 "Jess now on de down boat. Sudden 
 
A Protegee of Jack Hamliris. 57 
 
 business. Did n't like to disturb yo' and 
 yo' friend. Said he 'd write." 
 
 " But he was ill almost helpless," 
 gasped Sophy. 
 
 "Dat 's why he took dat old nigger. 
 Lawdy, Missy, bress yo' heart. Dey both 
 knows aich udder, shuah! It's all right. 
 Dar now, dar dey are; listen." 
 
 She held up her hand. A slow pulsation, 
 that might have been the dull, labored beat- 
 ing of their own hearts, was making itself 
 felt throughout the little cottage. It came 
 nearer, a deep regular inspiration that 
 seemed slowly to fill and possess the whole 
 tranquil summer twilight. It was nearer 
 still was abreast of the house passed 
 grew fainter and at last died away like a 
 deep-drawn sigh. It was the down boat, 
 that was now separating Mr. Hamlin and his 
 protegee, even as it had once brought them 
 together. 
 
AN INGENUE OF THE SIERRAS. 
 I. 
 
 WE all held our breath as the coach 
 rushed through the semi-darkness of Gal- 
 loper's Ridge. The vehicle itself was only 
 a huge lumbering shadow; its side-lights 
 were carefully extinguished, and Yuba Bill 
 had just politely removed from the lips of 
 an outside passenger even the cigar with 
 which he had been ostentatiously exhibit- 
 ing his coolness. For it had been rumored 
 that the Ramon Martinez gang of "road 
 agents" were "laying" for us on the sec- 
 ond grade, and would time the passage of 
 our lights across Galloper's in order to 
 intercept us in the "brush " beyond. If we 
 could cross the ridge without being seen, 
 and so get through the brush before they 
 reached it, we were safe. If they followed, 
 it would only be a stern chase with the odds 
 in our favor. 
 
 The huge vehicle swayed from side to 
 side, rolled, dipped, and plunged, but Bill 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 59 
 
 kept the track, as if, in the whispered 
 words of the Expressman, he could "feel 
 and smell " the road he could no longer see. 
 We knew that at times we hung perilously 
 over the edge of slopes that eventually 
 dropped a thousand feet sheer to the tops 
 of the sugar-pines below, but we knew that 
 Bill knew it also. The half visible heads 
 of the horses, drawn wedge-wise together 
 by the tightened reins, appeared to cleave 
 the darkness like a ploughshare, held be- 
 tween his rigid hands. Even the hoof- 
 beats of the six horses had fallen into 
 a vague, monotonous, distant roll. Then 
 the ridge was crossed, and we plunged into 
 the still blacker obscurity of the brush. 
 Rather we no longer seemed to move it 
 was only the phantom night that rushed 
 by us. The horses might have been sub- 
 merged in some swift Lethean stream ; no- 
 thing but the top of the coach and the rigid 
 bulk of Yuba Bill arose above them. Yet 
 even in that awful moment our speed was 
 unslackened ; it was as if Bill cared no lon- 
 ger to guide but only to drive, or as if the 
 direction of his huge machine was deter- 
 mined by other hands than his. An incau- 
 tious whisperer hazarded the paralyzing 
 
60 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 suggestion of our "meeting another team." 
 To our great astonishment Bill overheard 
 it; to our greater astonishment he replied. 
 "It 'ud be only a neck and neck race which 
 would get to h 11 first," he said quietly. 
 But we were relieved for he had spoken ! 
 Almost simultaneously the wider turnpike 
 began to glimmer faintly as a visible track 
 before us ; the wayside trees fell out of line, 
 opened up, and dropped off one after an- 
 other; we were on the broader table-land, 
 out of danger, and apparently unperceived 
 and unpursued. 
 
 Nevertheless in the conversation that 
 broke out again with the relighting of the 
 lamps, and the comments, congratulations, 
 and reminiscences that were freely ex- 
 changed, Yuba Bill preserved a dissatisfied 
 and even resentful silence. The most gen- 
 erous praise of his skill and courage awoke 
 no response. "I reckon the old man waz 
 just spilin' for a fight, and is feelin' disap- 
 pointed," said a passenger. But those who 
 knew that Bill had the true fighter's scorn 
 for any purely purposeless conflict were 
 more or less concerned and watchful of him. 
 He would drive steadily for four or five 
 minutes with thoughtfully knitted brows, 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 61 
 
 but eyes still keenly observant under his 
 slouched hat, and then, relaxing his strained 
 attitude, would give way to a movement of 
 impatience. "You ain't uneasy about any- 
 thing, Bill, are you? " asked the Express- 
 man confidentially. Bill lifted his eyes 
 with a slightly contemptuous surprise. 
 "Not about anything ter come. It 's what 
 hez happened that I don't exackly sabe. I 
 don't see no signs of Ramon's gang ever 
 havin' been out at all, and ef they were out 
 I don't see why they didn't go for us." 
 
 " The simple fact is that our ruse was 
 successful," said an outside passenger. 
 " They waited to see our lights on the ridge, 
 and, not seeing them, missed us until we 
 had passed. That 's my opinion." 
 
 "You ain't puttin' any price on that 
 opinion, air ye?" inquired Bill politely. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "'Cos thar 's a comic paper in 'Frisco 
 pays for them things, and I 've seen worse 
 things in it." 
 
 "Come off, Bill," retorted the passenger, 
 slightly nettled by the tittering of his com- 
 panions. "Then what did you put out the 
 lights for? " 
 
 "Well," returned Bill grimly, "it mout 
 
62 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 have been because I did n't keer to hev you 
 chaps blazin' away at the first bush you 
 thought you saw move in your skeer, and 
 bringin' down their fire on us." 
 
 The explanation, though unsatisfactory, 
 was by no means an improbable one, and 
 we thought it better to accept it with a 
 laugh. Bill, however, resumed his ab- 
 stracted manner. 
 
 "Who got in at the Summit? " he at last 
 asked abruptly of the Expressman. 
 
 "Derrick and Simpson of Cold Spring, 
 and one of the 'Excelsior ' boys," responded 
 the Expressman. 
 
 "And that Pike County girl from Dow's 
 Flat, with her bundles. Don't forget her," 
 added the outside passenger ironically. 
 
 "Does anybody here know her? " contin- 
 ued Bill, ignoring the irony. 
 
 "You 'd better ask Judge Thompson; he 
 was mighty attentive to her; gettin' her a 
 seat by the off window, and lookin' after 
 her bundles and things." 
 
 "Gettin' her a seat by the window? " re- 
 peated Bill. 
 
 "Yes, she wanted to see everything, and 
 wasn't afraid of the shooting." 
 
 "Yes," broke in a third passenger, "and 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 63 
 
 he was so d d civil that when she dropped 
 her ring in the straw, he struck a match 
 agin all your rules, you know, and held it 
 for her to find it. And it was just as we 
 were crossin' through the brush, too. I saw 
 the hull thing through the window, for I 
 was hanging over the wheels with my gun 
 ready for action. And it wasn't no fault 
 of Judge Thompson's if his d d foolishness 
 had n't shown us up, and got us a shot from 
 the gang." 
 
 Bill gave a short grunt, but drove steadily 
 on without further comment or even turning 
 his eyes to the speaker. 
 
 We were now not more than a mile from 
 the station at the crossroads where we were 
 to change horses. The lights already glim- 
 mered in the distance, and there was a faint 
 suggestion of the coming dawn on the sum- 
 mits of the ridge to the west. We had 
 plunged into a belt of timber, when sud- 
 denly a horseman emerged at a sharp canter 
 from a trail that seemed to be parallel with 
 our own. We were all slightly startled; 
 Yuba Bill alone preserving his moody calm. 
 
 "Hullo! "he said. 
 
 The stranger wheeled to our side as Bill 
 slackened his speed. He seemed to be a 
 "packer" or freight muleteer. 
 
64 An Inyenue of the Sierras. 
 
 "Ye didn't get 'held up' on the Di- 
 vide?" continued Bill cheerfully. 
 
 "No," returned the packer, with a laugh; 
 "/don't carry treasure. But I see you 're 
 all right, too. I saw you crossin' over Gal- 
 loper's." 
 
 " Saw us ? " said Bill sharply. " We had 
 our lights out." 
 
 "Yes, but there was suthin' white a 
 handkerchief or woman's veil, I reckon 
 hangin' from the window. It was only a 
 movin' spot agin the hillside, but ez I was 
 lookin' out for ye I knew it was you by 
 that. Good-night!" 
 
 He cantered away. We tried to look at 
 each other's faces, and at Bill's expression 
 in the darkness, but he neither spoke nor 
 stirred until he threw down the reins when 
 we stopped before the station. The passen- 
 gers quickly descended from the roof; the 
 Expressman was about to follow, but Bill 
 plucked his sleeve. 
 
 "I 'm goin' to take a look over this yer 
 stage and these yer passengers with ye, 
 afore we start." 
 
 "Why, what 'sup?" 
 
 "Well," said Bill, slowly disengaging 
 himself from one of his enormous gloves, 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 65 
 
 "when we waltzed down into the brush up 
 there I saw a man, ez plain ez I see you, 
 rise up from it. I thought our time had 
 come and the band was go in' to play, when 
 he sorter drew back, made a sign, and we 
 just scooted past him." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well," said Bill, "it means that this yer 
 coach was passed through free to-night." 
 
 "You don't object to that surely? I 
 think we were deucedly lucky." 
 
 Bill slowly drew off his other glove. 
 "I've been risMn' my everlastin' life on 
 this d d line three times a week," he said 
 with mock humility, "and I 'm allus thank- 
 ful for small mercies. But," he added 
 grimly, "when it comes down to being passed 
 free by some pal of a hoss thief, and thet 
 called a speshal Providence, I ain't in it! 
 No, sir, I ain't in it! " 
 
 II. 
 
 It was with mixed emotions that the pas- 
 sengers heard that a delay of fifteen minutes 
 to tighten certain screw-bolts had been or- 
 dered by the autocratic Bill. Some were 
 anxious to get their breakfast at Sugar 
 
66 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 Pine, but others were not averse to linger 
 for the daylight that promised greater safety 
 on the road. The Expressman, knowing 
 the real cause of Bill's delay, was neverthe- 
 less at a loss to understand the object of it. 
 The passengers were all well known; any 
 idea of complicity with the road agents was 
 wild and impossible, and, even if there was 
 a confederate of the gang among them, he 
 would have been more likely to precipitate 
 a robbery than to check it. Again, the 
 discovery of such a confederate to whom 
 they clearly owed their safety and his 
 arrest would have been quite against the 
 Calif ornian sense of justice, if not actually 
 illegal. It seemed evident that Bill's quix- 
 otic sense of honor was leading him astray. 
 The station consisted of a stable, a wagon 
 shed, and a building containing three rooms. 
 The first was fitted up with " bunks " or 
 sleeping berths for the employees ; the second 
 was the kitchen; and the third and larger 
 apartment was dining-room or sitting-room, 
 and was used as general waiting-room for 
 the passengers. It was not a refreshment 
 station, and there was no "bar." But a 
 mysterious command from the omnipotent 
 Bill produced a demijohn of whiskey, with 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 67 
 
 which he hospitably treated the company. 
 The seductive influence of the liquor loos- 
 ened the tongue of the gallant Judge 
 Thompson. He admitted to having struck 
 a match to enable the fair Pike Countian 
 to find her ring, which, however, proved to 
 have fallen in her lap. She was "a fine, 
 healthy young woman a type of the Far 
 West, sir ; in fact, quite a prairie blossom ! 
 yet simple and guileless as a child." She 
 was on her way to Marysville, he believed, 
 "although she expected to meet friends 
 a friend, in fact later on." It was her 
 first visit to a large town in fact, any 
 civilized centre since she crossed the 
 plains three years ago. Her girlish curi- 
 osity was quite touching, and her innocence 
 irresistible. In fact, in a country whose 
 tendency was to produce "frivolity and 
 forwardness in young girls, he found her a 
 most interesting young person." She was 
 even then out in the stable-yard watching 
 the horses being harnessed, "preferring to 
 indulge a pardonable healthy young curios- 
 ity than to listen to the empty compliments 
 of the younger passengers." 
 
 The figure which Bill saw thus engaged, 
 without being otherwise distinguished, cer- 
 
68 An Ingenue, of the Sierras. 
 
 tainly seemed to justify the Judge's opin- 
 ion. She appeared to be a well-matured 
 country girl, whose frank gray eyes and 
 large laughing mouth expressed a whole- 
 some and abiding gratification in her life 
 and surroundings. She was watching the 
 replacing of luggage in the boot. A little 
 feminine start, as one of her own parcels 
 was thrown somewhat roughly on the roof, 
 gave Bill his opportunity. "Now there," 
 he growled to the helper, "ye ain't carting- 
 stone ! Look out, will yer ! Some of your 
 things, miss?" he added, with gruff cour- 
 tesy, turning to her. "These yer trunks, 
 for instance?" 
 
 She smiled a pleasant assent, and Bill, 
 pushing aside the helper, seized a large 
 square trunk in his arms. But from excess 
 of zeal, or some other mischance, his foot 
 slipped, and he came down heavily, striking 
 the corner of the trunk on the ground and 
 loosening its hinges and fastenings. It was 
 a cheap, common-looking affair, but the 
 accident discovered in its yawning lid a 
 quantity of white, lace-edged feminine ap- 
 parel of an apparently superior quality. 
 The young lady uttered another cry and 
 came quickly forward, but Bill was profuse 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 69 
 
 in his apologies, himself girded the broken 
 box with a strap, and declared his intention 
 of having the company "make it good" to 
 her with a new one. Then he casually ac- 
 companied her to the door of the waiting- 
 room, entered, made a place for her before 
 the fire by simply lifting the nearest and 
 most youthful passenger by the coat collar 
 from the stool that he was occupying, and, 
 having installed the lady in it, displaced 
 another man who was standing before the 
 chimney, and, drawing himself up to his full 
 six feet of height in front of her, glanced 
 down upon his fair passenger as he took his 
 waybill from his pocket. 
 
 "Your name is down here as Miss Mul- 
 lins? " he said. 
 
 She looked up, became suddenly aware 
 that she and her questioner were the centre 
 of interest to the whole circle of passengers, 
 and, with a slight rise of color, returned, 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, Miss Mullins, I 've got a question 
 or two to ask ye. I ask it straight out afore 
 this crowd. It 's in my rights to take ye 
 aside and ask it but that ain't my style; 
 I 'm no detective. I needn't ask it at all, 
 but act as ef I knowed the answer, or I 
 
70 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 might leave it to be asked by others. Ye 
 needn't answer it ef ye don't like; ye *ve 
 got a friend over ther Judge Thompson 
 who is a friend to ye, right or wrong, 
 jest as any other man here is as though 
 ye 'd packed your own jury. Well, the 
 simple question I 've got to ask ye is this : 
 Did you signal to anybody from the coach 
 when we passed Galloper's an hour ago?" 
 
 We all thought that Bill's courage and 
 audacity had reached its climax here. To 
 openly and publicly accuse a "lady" before 
 a group of chivalrous Californians, and 
 that lady possessing the further attractions 
 of youth, good looks, and innocence, was 
 little short of desperation. There was an 
 evident movement of adhesion towards the 
 fair stranger, a slight muttering broke out 
 on the right, but the very boldness of the 
 act held them in stupefied surprise. Judge 
 Thompson, with a bland propitiatory smile 
 began: "Really, Bill, I must protest on 
 behalf of this young lady " when the fair 
 accused, raising her eyes to her accuser, to 
 the consternation of everybody answered 
 with the slight but convincing hesitation of 
 conscientious truthfulness : 
 
 K/dW." 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 71 
 
 "Ahem!" interposed the Judge hastily, 
 " er that is er you allowed your 
 handkerchief to flutter from the window, 
 I noticed it myself, casually one might 
 say even playfully but without any par- 
 ticular significance." 
 
 The girl, regarding her apologist with a 
 singular mingling of pride and impatience, 
 returned briefly : % 
 
 "I signaled." 
 
 "Who did you signal to?" asked Bill 
 gravely. 
 
 "The young gentleman I 'm going to 
 marry." 
 
 A start, followed by a slight titter from 
 the younger passengers, was instantly sup- 
 pressed by a savage glance from Bill. 
 
 "What did you signal to him for?" he 
 continued. 
 
 "To tell him I was here, and that it was 
 all right," returned the young girl, with a 
 steadily rising pride and color. 
 
 "Wot was all right?" demanded Bill. 
 
 "That I wasn't followed, and that he 
 could meet me on the road beyond Cass's 
 Ridge Station." She hesitated a moment, 
 and then, with a still greater pride, in which 
 a youthful defiance was still mingled, said : 
 
72 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 "I 've run away from home to marry him. 
 And I mean to! No one can stop me. 
 Dad didn't like him just because he was 
 poor, and dad 's got money. Dad wanted 
 me to marry a man I hate, and got a lot of 
 dresses and things to bribe me." 
 
 "And you 're taking them in your trunk 
 to the other feller?" said Bill grimly. 
 
 "Yes, he 's poor," returned the girl de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 "Then your father's name is Mullins?" 
 asked Bill. 
 
 "It's not Mullins. I I took that 
 name," she hesitated, with her first exhibi- 
 tion of self -consciousness. 
 
 " Wot is his name?" 
 
 "Eli Hemmings." 
 
 A smile of relief and significance went 
 round the circle. The fame of Eli or 
 "Skinner" Hemmings, as a notorious miser 
 and usurer, had passed even beyond Gal- 
 loper's Kidge. 
 
 "The step that you 're taking, Miss Mul- 
 lins, I need not tell you, is one of great 
 gravity," said Judge Thompson, with a cer- 
 tain paternal seriousness of manner, in 
 which, however, we were glad to detect a 
 glaring affectation; "and I trust that you 
 
An Ingenue of the /Sierras. 73 
 
 and your affianced have fully weighed it. 
 Far be it from me to interfere with or ques- 
 tion the natural affections of two young 
 people, but may I ask you what you know 
 of the er young gentleman for whom 
 you are sacrificing so much, and, perhaps, 
 imperiling your whole future? For in- 
 stance, have you known him long?" 
 
 The slightly troubled air of trying to 
 understand, not unlike the vague won- 
 derment of childhood, with which Miss 
 Mullins had received the beginning of this 
 exordium, changed to a relieved smile of 
 comprehension as she said quickly, "Oh 
 yes, nearly a whole year." 
 
 "And," said the Judge, smiling, "has he 
 a vocation is he in business? " 
 
 "Oh yes," she returned; "he's a collec- 
 tor." 
 
 "A collector?" 
 
 "Yes; he collects bills, you know, 
 money," she went on, with childish eager- 
 ness, " not for himself, he never has any 
 money, poor Charley, but for his firm. 
 It's dreadful hard work, too; keeps him 
 out for days and nights, over bad roads and 
 baddest weather. Sometimes, when he 's 
 stole over to the ranch just to see me, he 's 
 
74 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 been so bad he could scarcely keep his seat 
 in the saddle, much less stand. And he 's 
 got to take mighty big risks, too. Times 
 the folks are cross with him and won't pay; 
 once they shot him in the arm, and he came 
 to me, and I helped do it up for him. But 
 he don't mind. He 's real brave, jest as 
 brave as he 's good." There was such a 
 wholesome ring of truth in this pretty praise 
 that we were touched in sympathy with the 
 speaker. 
 
 "What firm does he collect for?" asked 
 the Judge gently. 
 
 "I don't know exactly he won't tell 
 me; but I think it 's a Spanish firm. You 
 see" she took us all into her confidence 
 with a sweeping smile of innocent yet half- 
 mischievous artfulness "I only know be- 
 cause I peeped over a letter he once got 
 from his firm, telling him he must hustle 
 up and be ready for the road the next day ; 
 but I think the name was Martinez yes, 
 Ramon Martinez." 
 
 In the dead silence that ensued a si- 
 lence so profound that we could hear the 
 horses in the distant stable-yard rattling 
 their harness one of the younger " Excel- 
 sior " boys burst into a hysteric laugh, but 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 75 
 
 the fierce eye of Yuba Bill was down upon 
 him, and seemed to instantly stiffen him 
 into a silent, grinning mask. The young- 
 girl, however, took no note of it. Following- 
 out, with lover-like diffusiveness, the remi- 
 niscences thus awakened, she went on : 
 
 "Yes, it 's mighty hard work, but he 
 says it 's all for me, and as soon as we 're 
 married he '11 quit it. He might have quit 
 it before, but he won't take no money of 
 me, nor what I told him I could get out of 
 dad! That ain't his style. He's mighty 
 proud if he is poor is Charley. Why 
 thar 's all ma's money which she left me in 
 the Savin's Bank that I wanted to draw out 
 for I had the right and give it to him, 
 but he wouldn't hear of it! Why, he 
 would n't take one of the things I 've got 
 with me, if he knew it. And so he goes on 
 ridin' and ridin', here and there and every- 
 where, and gettin' more and more played 
 out and sad, and thin and pale as a spirit, 
 and always so uneasy about his business, 
 and startin' up at times when we 're meetin' 
 out in the South Woods or in the far 
 clearin', and sayin' : 'I must be goin' now, 
 Polly,' and yet always try in' to be chiffle 
 and chipper afore me. Why he must have 
 
76 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 rid miles and miles to have watched for me 
 thar in the brush at the foot of Galloper's 
 to-night, jest to see if all was safe; and 
 Lordy! I 'd have given him the signal and 
 showed a light if I 'd died for it the next 
 minit. There! That 's what I know of 
 Charley that's what I'm running away 
 from home for that 's what I 'm running 
 to him for, and I don't care who knows it! 
 And I only wish I 'd done it afore and I 
 would if if if he 'd only asked 
 me! There now!" She stopped, panted, 
 and choked. Then one of the sudden tran- 
 sitions of youthful emotion overtook the 
 eager, laughing face; it clouded up with 
 the swift change of childhood, a lightning 
 quiver of expression broke over it, and 
 then came the rain ! 
 
 I think this simple act completed our 
 utter demoralization ! We smiled feebly at 
 each other with that assumption of mascu- 
 line superiority which is miserably conscious 
 of its own helplessness at such moments. 
 We looked out of the window, blew our 
 noses, said: "Eh what?" and "I say," 
 vaguely to each other, and were greatly re- 
 lieved, and yet apparently astonished, when 
 Yuba Bill, who had turned his back upon 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 77 
 
 the fair speaker, and was kicking the logs 
 in the fireplace, suddenly swept down upon 
 us and bundled us all into the road, leaving 
 Miss Mullins alone. Then he walked aside 
 with Judge Thompson for a few moments ; 
 returned to us, autocratically demanded of 
 the party a complete reticence towards Miss 
 Mullins on the subject - matter under dis- 
 cussion, reentered the station, reappeared 
 with the young lady, suppressed a faint 
 idiotic cheer which broke from us at the 
 spectacle of her innocent face once more 
 cleared and rosy, climbed the box, and in 
 another moment we were under way. 
 
 " Then she don't know what her lover is 
 yet? " asked the Expressman eagerly. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Are you certain it 's one of the gang? " 
 
 "Can't say/or sure. It mout be a young 
 chap from Yolo who bucked agin the tiger l 
 at Sacramento, got regularly cleaned out 
 and busted, and joined the gang for a flier. 
 They say thar was a new hand in that job 
 over at Keeley's, and a mighty game one, 
 too; and ez there was some buckshot on- 
 loaded that trip, he might hev got his share, 
 and that would tally with what the girl said 
 
 1 Gambled at faro. 
 
78 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 about his arm. See! Ef that's the man, 
 I 've heered he was the son of some big 
 preacher in the States, and a college sharp 
 to boot, who ran wild in 'Frisco, and played 
 himself for all he was worth. They 're the 
 wust kind to kick when they once get a foot 
 over the traces. For stiddy, comf 'ble kem- 
 pany," added Bill reflectively, "give me 
 the son of a man that was hanged! " 
 
 "But what are you going to do about 
 this?" 
 
 " That depends upon the feller who comes 
 to meet her." 
 
 "But you ain't going to try to take him? 
 That would be playing it pretty low down 
 on them both." 
 
 "Keep your hair on, Jimmy ! The Judge 
 and me are only going to rastle with the 
 sperrit of that gay young galoot, when he 
 drops down for his girl and exhort him 
 pow'ful! Ef he allows he's convicted of 
 sin and will find the Lord, we '11 marry him 
 and the gal offhand at the next station, and 
 the Judge will officiate himself for nothin'. 
 We 're goin' to have this yer elopement 
 done on the square and our waybill clean 
 you bet! " 
 
 "But you don't suppose he '11 trust him- 
 self in your hands?" 
 
An Ingenue, of the Sierras. 79 
 
 " Polly will signal to him that it 's all 
 square." 
 
 "Ah! " said the Expressman. Neverthe- 
 less in those few moments the men seemed 
 to have exchanged dispositions. The Ex- 
 pressman looked doubtfully, critically, and 
 even cynically before him. Bill's face had 
 relaxed, and something like a bland smile 
 beamed across it, as he drove confidently 
 and unhesitatingly forward. 
 
 Day, meantime, although full blown and 
 radiant on the mountain summits around 
 us, was yet nebulous and uncertain in the 
 valleys into which we were plunging. 
 Lights still glimmered in the cabins and 
 few ranch buildings which began to indi- 
 cate the thicker settlements. And the 
 shadows were heaviest in a little copse, 
 where a note from Judge Thompson in the 
 coach was handed up to Yuba Bill, who at 
 once slowly began to draw up his horses. 
 The coach stopped finally near the junction 
 of a small crossroad. At the same moment 
 Miss Mullins slipped down from the vehi- 
 cle, and, with a parting wave of her hand 
 to the Judge, who had assisted her from the 
 steps, tripped down the crossroad, and dis- 
 appeared in its semi-obscurity. To our 
 
80 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 surprise the stage waited, Bill holding the 
 reins listlessly in his hands. Five minutes 
 passed an eternity of expectation, and, 
 as there was that in Yuba Bill's face which 
 forbade idle questioning, an aching void of 
 silence also ! This was at last broken by a 
 strange voice from the road : 
 
 "Goon we '11 follow." 
 
 The coach started forward. Presently 
 we heard the sound of other wheels behind 
 us. We all craned our necks backward to 
 get a view of the unknown, but by the 
 growing light we could only see that we 
 were followed at a distance by a buggy with 
 two figures in it. Evidently Polly Mullins 
 and her lover ! We hoped that they would 
 pass us. But the vehicle, although drawn 
 by a fast horse, preserved its distance al- 
 ways, and it was plain that its driver had 
 no desire to satisfy our curiosity. The Ex- 
 pressman had recourse to Bill. 
 
 "Is it the man you thought of?" he 
 asked eagerly. 
 
 "I reckon," said Bill briefly. 
 
 "But," continued the Expressman, re- 
 turning to his former skepticism, "what 's 
 to keep them both from levanting together 
 now?" 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 81 
 
 Bill jerked his hand towards the boot 
 with a grim smile. 
 
 "Their baggage." 
 
 "Oh! " said the Expressman. 
 
 "Yes," continued Bill. " We '11 hang on 
 to that gal's little frills andfixin's until this 
 yer job 's settled, and the ceremony 's over, 
 jest as ef we waz her own father. And, 
 what's more, young man," he added, sud- 
 denly turning to the Expressman, "yo?/ 9 ll 
 express them trunks of hers through to 
 /Sacramento with your kempany's labels, 
 and hand her the receipts and checks for 
 them, so she can get 'em there. That '11 
 keep him outer temptation and the reach o' 
 the gang, until they get away among white 
 men and civilization again. When your 
 hoary -headed ole grandfather, or, to speak 
 plainer, that partikler old whiskey-soaker 
 known as Yuba Bill, wot sits on this box," 
 he continued, with a diabolical wink at the 
 Expressman, "waltzes in to pervide for a 
 young couple jest startin' in life, thar 's 
 nothin' mean about his style, you bet. He 
 fills the bill every time! Speshul Provi- 
 dences take a back seat when he 's around." 
 
 When the station hotel and straggling 
 settlement of Sugar Pine, now distinct and 
 
82 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 clear in the growing light, at last rose 
 within rifleshot on the plateau, the buggy 
 suddenly darted swiftly by us, so swiftly 
 that the faces of the two occupants were 
 barely distinguishable as they passed, and 
 keeping the lead by a dozen lengths, reached 
 the door of the hotel. The young girl and 
 her companion leaped down and vanished 
 within as we drew up. They had evidently 
 determined to elude our curiosity, and were 
 successful. 
 
 But the material appetites of the passen- 
 gers, sharpened by the keen mountain air, 
 were more potent than their curiosity, and, 
 as the breakfast-bell rang out at the mo- 
 ment the stage stopped, a majority of them 
 rushed into the dining-room and scrambled 
 for places without giving much heed to 
 the vanished couple or to the Judge and 
 Yuba Bill, who had disappeared also. The 
 through coach to Marysville and Sacra- 
 mento was likewise waiting, for Sugar Pine 
 was the limit of Bill's ministration, and the 
 coach which we had just left went no far- 
 ther. In the course of twenty minutes, 
 however, there was a slight and somewhat 
 ceremonious bustling in the hall and on the 
 veranda, and Yuba Bill and the Judge re- 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 83 
 
 appeared. The latter was leading, with 
 some elaboration of manner and detail, the 
 shapely figure of Miss Mullins, and Yuba 
 Bill was accompanying her companion to 
 the buggy. We all rushed to the windows 
 to get a good view of the mysterious 
 stranger and probable ex-brigand whose 
 life was now linked with our fair fellow-pas- 
 senger. I am afraid, however, that we all 
 participated in a certain impression of dis- 
 appointment and doubt. Handsome and 
 even cultivated-looking, he assuredly was 
 young and vigorous in appearance. But 
 there was a certain half -shamed, half -defiant 
 suggestion in his expression, yet coupled 
 with a watchful lurking uneasiness which 
 was not pleasant and hardly becoming in a 
 bridegroom and the possessor of such a 
 bride. But the frank, joyous, innocent 
 face of Polly Mullins, resplendent with a 
 simple, happy confidence, melted our hearts 
 again, and condoned the fellow's shortcom- 
 ings. We waved our hands; I think we 
 would have given three rousing cheers as 
 they drove away if the omnipotent eye of 
 Yuba Bill had not been upon us. It was 
 well, for the next moment we were sum- 
 moned to the presence of that soft-hearted 
 autocrat. 
 
84 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 We found him alone with the Judge in 
 a private sitting-room, standing before a 
 table on which there was a decanter and 
 glasses. As we filed expectantly into the 
 room and the door closed behind us, he cast 
 a glance of hesitating tolerance over the 
 group. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said slowly, "you was 
 all present at the beginnin' of a little game 
 this mornin', and the Judge thar thinks 
 that you oughter be let in at the finish. / 
 don't see that it 's any of your d d busi- 
 ness so to speak ; but ez the Judge here 
 allows you 're all in the secret, I 've called 
 you in to take a partin' drink to the health 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Charley Byng ez is now 
 comf 'ably off on their bridal tower. What 
 you know or what you suspects of the young 
 galoot that 's married the gal ain't worth 
 shucks to anybody, and I wouldn't give it 
 to a yaller pup to play with, but the Judge 
 thinks you ought all to promise right here 
 that you '11 keep it dark. That 's his opin- 
 ion. Ez far as my opinion goes, gen'l'men," 
 continued Bill, with greater blandness and 
 apparent cordiality, "I wanter simply re- 
 mark, in a keerless, offhand gin'ral way, 
 that ef I ketch any God-forsaken, lop- 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 85 
 
 eared, chuckle-headed blatherin' idjet airin' 
 Ms opinion " 
 
 "One moment, Bill," interposed Judge 
 Thompson with a grave smile ; "let me 
 explain. You understand, gentlemen," he 
 said, turning to us, "the singular, and I 
 may say affecting, situation which our good- 
 hearted friend here has done so much to 
 bring to what we hope will be a happy ter- 
 mination. I want to give here, as my pro- 
 fessional opinion, that there is nothing in 
 his request which, in your capacity as good 
 citizens and law-abiding men, you may not 
 grant. I want to tell you, also, that you 
 are condoning no offense against the stat- 
 utes; that there is not a particle of legal 
 evidence before us of the criminal antece- 
 dents of Mr. Charles Byng, except that 
 which has been told you by the innocent 
 lips of his betrothed, which the law of the 
 land has now sealed forever in the mouth 
 of his wife, and that our own actual experi- 
 ence of his acts have been in the main ex- 
 culpatory of any previous irregularity if 
 not incompatible with it. Briefly, no judge 
 would charge, no jury convict, on such evi- 
 dence. When I add that the young girl is 
 of legal age, that there is no evidence of 
 
86 An Ingenue of the /Sierras. 
 
 any previous undue influence, but rather of 
 the reverse, on the part of the bridegroom, 
 and that I was content, as a magistrate, to 
 perform the ceremony, I think you will be 
 satisfied to give your promise, for the sake 
 of the bride, and drink a happy life to them 
 both." 
 
 I need not say that we did this cheerfully, 
 and even extorted from Bill a grunt of sat- 
 isfaction. The majority of the company, 
 however, who were going with the through 
 coach to Sacramento, then took their leave, 
 and, as we accompanied them to the ve- 
 randa, we could see that Miss Polly Mul- 
 lins's trunks were already transferred to the 
 other vehicle under the protecting seals and 
 labels of the all-potent Express Company. 
 Then the whip cracked, the coach rolled 
 away, and the last traces of the adventurous 
 young couple disappeared in the hanging 
 red dust of its wheels. 
 
 But Yuba Bill's grim satisfaction at the 
 happy issue of the episode seemed to suffer 
 no abatement. He even exceeded his usual 
 deliberately regulated potations, and, stand- 
 ing comfortably with his back to the centre 
 of the now deserted barroom, was more 
 than usually loquacious with the Express- 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 87 
 
 man. "You see," he said, in bland remi- 
 niscence, "when your old Uncle Bill takes 
 hold of a job like this, he puts it straight 
 through without changin' hosses. Yet thar 
 was a moment, young feller, when I thought 
 I was stompt ! It was when we 'd made 
 up our mind to make that chap tell the 
 gal fust all what he was! Ef she 'd rared 
 or kicked in the traces, or hung back 
 only ez much ez that, we 'd hev given him 
 jest five minits' law to get up and get and 
 leave her, and we 'd hev toted that gal and 
 her fixin's back to her dad again! But she 
 jest gave a little scream and start, and then 
 went off inter hysterics, right on his buz- 
 zum, laughing and cry in' and say in' that 
 nothin' should part 'em. Gosh! if I didn't 
 think he woz more cut up than she about it ; 
 a minit it looked as ef he didn't allow to 
 marry her arter all, but that passed, and 
 they was married hard and fast you bet ! 
 I reckon he 's had enough of stay in' out o' 
 nights to last him, and ef the valley settle- 
 ments hev n't got hold of a very shining 
 member, at least the foothills hev got shut 
 of one more of the Ramon Martinez gang.' 5 
 "What's that about the Ramon Marti- 
 nez gang? " said a quiet potential voice. 
 
88 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 Bill turned quickly. It was the voice of 
 the Divisional Superintendent of the Ex- 
 press Company, a man of eccentric deter- 
 mination of character, and one of the few 
 whom the autocratic Bill recognized as an 
 equal, who had just entered the barroom. 
 His dusty pongee cloak and soft hat indi- 
 cated that he had that morning arrived on a 
 round of inspection. 
 
 "Don't care if I do, Bill," he continued, 
 in response to Bill's invitatory gesture, 
 walking to the bar. "It 's a little raw out 
 on the road. Well, what were you saying 
 about Ramon Martinez gang? You have n't 
 come across one of 'em, have you?" 
 
 "No," said Bill, with a slight blinking 
 of his eye, as he ostentatiously lifted his 
 glass to the light. 
 
 "And you won't" added the Superin- 
 tendent, leisurely sipping his liquor. "For 
 the fact is, the gang is about played out. 
 Not from want of a job now and then, but 
 from the difficulty of disposing of the re- 
 sults of their work. Since the new instruc- 
 tions to the agents to identify and trace all 
 dust and bullion offered to them went into 
 force, you see, they can't get rid of their 
 swag. All the gang are spotted at the 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 89 
 
 offices, and it costs too much for them to 
 pay a fence or a middleman of any stand- 
 ing. Why, all that flaky river gold they 
 took from the Excelsior Company can be 
 identified as easy as if it was stamped with 
 the company's mark. They can't melt it 
 down themselves; they can't get others to 
 do it for them; they can't ship it to the 
 Mint or Assay Offices in Marysville and 
 'Frisco, for they won't take it without our 
 certificate and seals ; and we don't take any 
 undeclared freight within the lines that 
 we 've drawn around their beat, except from 
 people and agents known. Why, you know 
 that well enough, Jim," he said, suddenly 
 appealing to the Expressman, "don't you? " 
 
 Possibly the suddenness of the appeal 
 caused the Expressman to swallow his liquor 
 the wrong way, for he was overtaken with a 
 fit of coughing, and stammered hastily as 
 he laid down his glass, "Yes of course 
 certainly." 
 
 "No, sir," resumed the Superintendent 
 cheerfully, "they 're pretty well played out. 
 And the best proof of it is that they 've 
 lately been robbing ordinary passengers' 
 trunks. There was a freight wagon 'held 
 up ' near Dow's Flat the other day, and a 
 
90 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 lot of baggage gone through. I had to go 
 down there to look into it. Darned if they 
 had n't lifted a lot o' woman's wedding- 
 things from that rich couple who got mar- 
 ried the other day out at Marysville. 
 Looks as if they were playing it rather low 
 down, don't it? Coming down to hardpan 
 and the bed rock eh? " 
 
 The Expressman's face was turned anx- 
 iously towards Bill, who, after a hurried 
 gulp of his remaining liquor, still stood 
 staring at the window. Then he slowly 
 drew on one of his large gloves. "Ye 
 didn't," he said, with a slow, drawling, but 
 perfectly distinct, articulation, "happen to 
 know old 'Skinner ' Hemmings when you 
 were over there? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And his daughter?" 
 
 "He hasn't got any." 
 
 "A sort o' mild, innocent, guileless child 
 of nature?" persisted Bill, with a yellow 
 face, a deadly calm and Satanic delibera- 
 tion. 
 
 "No. I tell you he hasn't any daugh- 
 ter. Old man Hemmings is a confirmed 
 old bachelor. He 's too mean to support 
 more than one." 
 
An Ingenue of the Sierras. 91 
 
 "And you didn't happen to know any o' 
 that gang, did ye?" continued Bill, with 
 infinite protraction. 
 
 "Yes. Knew 'em all. There was French 
 Pete, Cherokee Bob, Kanaka Joe, One-eyed 
 Stillson, Softy Brown, Spanish Jack, and 
 two or three Greasers." 
 
 "And ye didn't know a man by the name 
 of Charley Byng?" 
 
 "No," returned the Superintendent, with 
 a slight suggestion of weariness and a dis- 
 traught glance towards the door. 
 
 "A dark, stylish chap, with shifty black 
 eyes and a curled-up merstache? " continued 
 Bill, with dry, colorless persistence. 
 
 "No. Look here, Bill, I 'm in a little 
 bit of a hurry but I suppose you must 
 have your little joke before we part. Now, 
 what is your little game? " 
 
 "Wot you mean?" demanded Bill, with 
 sudden brusqueness. 
 
 "Mean? Well, old man, you know as 
 well as I do. You 're giving me the very 
 description of Ramon Martinez himself, ha! 
 ha! No Bill! you didn't play me this 
 time. You 're mighty spry and clever, but 
 you didn't catch on just then." 
 
 He nodded and moved away with a light 
 
92 An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 laugh. Bill turned a stony face to the 
 Expressman. Suddenly a gleam of mirth 
 came into his gloomy eyes. He bent over 
 the young man, and said in a hoarse, chuck- 
 ling whisper : 
 
 "But I got even after all! " 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "He 's tied up to that lying little she- 
 devil, hard and fast! " 
 
THE REFORMATION OF JAMES 
 REDDY. 
 
 I. 
 
 IT was a freshly furrowed field, so large 
 that the eye at first scarcely took in its 
 magnitude. The irregular surface of up- 
 turned, oily, wave-shaped clods took the 
 appearance of a vast, black, chopping sea, 
 that reached from the actual shore of San 
 Francisco Bay to the low hills of the Coast 
 Range. The sea-breeze that blew chilly 
 over this bleak expanse added to that fancy, 
 and the line of straggling whitewashed farm 
 buildings, that half way across lifted them- 
 selves above it, seemed to be placed on 
 an island in its midst. Even the one or 
 two huge, misshapen agricultural machines, 
 abandoned in the furrows, bore an odd re- 
 semblance to hulks or barges adrift upon its 
 waste. 
 
 This marine suggestion was equally no- 
 ticeable from the door of one of the farm 
 buildings a long, detached wooden shed 
 
94 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 into which a number of farm laborers 
 were slowly filing, although one man was 
 apparently enough impressed by it to linger 
 and gaze over that rigid sea. Except in 
 their rough dress and the labor-stains of 
 soil on their hands and faces, they repre- 
 sented no particular type or class. They 
 were young and old, robust and delicate, 
 dull and intelligent ; kept together only by 
 some philosophical, careless, or humorous 
 acceptance of equally enforced circumstance 
 in their labors, as convicts might have been. 
 For they had been picked up on the streets 
 and wharves of San Francisco, discharged 
 sailors, broken-down miners, helpless new- 
 comers, unemployed professional men, and 
 ruined traders, to assist in ploughing and 
 planting certain broad leagues of rich allu- 
 vial soil for a speculative Joint Stock Com- 
 pany, at a weekly wage that would have 
 made an European peasant independent for 
 half a year. Yet there was no enthusiasm 
 in their labor, although it was seldom 
 marked by absolute laziness or evasion, and 
 was more often hindered by ill-regulated 
 "spurts" and excessive effort, as if the 
 laborer was anxious to get through with it ; 
 for in the few confidences they exchanged 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 95 
 
 there was little allusion to the present, and 
 they talked chiefly of what they were going 
 to do when their work was over. They 
 were gregarious only at their meals in one 
 of the sheds, or when at night they sought 
 their "bunks" or berths together in the 
 larger building. 
 
 The man who had lingered to look at the 
 dreary prospect had a somewhat gloomy, 
 discontented face, whose sensitive lines in- 
 dicated a certain susceptibility to such im- 
 pressions. He was further distinguished 
 by having also lingered longer with the 
 washing of his hands and face in the bat- 
 tered tin basin on a stool beside the door, 
 and by the circumstance that the operation 
 revealed the fact that they were whiter than 
 those of his companions. Drying his fin- 
 gers slowly on the long roller-towel, he 
 stood gazing with a kind of hard abstraction 
 across the darkening field, the strip of faded 
 colorless shore, and the chill gray sea, to 
 the dividing point of land on the opposite 
 coast, which in the dying daylight was sil- 
 houetted against the cold horizon. 
 
 He knew that around that point and be- 
 hind it lay the fierce, half -grown, half -tamed 
 city of yesterday that had worked his ruin. 
 
96 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 It was scarcely a year ago that he had 
 plunged into its wildest excesses, a reck- 
 less gambler among speculators, a hopeless 
 speculator among gamblers, until the lit- 
 tle fortune he had brought thither had been 
 swept away. 
 
 From time to time he had kept up his 
 failing spirit with the feverish exaltation of 
 dissipation, until, awakening from a drunk- 
 ard's dream one morning, he had found 
 himself on board a steamboat crossing the 
 bay, in company with a gang of farm labor- 
 ers with whom he was hired. A bitter 
 smile crossed his lips as his eyes hovered 
 over the cold, rugged fields before him. 
 Yet he knew that they had saved him. 
 The unaccustomed manual labor in the 
 open air, the regular hours, the silent, 
 heavy, passionless nights, the plain but 
 wholesome food, were all slowly restoring 
 his youth and strength again. Temptation 
 and passion had alike fled these unlovely 
 fields and grim employment. Yet he was 
 not grateful. He nursed his dreary conva- 
 lescence as he had his previous dissipation, as 
 part of a wrong done him by one for whose 
 sake, he was wont to believe, he had sacri- 
 ficed himself. That person was a woman. 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy 97 
 
 Turning at last from the prospect and his 
 bitter memories to join his companions, he 
 found that they had all passed in. The 
 benches before the long table on which sup- 
 per was spread were already filled, and he 
 stood in hesitation, looking down the line 
 of silent and hungrily preoccupied men on 
 either side. A young girl, who was stand- 
 ing near a smaller serving-table, apparently 
 assisting an older woman in directing the 
 operation of half a dozen Chinese waiters, 
 moved forward and cleared a place for him 
 at a side-table, pushing before it the only 
 chair in the room, the one she had lately 
 vacated. As she placed some of the dishes 
 before him with a timid ostentation, and 
 her large but well-shaped hands came sud- 
 denly in contact with, and in direst contrast 
 to his own whiter and more delicate ones, 
 she blushed faintly. He lifted his eyes to 
 hers. 
 
 He had seen her half a dozen times be- 
 fore, for she was the daughter of the ranch 
 superintendent, and occasionally assisted 
 her mother in this culinary supervision 
 which did not, however, bring her into any 
 familiar association with the men. Even 
 the younger ones, perhaps from over-con- 
 
98 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 sciousness of their inferior position or the 
 preoccupation of their labor, never indulged 
 in any gallantry toward her, and he him- 
 self, in his revulsion of feeling against the 
 whole sex, had scarcely noticed that she 
 was good-looking. But this nai've exhibi- 
 tion of preference could not be overlooked, 
 either by his companions, who smiled cyni- 
 cally across the table, or by himself, from 
 whose morbid fancy it struck an ignoble 
 suggestion. Ah, well! the girl was pretty 
 the daughter of his employer, who rumor 
 said owned a controlling share in the com- 
 pany; why should he not make this chance 
 preference lead to something, if only to 
 ameliorate, in ways like this, his despicable 
 position here. He knew the value of his 
 own good looks, his superior education, and 
 a certain recklessness which women liked ; 
 why should he not profit by them as well 
 as the one woman who had brought him to 
 this? He owed her sex nothing; if those 
 among them who were not bad were only 
 fools, there was no reason why he should 
 not deceive them as they had him. There 
 was all this small audacity and cynical pur- 
 pose in his brown eyes as he deliberately 
 fixed them on hers. And I grieve to say 
 
The, Reformation of James Reddy. 99 
 
 that these abominable sentiments seemed 
 only to impart to them a certain attractive 
 brilliancy, and a determination which the 
 undetermining sex is apt to admire. 
 
 She blushed again, dropped her eyes, re- 
 plied to his significant thanks with a few 
 indistinct words, and drew away from the 
 table with a sudden timidity that was half 
 confession. 
 
 She did not approach him again during 
 the meal, but seemed to have taken a sud- 
 den interest in the efficiency of the waiters, 
 generally, which she had not shown before. 
 I do not know whether this was merely an 
 effort at concealment, or an awakened rec- 
 ognition of her duty ; but, after the fashion 
 of her sex, and perhaps in contrast to 
 his, she was kinder that evening to the 
 average man on account of him. He did 
 not, however, notice it; nor did her absence 
 interfere with his now healthy appetite ; he 
 finished his meal, and only when he rose to 
 take his hat from the peg above him did he 
 glance around the room. Their eyes met 
 again. As he passed out, although it was 
 dark, he put on his hat a little more 
 smartly. 
 
 The air was clear and cold, but the out- 
 
100 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 lines of the landscape had vanished. His 
 companions, with the instinct of tired ani- 
 mals, were already making their way in 
 knots of two or three, or in silent file, 
 across the intervening space between the 
 building and their dormitory. A few had 
 already lit their pipes and were walking 
 leisurely, but the majority were hurrying 
 from the chill sea-breeze to the warmth and 
 comfort of the long, well-lit room, lined 
 with blanketed berths, and set with plain 
 wooden chairs and tables. The young man 
 lingered for a moment on the wooden plat- 
 form outside the dining-shed, partly to 
 evade this only social gathering of his fel- 
 lows as they retired for the night, and 
 partly attracted by a strange fascination to 
 the faint distant glow, beyond the point of 
 land, which indicated the lights of San 
 Francisco. 
 
 There was a slight rustle behind him! 
 It was the young girl who, with a white 
 woolen scarf thrown over her head and 
 shoulders, had just left the room. She 
 started when she saw him, and for an in- 
 stant hesitated. 
 
 "You are going home, Miss Wood- 
 ridge? " he said pleasantly. 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 101 
 
 "Yes," she returned, in a faint, embar- 
 rassed voice. "I thought I 'd run on ahead 
 of ma!" 
 
 "Will you allow me to accompany you?" 
 
 "It's only a step," she protested, indi- 
 cating the light in the window of the super- 
 intendent's house, the most remote of the 
 group of buildings, yet scarcely a quarter 
 of a mile distant. 
 
 "But it 's quite dark," he persisted 
 smilingly. 
 
 She stepped from the platform to the 
 ground; he instantly followed and ranged 
 himself at a little distance from her side. 
 She protested still feebly against his "trou- 
 bling himself," but in another moment they 
 were walking on quietly together. Never- 
 theless, a few paces from the platform they 
 came upon the upheaved clods of the fresh 
 furrows, and their progress over them was 
 slow and difficult. 
 
 "Shall I help you? Will you take my 
 arm?" he said politely. 
 
 "No, thank you, Mr. Reddy." 
 
 So! she knew his name! He tried to 
 look into her eyes, but the woolen scarf 
 hid her head. After all, there was nothing 
 strange in her knowing him ; she probably 
 
102 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 had the names of the men before her in the 
 dining-room, or on the books. After a 
 pause he said : 
 
 "You quite startled me. One becomes 
 such a mere working machine here that 
 one quite forgets one's own name, espe- 
 cially with the prefix of 'Mr.' ' 
 
 "And if it don't happen to be one's real 
 name either," said the girl, with an odd, 
 timid audacity. 
 
 He looked up quickly more attracted by 
 her manner than her words ; more amused 
 than angry. 
 
 "But Reddy happens to be my real 
 name." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "What made you think it was not? " 
 
 The clods over which they were clamber- 
 ing were so uneven that sometimes the 
 young girl was mounting one at the same 
 moment that Eeddy was descending from 
 another. Her reply, half muffled in her 
 shawl, was delivered over his head. "Oh, 
 because pa says most of the men here don't 
 give their real names they don't care to 
 be known afterward. Ashamed of their 
 work, I reckon." 
 
 His face flushed a moment, even in the 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 103 
 
 darkness. He was ashamed of his work, 
 and perhaps a little of the pitiful sport he 
 was beginning. But oddly enough, the 
 aggressive criticism only whetted his pur- 
 pose. The girl was evidently quite able to 
 take care of herself; why should he be 
 over-chivalrous? 
 
 "It isn't very pleasant to be doing the 
 work of a horse, an ox, or a machine, if 
 you can do other things," he said half seri- 
 ously. 
 
 "But you never used to do anything at 
 all, did you? " she asked. 
 
 He hesitated. Here was a chance to 
 give her an affecting history of his former 
 exalted fortune and position, and perhaps 
 even to stir her evidently romantic nature 
 with some suggestion of his sacrifices to one 
 of her own sex. Women liked that sort 
 of thing. It aroused at once their emula- 
 tion and their condemnation of each other. 
 He seized the opportunity, but for some 
 reason, he knew not why awkwardly and 
 clumsily, with a simulated pathos that was 
 lachrymose, a self-assertion that was boast- 
 ful, and a dramatic manner that was unreal. 
 Suddenly the girl stopped him. 
 
 "Yes, I know all that ; pa told me. Told 
 
104 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 me you 'd been given away by some wo- 
 man." 
 
 His face again flushed this time with 
 anger. The utter failure of his story to ex- 
 cite her interest, and her perfect possession 
 of herself and the situation, so unlike her 
 conduct a few moments before, made him 
 savagely silent, and he clambered on sul- 
 lenly at her side. Presently she stopped, 
 balancing herself with a dexterity he could 
 not imitate on one of the larger upheaved 
 clods, and said : 
 
 "I was thinking that, as you can't do 
 much with those hands of yours, digging 
 and shoveling, and not much with your feet 
 either, over ploughed ground, you might do 
 some inside work, that would pay you bet- 
 ter, too. You might help in the dining- 
 room, setting table and washing up, help- 
 ing ma and me though /don't do much 
 except overseeing. I could show you what 
 to do at first, and you 'd learn quick 
 enough. If you say 'yes,' I '11 speak to pa 
 to-night. He '11 do whatever I say." 
 
 The rage and shame that filled his breast 
 choked even the bitter laugh that first rose 
 to his lips. If he could have turned on 
 his heel and left her with marked indig- 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 105 
 
 nation, he would have done so, but they 
 were scarcely half way across the field; his 
 stumbling retreat would have only appeared 
 ridiculous, and he was by no means sure 
 that she would not have looked upon it as 
 merely a confession of his inability to keep 
 up with her. And yet there was something 
 peculiarly fascinating and tantalizing in the 
 situation. She did not see the sardonic 
 glitter in his eye as he said brutally : 
 
 "Ha! and that would give me the exqui- 
 site pleasure of being near you." 
 
 She seemed a little confused, even under 
 her enwrappings, and in stepping down her 
 foot slipped. Keddy instantly scrambled 
 up to her and caught her as she was pitch- 
 ing forward into the furrow. Yet in the 
 struggle to keep his own foothold he was 
 aware that she was assisting him, and al- 
 though he had passed his arm around her 
 waist, as if for her better security, it was 
 only through her firm grasp of his wrists 
 that he regained his own footing. The 
 "cloud" had fallen back from her head and 
 shoulders, her heavy hair had brushed his 
 cheek and left its faint odor in his nostrils ; 
 the rounded outline of her figure had been 
 slightly drawn against his own. His mean 
 
106 The Reformation of James It eddy. 
 
 resentment wavered ; her proposition, which 
 at first seemed only insulting, now took a 
 vague form of satisfaction; his ironical 
 suggestion seemed a natural expression. 
 "Well, I say 'yes ' then," he said, with an 
 affected laugh. "That is, if you think I 
 can manage to do the work; it is not ex- 
 actly in my line, you know." Yet he some- 
 how felt that his laugh was feeble and un- 
 convincing. 
 
 "Oh, it's easy enough," said the girl 
 quietly. "You've only got to be clean 
 and that 's in your line, I should say." 
 
 "And if I thought it would please you," 
 he added, with another attempt at gallan- 
 try. 
 
 She did not reply, but moved steadily 
 on, he fancied a little more rapidly. They 
 were nearing the house ; he felt he was 
 losing time and opportunity. The uneven 
 nature of the ground kept him from walk- 
 ing immediately beside her, unless he held 
 her hand or arm. Yet an odd timidity was 
 overtaking him. Surely this was the same 
 girl whose consciousness and susceptibility 
 were so apparent a moment ago : yet her 
 speech had been inconsistent, unsympa- 
 thetic, and coldly practical. "It 's very 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 107 
 
 kind of you," he began again, scrambling 
 up one side of the furrow as she descended 
 on the other, u to to take such an in- 
 terest in in a stranger, and I wish you 
 knew how " (she had mounted the ridge 
 again, and stood balancing herself as if 
 waiting for him to finish his sentence) "how 
 how deeply I I " She dropped 
 quickly down again with the same move- 
 ment of uneasy consciousness, and he left 
 the sentence unfinished. The house was 
 now only a few yards away ; he hurried 
 forward, but she reached the wooden plat- 
 form and stoop upon it first. He, however, 
 at the same moment caught her hand. 
 
 "I want to thank you," he said, "and 
 say good-night." 
 
 "Good-night." Her voice was indistinct 
 again, and she was trembling. Embold- 
 ened and reckless, he sprang upon the plat- 
 form, and encircling her with one arm, with 
 his other hand he unloosed the woolen cloud 
 around her head and bared her faintly 
 flushed cheek and half -open, hurriedly 
 breathing lips. But the next moment she 
 threw her head back with a single powerful 
 movement, and, as it seemed to him, with 
 scarcely an effort cast him off with both 
 
108 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 hands, and sent him toppling from the plat- 
 form to the ground. He scrambled quickly 
 to his feet again, flushed, angry, and 
 frightened! Perhaps she would call her 
 father ; he would be insulted, or worse, 
 laughed at! He had lost even this pitiful 
 chance of bettering his condition. But he 
 was as relieved as he was surprised to see 
 that she was standing quietly on the edge 
 of the platform, apparently waiting for him 
 to rise. Her face was still uncovered, still 
 slightly flushed, but bearing no trace of 
 either insult or anger. When he stood 
 erect again, she looked at him gravely and 
 drew the woolen cloud over her head, as 
 she said calmly, "Then I'll tell pa you'll 
 take the place, and I reckon you '11 begin 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 II. 
 
 Angered, discomfited, and physically and 
 morally beaten, James . Eeddy stumbled 
 and clambered back across the field. The 
 beam of light that had streamed out over 
 the dark field as the door opened and shut 
 on the girl left him doubly confused and 
 bewildered. In his dull anger and mortifi- 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 109 
 
 cation, there seemed only one course for 
 him to pursue. He would demand his 
 wages in the morning, and cut the whole 
 concern. He would go back to San Fran- 
 cisco and work there, where he at least had 
 friends who respected his station. Yet, he 
 ought to have refused the girl's offer before 
 she had repulsed him; his retreat now 
 meant nothing, and might even tempt her, 
 in her vulgar pique, to reveal her rebuff 
 of him. He raised his eyes mechanically, 
 and looked gloomily across the dark waste 
 and distant bay to the opposite shore. But 
 the fog had already hidden the glow of the 
 city's lights, and, thickening around the 
 horizon, seemed to be slowly hemming him 
 in with the dreary rancho. In his present 
 frame of mind there was a certain fateful- 
 ness in this that precluded his once free 
 agency, and to that extent relieved and 
 absolved him of any choice. He reached 
 the dormitory and its turned-down lights in 
 a state of tired and dull uncertainty, for 
 which sleep seemed to offer the only relief. 
 He rolled himself in his blankets with an 
 animal instinct of comfort and shut his eyes, 
 but their sense appeared to open upon Nelly 
 Woodridge as she stood looking down upon 
 
110 The Reformation of James It eddy. 
 
 him from the platform. Even through the 
 dull pain of his bruised susceptibilities he 
 was conscious of a strange satisfaction he 
 had not felt before. He fell asleep at last, 
 to waken only to the sunlight streaming 
 through the curtainless windows on his face. 
 To his surprise the long shed was empty 
 and deserted, except for a single Chinaman 
 who was sweeping the floor at the farther 
 end. As Reddy started up, the man turned 
 and approached him with a characteristic, 
 vague, and patient smile. 
 
 "All lity, John, you sleepee heap! Mis- 
 tel Woodlidge he say you no go wolkee field 
 allee same Mellikan man. You stoppee 
 inside housee allee same me. Shabbee? 
 You come to glubbee [grub] now " (pointing 
 to the distant dining-shed), "and then you 
 washee dish." 
 
 The full extent of his new degradation 
 flashed upon Reddy with this added insult 
 of his brother menial's implicit equality. 
 He understood it all. He had been de- 
 tached from the field-workers and was to 
 come to a later breakfast, perhaps the 
 broken victuals of the first repast, and wash 
 the dishes. He remembered his new bar- 
 gain. Very well! he would refuse posi- 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. Ill 
 
 tively, take his dismissal, and leave that 
 morning! He hurriedly dressed himself, 
 and followed the Chinaman into the open 
 air. 
 
 The fog still hung upon the distant bay 
 and hid the opposite point. But the sun 
 shone with dry Californian brilliancy over 
 the league - long field around him, reveal- 
 ing every detail of the rancho with sharp, 
 matter of fact directness, and without the 
 least illusion of distance or romance. The 
 rough, unplaned, unpainted walls of the 
 dinner-shed stood out clearly before him; 
 the half -filled buckets of water on the near 
 platform, and the immense tubs piled with 
 dirty dishes. He scowled darkly as he 
 walked forward, conscious, nevertheless, of 
 the invigorating discipline of the morning 
 air and the wholesome whip in the sky 
 above him. He entered sharply and ag- 
 gressively. To his relief, the room at first 
 sight seemed, like the dormitory he had just 
 left, to be empty. But a voice, clear, dry, 
 direct, and practical as the morning itself, 
 spoke in his ear: "Mornin', Reddy! My 
 daughter says you 're willin' to take an in- 
 door job, and I reckon, speakin' square, as 
 man to man, it 's more in your line than 
 
112 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 what you've bin doin'. It mayn't be 
 high-toned work, but work 's work anyhow 
 you can fix it ; and the only difference I kin 
 see is in the work that a man does squarely, 
 and the Work that he shirks." 
 
 "But," said Reddy hurriedly, "there's 
 a mistake. I came here only to " 
 
 "Work like the others, I understand. 
 Well, you see you can't. You do your 
 best, I know. I ain't findin' fault, but it 
 ain't in your line. This is, and the pay is 
 better." 
 
 "But," stammered Eeddy, "Miss Wood- 
 ridge did n't understand " 
 
 " Yes, she did," returned Woodridge 
 impatiently, "and she told me. She says 
 she '11 show you round at first. You '11 
 catch on all right. Sit down and eat your 
 breakfast, and she '11 be along before you 're 
 through. Ez for me, I must get up and 
 get. So long ! " and before Reddy had 
 an opportunity to continue his protest, he 
 turned away. 
 
 The young man glanced vexatiously 
 around him. A breakfast much better in 
 service and quality than the one he had 
 been accustomed to smoked on the table. 
 There was no one else in the room. He 
 
Tlie Reformation of James Reddy. 113 
 
 could hear the voices of the Chinese waiters 
 in the kitchen beyond. He was healthily 
 hungry, and after a moment's hesitation sat 
 down and began his meal. He could ex- 
 postulate with her afterward, and withdraw 
 his promise. He was entitled to his break- 
 fast, anyway! 
 
 Once or twice, while thus engaged, he 
 heard the door of the kitchen open and the 
 clipping tread of the Chinese waiters, who 
 deposited some rattling burden on the adja- 
 cent tables, but he thought it prudent not 
 to seem to notice them. When he had fin- 
 ished, the pleasant, hesitating, boyish con- 
 tralto of Miss Woodridge fell upon his ear. 
 
 " When you 're ready, I '11 show you how 
 to begin your work." 
 
 He turned quickly, with a flush of morti- 
 fication at being discovered at his repast, 
 and his anger returned. But as his eyes 
 fell upon her delicately colored but tranquil 
 face, her well-shaped figure, coquettishly 
 and spotlessly cuffed, collared, and aproned, 
 and her clear blue but half -averted eyes, he 
 again underwent a change. She certainly 
 was very pretty that most seductive pret- 
 tiness which seemed to be warmed into life 
 by her consciousness of himself. Why 
 
114 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 should he take her or himself so seriously? 
 Why not play out the farce, and let those 
 who would criticise him and think his ac- 
 ceptance of the work degrading understand 
 that it was only an affair of gallantry. He 
 could afford to serve Woodridge at least a 
 few weeks for the favor of this Rachel! 
 Forgetful of his rebuff of the night before, 
 he fixed his brown eyes on hers with an 
 audacious levity. 
 
 " Oh yes the work ! Let us see it. 
 I 'm ready in name and nature for anything 
 that Miss Woodridge wants of me. I 'm 
 just dying to begin." 
 
 His voice was raised slightly, with a high 
 comedy jauntiness, for the benefit of the 
 Chinese waiters who might be lingering to 
 see the "Mellican man" assume their func- 
 tions. But it failed in effect. With their 
 characteristic calm acceptance of any eccen- 
 tricity in a "foreign devil," they scarcely 
 lifted their eyes. The young girl pointed 
 to a deep basket filled with dishes which 
 had been placed on the larger table, and 
 said, without looking at Reddy : 
 
 "You had better begin by 'checking ' the 
 crockery. That is, counting the pieces 
 separately and then arranging them in sets 
 
The, Reformation of James Reddy. 115 
 
 as they come back from washing. There 's 
 the book to compare them with and to set 
 down what is broken, missing, or chipped. 
 You '11 have a clean towel with you to wipe 
 the pieces that have not been cleaned 
 enough; or, if they are too dirty, you '11 
 send them back to the kitchen." 
 
 "Couldn't I wash them myself?" said 
 Eeddy, continuing his ostentatious levity. 
 
 "Not yet," said the girl, with grave hesi- 
 tation; "you 'd break them." 
 
 She stood watching him, as with affected 
 hilarity he began to take the dishes from 
 the basket. But she noticed that in spite 
 of this jocular simulation his grasp was firm 
 and delicate, and that there was no clatter 
 which would have affected her sensitive 
 ear as he put them down. She laid a 
 pencil and account book beside him and 
 turned away. 
 
 "But you are not going?" he said, in 
 genuine surprise. 
 
 "Yes," she said quietly, "until you get 
 through 'checking.' Then I'll come back 
 and show you what you have to do next. 
 You 're getting on very well." 
 
 "But that was because you were with 
 me." 
 
116 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 She colored slightly and, without looking 
 at him, moved slowly to the door and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Reddy went back to his work, disap- 
 pointed but not discomfited. He was get- 
 ting accustomed to the girl's eccentricities. 
 Whether it was the freshness of the morn- 
 ing air and sunlight streaming in at the 
 open windows, the unlooked-for solitude 
 and security of the empty room, or that 
 there was nothing really unpleasant in his 
 occupation, he went on cheerfully "check- 
 ing" the dishes, narrowly examining them 
 for chips and cracks, and noting them in 
 the book. Again discovering that a few 
 were imperfectly cleaned and wiped, he re- 
 paired the defect with cold water and a 
 towel without the least thought of the oper- 
 ation being degrading. He had finished 
 his task in half an hour; she had not re- 
 turned ; why should he not go on and set the 
 table? As he straightened and turned the 
 coarse table-cloth, he made the discovery 
 that the long table was really composed of 
 half a dozen smaller ones, and that the 
 hideous parallelogram which had always so 
 offended him was merely the outcome of 
 carelessness and want of taste. Without a 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 117 
 
 moment's hesitation he set at work to break 
 up the monotonous line and rearranged the 
 tables laterally, with small open spaces be- 
 tween them. The task was no light one, 
 even for a stronger man, but he persevered 
 in it with a new-found energy until he had 
 changed the whole aspect of the room. It 
 looked larger, wider, and less crowded; its 
 hard, practical, workhouse -like formality 
 had disappeared. He had paused to sur- 
 vey it, panting still with his unusual exer- 
 tion, when a voice broke upon his solitude. 
 
 "Well, Iwanterknow!" 
 
 The voice was not Nelly's, but that of her 
 mother, a large-boned, angular woman 
 of fifty, who had entered the room unper- 
 ceived. The accents were simply those of 
 surprise, but on James Reddy's present 
 sensitive mood, coupled with the feeling that 
 here was a new witness to his degradation, 
 he might have resented it; but he detected 
 the handsome, reserved figure of the daugh- 
 ter a few steps behind her. Their eyes 
 met; wonderful to relate, the young girl's 
 no longer evaded him, but looked squarely 
 into his with a bright expression of pleasure 
 he had not seen before. He checked him- 
 self with a sudden thrill of gratification. 
 
118 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 " Well, I declare," continued Mrs. 
 Woodridge; "is that your idea or yours, 
 Helen?" 
 
 Here Reddy simply pointed out the ad- 
 vantages for serving afforded by the new 
 arrangement ; that all the tables were 
 equally and quickly accessible from the 
 serving-table and sideboard, and that it was 
 no longer necessary to go the whole length 
 of the room to serve the upper table. He 
 tactfully did not refer to the improved ap- 
 pearance of the room. 
 
 "Well, as long as it ain't mere finikin," 
 said the lady graciously, " and seems to 
 bring the folks and their vittles nearer to- 
 gether we '11 try it to-day. It does look 
 kinder cityfied and I reckoned that was 
 all the good it was. But I calkilated you 
 were goin' to check the crockery this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "It 's done," said Reddy, smilingly hand- 
 ing her the account-book. 
 
 Mrs. Woodridge glanced over it, and then 
 surveyed her new assistant. 
 
 "And you didn't find any plates that 
 were dirty and that had to be sent back? " 
 
 "Yes, two or three, but I cleaned them 
 myself." 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 119 
 
 Mrs. Woodridge glanced at him with a 
 look of approving curiosity, but his eyes 
 were just then seeking her daughter's .for a 
 more grateful sympathy. All of which the 
 good lady noted, and as it apparently an- 
 swered the unasked question in her own 
 mind, she only uttered the single exclama- 
 tion, "Humph!" 
 
 But the approbation he received later at 
 dinner, in the satisfaction of his old com- 
 panions with the new arrangement, had also 
 the effect of diverting from him the criticism 
 he had feared they would make in finding 
 him installed as an assistant to Mrs. Wood- 
 ridge. On the contrary, they appeared 
 only to recognize in him some especial and 
 superior faculty utilized for their comfort, 
 and when the superintendent, equally 
 pleased, said it was "all Reddy 's own 
 idea," no one doubted that it was this par- 
 ticular stroke of genius which gained him 
 the obvious promotion. If he had still 
 thought of offering his flirtation with Nelly 
 as an excuse, there was now no necessity for 
 any. Having shown to his employers his 
 capacity for the highest and lowest work, 
 they naturally preferred to use his best 
 abilities and he was kept from any menial 
 
120 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 service. His accounts were so carefully 
 and intelligently rendered that the entire 
 care .of the building and its appointments 
 was intrusted to him. At the end of the 
 week Mr. Woodridge took him aside. 
 
 "I say, you ain't got any job in view 
 arter you finish up here, hev ye? " 
 
 Reddy started. Scarcely ten days ago 
 he had a hundred projects, schemes, and 
 speculations, more or less wild and extrava- 
 gant, wherewith he was to avenge and re- 
 coup himself in San Francisco. Now they 
 were gone he knew not where and how. 
 He briefly said he had not. 
 
 "Because," continued Woodridge, "I've 
 got an idea of startin' a hotel in the Oak 
 Grove, just on the slope back o' the rancho. 
 The company 's bound to make some sort o' 
 settlement there for the regular hands, and 
 the place is pooty enough for 'Frisco people 
 who want to run over here and get set up 
 for a day or two. Thar 's plenty of wood 
 and water up thar, and the company 's sure 
 to have a wharf down on the shore. I '11 
 provide the capital, if you will put in your 
 time. You can sling in ez much style as 
 you like there" (this was an allusion to 
 Reddy 's attempt to enliven the blank walls 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 121 
 
 with colored pictures from the illustrated 
 papers and green ceanothus sprays from the 
 slope); "in fact, the more style the better 
 for them city folks. Well, you think it 
 over." 
 
 He did. But meantime he seemed to 
 make little progress in his court of the su- 
 perintendent's daughter. He tried to think 
 it was because he had allowed himself to 
 be diverted by his work, but although she 
 always betrayed the same odd physical con- 
 sciousness of his presence, it was certain 
 that she never encouraged him. She gave 
 him the few directions that his new occupa- 
 tion still made necessary, and looked her 
 approval of his success. But nothing more. 
 He was forced to admit that this was exactly 
 what she might have done as the superin- 
 tendent's daughter to a deserving employee. 
 Whereat, for a few days he assumed an air 
 of colcf and ceremonious politeness, until 
 perceiving that, far from piquing the girl, 
 it seemed to gratify her, and even to render 
 her less sensitive in his company, he. sulked 
 in good earnest. This proving ineffective 
 also, except to produce a kind of com- 
 passionate curiosity, his former dull rage 
 returned. The planting of the rancho was 
 
122 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 nearly over; his service would be ended 
 next week; he had not yet given his answer 
 to Woodridge's proposition; he would de- 
 cline it and cut the whole concern ! 
 
 It was a crisp Sunday morning. The 
 breakfast hour was later on that day to 
 allow the men more time for their holiday, 
 which, however, they generally spent in 
 cards, gossip, or reading in their sleeping- 
 sheds. It usually delayed Reddy 's work, 
 but as he cared little for the companionship 
 of his fellows, it enabled him, without a 
 show of unsociability, to seclude himself in 
 the dining-room. And this morning he 
 was early approached by his employer. 
 
 "I 'm goin' to take the women folks over 
 to Oakdale to church," said Mr. Wood- 
 ridge; "ef ye keer to join us thar 's a seat 
 in the wagon, and I '11 turn on a couple of 
 Chinamen to do the work for you, just now; 
 and Nelly or the old woman will give you a 
 lift this afternoon with the counting up." 
 
 Reddy felt instinctively that the invita- 
 tion had been instigated by the young girl. 
 A week before he would have rejoiced at it; 
 a month ago he would have accepted it if 
 only as a relief to his degraded position, 
 but in the pique of this new passion he 
 
The Reformation of James Keddy. 123 
 
 almost rudely declined it. An hour later 
 he saw Nelly, becomingly and even taste- 
 fully dressed, with the American girl's 
 triumphant superiority to her condition and 
 surroundings, ride past in her father's 
 smart "carryall." He was startled to see 
 that she looked so like a lady. Then, with 
 a new and jealous inconsistency, significant 
 of the progress of his passion, he resolved 
 to go to church too. She should see that 
 he was not going to remain behind like a 
 mere slave. He remembered that he had 
 still certain remnants of his past finery in 
 his trunk; he would array himself in them, 
 walk to Oakdale, and make one of the 
 congregation. He managed to change his 
 clothes without attracting the attention of 
 his fellows, and set out. 
 
 The air was pure but keen, with none of 
 the languor of spring in its breath, although 
 a few flowers were beginning to star the 
 weedy wagon -tracked lane, and there was 
 an awakening spice in the wayside southern- 
 wood and myrtle. He felt invigorated, 
 although it seemed only to whet his jealous 
 pique. He hurried on without even glan- 
 cing toward the distant coast-line of San 
 Francisco or even thinking of it. The bit- 
 
124 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 ter memories of the past had been obliter- 
 ated by the bitterness of the present. He 
 no longer thought of "that woman;" even 
 when he had threatened to himself to return 
 to San Francisco, he was vaguely conscious 
 that it was not she who was again drawing 
 him there, but Nelly who was driving him 
 away. 
 
 The service was nearly over when he 
 arrived at the chilly little corrugated-zinc 
 church at Oakdale, but he slipped into 
 one of the back seats. A few worshipers 
 turned round to look at him. Among them 
 were the daughters of a neighboring miller, 
 who were slightly exercised over the unusual 
 advent of a good-looking stranger with cer- 
 tain exterior signs of elegance. Their ex- 
 citement was communicated by some mys- 
 terious instinct to their neighbor, Nelly 
 Woodridge. She also turned and caught 
 his eye. But to all appearances she not 
 only showed no signs of her usual agitation 
 at his presence, but did not seem to even 
 recognize him. In the acerbity of his pique 
 he was for a moment gratified* at what he 
 believed to be the expression of her wounded 
 pride, but his uneasiness quickly returned, 
 and at the conclusion of the service he 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 125 
 
 slipped out of the church with one or two of 
 the more restless in the congregation. As he 
 passed through the aisle he heard the escort 
 of the miller's daughters, in response to a 
 whispered inquiry, say distinctly: "Only 
 the head - waiter over at the company's 
 rancho." Whatever hesitating idea Reddy 
 might have had of waiting at the church 
 door for the appearance of Nelly vanished 
 before the brutal truth. His brow dark- 
 ened, and with flushed cheeks he turned his 
 back upon the building and plunged into 
 the woods. This time there was no hesita- 
 tion in his resolve; he would leave the 
 rancho at the expiration of his engage- 
 ment. Even in a higher occupation he felt 
 he could never live down his reputation 
 there. 
 
 In his morose abstraction he did not know 
 how long or how aimlessly he had wan- 
 dered among the mossy live-oaks, his head 
 and shoulders often imperiled by the down- 
 curving of some huge knotted limb; his 
 feet straying blindly from the faint track 
 over the thickly matted carpet of chickweed 
 which hid their roots. But it was nearly 
 an hour before he emerged upon a wide, 
 open, wooded slope, and, from the distant 
 
126 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 view of field and shore, knew that he was 
 at Oak Grove, the site of Woodridge's pro- 
 jected hotel. And there, surely, at a little 
 distance, was the Woodridges' wagon and 
 team tied up to a sapling, while the super- 
 intendent and his wife were slowly climbing 
 the slope, and apparently examining the 
 prospect. Without waiting to see if Nelly 
 was with them, Reddy instantly turned to 
 avoid meeting them. But he had not pro- 
 ceeded a hundred yards before he came 
 upon that young lady, who had evidently 
 strayed from the party, and who was now 
 unconsciously advancing toward him. A 
 rencontre was inevitable. 
 
 She started slightly, and then stopped, 
 with all her old agitation and embarrass- 
 ment. But, to his own surprise, he was 
 also embarrassed and even tongue-tied. 
 
 She spoke first. 
 
 "You were at church. I didn't quite 
 know you in in these clothes." 
 
 In her own finery she had undergone 
 such a change to Reddy 's consciousness that 
 he, for the first time in their acquaintance, 
 now addressed her as on his own level, and 
 as if she had no understanding of his own 
 feelings. 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 127 
 
 " Ohj" he said, with easy bitterness, 
 "others did, if you did not. They all de- 
 tected the 'head-waiter ' at the Union Com- 
 pany's rancho. Even if I had accepted 
 your kindness in offering me a seat in your 
 wagon it would have made no difference." 
 He was glad to put this construction on his 
 previous refusal, for in the new relations 
 which seemed to be established by their 
 Sunday clothes he was obliged to soften the 
 churlishness of that refusal also. 
 
 "I don't think you'd look nice setting 
 the table in kid gloves," she said, glancing 
 quickly at his finery as if accepting it as 
 the real issue; "but you can wear what you 
 like at other times. / never found fault 
 with your working clothes." 
 
 There was such a pleasant suggestion in 
 her emphasis that his ill-humor softened. 
 Her eyes wandered over the opposite grove, 
 where her unconscious parents had just dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 "Papa 's very keen about the hotel," she 
 continued, "and is going to have the work- 
 men break ground to-morrow. He says 
 he '11 have it up in two months and ready 
 to open, if he has to make the men work 
 double time. When you 're manager, you 
 won't mind what folks say." 
 
128 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 There was no excuse for his further hesi- 
 tation. He must speak out, but he did it 
 in a half-hearted way. 
 
 "But if I simply go away without 
 being manager I won't hear their criti- 
 cism either." 
 
 "What do you mean?" she said quickly. 
 
 " I ' ve I ' ve been thinking of of go- 
 ing back to San Francisco," he stammered 
 awkwardly. 
 
 A slight flush of contemptuous indigna- 
 tion passed over her face, and gave it a 
 strength and expression he had never seen 
 there before. " Oh, you ' ve not reformed 
 yet, then?" she said, under her scornful 
 lashes. 
 
 "I don't understand you," he said, flush- 
 ing. 
 
 "Father ought to have told you," she 
 went on dryly, "that that woman has gone 
 off to the Springs with her husband, and 
 you won't see her at San Francisco." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean and 
 your father seems to take an unwarrantable 
 interest in my affairs," said Reddy, with an 
 anger that he was conscious, however, was 
 half simulated. 
 
 "No more than he ought to, if he expects 
 
The Reformation of James It eddy. 129 
 
 to trust you with all his affairs," said the 
 girl shortly; "but you had better tell him 
 you have changed your mind at once, be- 
 fore he makes any further calculations on 
 your staying. He 's just over the hill there, 
 with mother." 
 
 She turned away coldly as she spoke, but 
 moved slowly and in the direction of the 
 hill, although she took a less direct trail 
 than the one she had pointed to him. But 
 he followed her, albeit still embarrassedly, 
 and with that new sense of respect which 
 had checked his former surliness. There 
 was her strong, healthy, well-developed 
 figure moving before him, but the modish 
 gray dress seemed to give its pronounced 
 outlines something of the dignity of a god- 
 dess. Even the firm hands had the distin- 
 guishment of character. 
 
 " You understand," he said apologeti- 
 cally, " that I mean no discourtesy to your 
 father or his offer. And " he hesitated 
 " neither is my reason what you would 
 infer." 
 
 "Then what is it? " she asked, turning to 
 him abruptly. "You know you have no 
 other place when you leave here, nor any 
 chance as good as the one father offers you. 
 
130 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 You are not fit for any other work, and you 
 know it. You have no money to speculate 
 with, nor can you get any. If you could, 
 you would have never stayed here." 
 
 He could not evade the appalling truth- 
 fulness of her clear eyes. He knew it was 
 no use to lie to her; she had evidently thor- 
 oughly informed herself regarding his past ; 
 more than that, she seemed to read his pres- 
 ent thoughts. But not all of them! No! 
 he could startle her still! It was desper- 
 ate, but he had nothing now to lose. And 
 she liked the truth, she should have it I 
 
 "You are right," he said shortly; "these 
 are not my reasons." 
 
 "Then what reason have you? " 
 
 "You!" 
 
 "Me?" she repeated incredulously, yet 
 with a rising color. 
 
 "Yes, you! I cannot stay here, and 
 have you look down upon me." 
 
 "I don't look down on you," she said 
 simply, yet without the haste of repelling 
 an unjust accusation. "Why should I? 
 Mother and I have done the same work that 
 you are doing, if that 's what you mean ; 
 and father, who is a man like yourself, 
 helped us at first, until he could do other 
 
The Reformation of James Eeddy. 131 
 
 things better." She paused. "Perhaps 
 you think so because you looked down on 
 us when you first came here." 
 
 "But I didn't," said Reddy quickly. 
 
 "You did," said the young girl quietly. 
 " That 's why you acted toward me as you 
 did the night you walked home with me. 
 You would not have behaved in that way to 
 any San Francisco young lady and I 'm 
 not one of your fast married women." 
 
 Reddy felt the hot blood mount to his 
 cheek, and looked away. "I was foolish 
 and rude and I think you punished me at 
 the time," he stammered. "But you see I 
 was right in saying you looked down on 
 me," he concluded triumphantly. 
 
 This was at best a feeble sequitur, but 
 the argument of the affections is not always 
 logical. And it had its effect on the girl. 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of that" she said. 
 "It 's that you don't know your own mind." 
 
 "If I said that I would stay and accept 
 your father's offer, would you think that I 
 did?" he asked quickly. 
 
 "I should wait and see what you actually 
 did do," she replied. 
 
 " But if I stayed and and if I told 
 you that I stayed on your account to be 
 
132 The, Reformation of James It eddy. 
 
 with you and near you only would you 
 think that a proof?" He spoke hesitat- 
 ingly, for his lips were dry with a nervous- 
 ness he had not known before. 
 
 "I might, if you told father you expected 
 to be engaged on those terms. For it con- 
 cerns him as much as me. And he engages 
 you, and not I. Otherwise I 'd think it 
 was only your talk." 
 
 Eeddy looked at her in astonishment. 
 There was not the slightest trace of coyness, 
 coquetry, or even raillery in her clear, hon- 
 est eyes, and yet it would seem as if she 
 had taken his proposition in its fullest sense 
 as a matrimonial declaration, and actually 
 referred him to her father. He was pleased, 
 frightened, and utterly unprepared. 
 
 "But what would you say, Nelly?" He 
 drew closer to her and held out both his 
 hands. But she retreated a step and slipped 
 her own behind her. 
 
 "Better see what father says first," she 
 said quietly. "You may change your mind 
 again and go back to San Francisco." 
 
 He was confused, and reddened again. 
 But he had become accustomed to her ways ; 
 rather, perhaps, he had begun to recognize 
 the quaint justice that underlaid them, or, 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 133 
 
 possibly, some better self of his own, that 
 had been buried under bitterness and sloth 
 and struggled into life. " But whatever 
 he says," he returned eagerly, "cannot alter 
 my feelings to you. It can only alter my 
 position here, and you say you are above 
 being influenced by that. Tell me, Nelly 
 dear Nelly ! have you nothing to say to 
 me, as I am, or is it only to your father's 
 manager that you would speak ? " His 
 voice had an unmistakable ring of sincerity 
 in it, and even startled him half rascal as 
 he was! 
 
 The young girl's clear, scrutinizing eyes 
 softened; her red resolute lips trembled 
 slightly and then parted, the upper one 
 hovering a little to one side over her white 
 teeth. It was Nelly's own peculiar smile, 
 and its serious piquancy always thrilled 
 him. But she drew a little farther back 
 from his brightening eyes, her hands still 
 curled behind her, and said, with the faint- 
 est coquettish toss of her head toward the 
 hill : " If you want to see father, you 'd bet- 
 ter hurry up." 
 
 With a sudden determination as new 
 to him as it was incomprehensible, Reddy 
 turned from her and struck forward in the 
 
134 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 direction of the hill. He was not quite 
 sure what he was going for. Yet that he, 
 who had only a moment before fully deter- 
 mined to leave the rancho and her, was 
 now going to her father to demand her hand 
 as a contingency of his remain ing did not 
 strike him as so extravagant and unexpected 
 a denouement as it was a difficult one. He 
 was only concerned how, and in what way, 
 he should approach him. In a moment of 
 embarrassment he hesitated, turned, and 
 looked behind him. 
 
 She was standing where he had left her, 
 gazing after him, leaning forward with her 
 hands still held behind her. Suddenly, as 
 with an inspiration, she raised them both, 
 carried them impetuously to her lips, blew 
 him a dozen riotous kisses, and then, lower- 
 ing her head like a colt, whisked her skirt 
 behind her, and vanished in the cover. 
 
 III. 
 
 It was only May, but the freshness of 
 early summer already clothed the great 
 fields of the rancho. The old resemblance 
 to a sea was still there, more accented, per- 
 haps, by the undulations of bluish-green 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 135 
 
 grain that rolled from the actual shore-line 
 to the foothills. The farm buildings were 
 half submerged in this glowing tide of color 
 and lost their uncouth angularity with their 
 hidden rude foundations. The same sea- 
 breeze blew chilly and steadily from the 
 bay, yet softened and subdued by the fresh 
 odors of leaf and flower. The outlying 
 fringe of oaks were starred through their 
 underbrush with anemones and dog-roses; 
 there were lupines growing rankly in the 
 open spaces, and along the gentle slopes of 
 Oak Grove daisies were already scattered. 
 And, as if it were part of this vernal efflores- 
 cence, the eminence itself was crowned with 
 that latest flower of progress and improve- 
 ment, the new Oak Grove Hotel ! 
 
 Long, low, dazzling with white colon- 
 nades, verandas, and balconies which re- 
 tained, however, enough of the dampness of 
 recent creation to make them too cool for 
 loungers, except at high noon, the hotel 
 nevertheless had the charms of freshness, 
 youth, and cleanliness. Reddy's fastidious 
 neatness showed itself in all the . appoint- 
 ments, from the mirrored and marbled bar- 
 room, gilded parlors, and snowy dining- 
 room, to the chintz and maple furnishing of 
 
136 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 the bedrooms above. Reddy's taste, too, 
 had selected the pretty site; his good for- 
 tune had afterward discovered in an adjoin- 
 ing thicket a spring of blandly therapeutic 
 qualities. A. complaisant medical faculty 
 of San Francisco attested to its merits; a 
 sympathetic press advertised the excellence 
 of the hotel ; a novelty-seeking, fashionable 
 circle as yet without laws and blindly 
 imitative found the new hotel an admira- 
 ble variation to the vulgar ordinary "across 
 the bay " excursion, and an accepted excuse 
 for a novel social dissipation. A number 
 of distinguished people had already visited 
 it; certain exclusive families had secured 
 the best rooms ; there were a score of pretty 
 women to be seen in its parlors; there had 
 already been a slight scandal. Nothing 
 seemed wanting to insure its success. 
 
 Reddy was passing through the little 
 wood where four months before he had 
 parted from Nelly Woodridge to learn his 
 fate from her father. He remembered that 
 interview to which Nelly's wafted kiss had 
 inspired him. He recalled to-day, as he 
 had many times before, the singular com- 
 placency with which Mr. Woodridge had 
 received his suit, as if it were a slight and 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 137 
 
 unimportant detail of the business in hand, 
 and how he had told him that Nelly and 
 her mother were going to the " States " for 
 a three months' visit, but that after her re- 
 turn, if they were both "still .agreed," he, 
 Woodridge, would make no objection. He 
 remembered the slight shock which this an- 
 nouncement of Nelly's separation from him 
 during his probationary labors had given 
 him, and his sudden suspicion that he had 
 been partly tricked of his preliminary intent 
 to secure her company to solace him. But 
 he had later satisfied himself that she knew 
 nothing of her father's intentions at the 
 time, and he was fain to content himself 
 with a walk through the fields at her side 
 the day she departed, and a single kiss 
 which left him cold. And now in a few 
 days she would return to witness the suc- 
 cessful fufillmeiit of his labors, and re- 
 ward him ! 
 
 It was certainly a complacent prospect. 
 He could look forward to a sensible, pros- 
 perous, respectable future. He had won 
 back his good name, his fortune, and posi- 
 tion, not perhaps exactly in the way he 
 had expected, and he had stilled the wan- 
 ton, foolish cravings of his passionate nature 
 
138 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 in the calm, virginal love of an honest, 
 handsome girl who would make him a prac- 
 tical helpmeet, and a comfortable, trust- 
 worthy wife. He ought to be very happy. 
 He had never known such perfect health 
 before; he had lost his reckless habits; his 
 handsome, nervous face had grown more 
 placid and contented; his long curls had 
 been conventionally clipped; he had gained 
 flesh unmistakably, and the lower buttons 
 of the slim waistcoat he had worn to church 
 that memorable Sunday were too tight for 
 comfort or looks. He was happy; yet as 
 he glanced over the material spring land- 
 scape, full of practical health, blossom, and 
 promise of fruition, it struck him that the 
 breeze that blew over it was chilly, even if 
 healthful; and he shivered slightly. 
 
 He reached the hotel, entered the office, 
 glanced at the register, and passed through 
 into his private room. He had been away 
 for two days, and noticed with gratification 
 that the influx of visitors was still increas- 
 ing. His clerk followed into the room. 
 
 "There 's a lady in 56 who wanted to see 
 you when you returned. She asked partic- 
 ularly for the manager." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
The Reformation of James Heddy. 139 
 
 "Don't know. It's a Mrs. Merrydew, 
 from Sacramento. Expecting her husband 
 on the next steamer." 
 
 "Humph! You '11 have to be rather 
 careful about these solitary married women. 
 We don't want another scandal, you know." 
 
 " She asked for you by name, sir, and I 
 thought you might know her," returned the 
 clerk. 
 
 "Very well. I '11 go up." 
 
 He sent a waiter ahead to announce him, 
 and leisurely mounted the stairs. No. 56 
 was the sitting-room of a private suite on 
 the first floor. The waiter was holding the 
 door open. As he approached it a faint 
 perfume from the interior made him turn 
 pale. But he recovered his presence of 
 mind sufficiently to close the door sharply 
 upon the waiter behind him. 
 
 "Jim," said a voice which thrilled him. 
 
 He looked up and beheld what any astute 
 reader of romance will have already sus- 
 pected the woman to whom he believed 
 he owed his ruin in San Francisco. She 
 was as beautiful and alluring as ever, albeit 
 she was thinner and more spiritual than 
 he had ever seen her. She was tastefully 
 dressed, as she had always been, a certain 
 
140 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 style of languorous silken deshabille which 
 she was wont to affect in better health now 
 became her paler cheek and feverishly bril- 
 liant eyes. There was the same opulence 
 of lace and ornament, and, whether by acci- 
 dent or design, clasped around the slight 
 wrist of her extended hand was a bracelet 
 which he remembered had swept away the 
 last dregs of his fortune. 
 
 He took her hand mechanically, yet 
 knowing whatever rage was in his heart he 
 had not the strength to refuse it. 
 
 "They told me it was Mrs. Merrydew," 
 he stammered. 
 
 "That was my mother's name," she said, 
 with a little laugh. " I thought you knew 
 it. But perhaps you didn't. When I got 
 my divorce from Dick you didn't know- 
 that either, I suppose; it's three months 
 ago, I did n't care to take my maiden 
 name again; too many people remembered 
 it. So after the decree was made I called 
 myself Mrs. Merrydew. You had disap- 
 peared. They said you had gone East." 
 
 "But the clerk says you are expecting 
 your husband on the steamer. What does 
 this mean? Why did you tell him that?" 
 He had so far collected himself that there 
 was a ring of inquisition in his voice. 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 141 
 
 "Oh, I had to give him some kind of 
 reason for my being alone when I did not 
 find you as I expected," she said half 
 wearily. Then a change came over her 
 tired face ; a smile of mingled audacity and 
 tentative coquetry lit up the small features. 
 "Perhaps it is true; perhaps I may have 
 a husband coming on the steamer that 
 depends. Sit down, Jim." 
 
 She let his hand drop, and pointed to an 
 armchair from which she had just risen, 
 and sank down herself in a corner of the 
 sofa, her thin fingers playing with and 
 drawing themselves through the tassels of 
 the cushion. 
 
 "You see, Jim, as soon as I was free, 
 Louis Sylvester you remember Louis 
 Sylvester? wanted to marry me, and even 
 thought that he was the cause of- Dick's 
 divorcing me. He actually went East to 
 settle up some property he had left him 
 there, and he 's coming on the steamer." 
 
 "Louis Sylvester!" repeated Reddy, 
 staring at her. "Why, he was a bigger 
 fool than I was, and a worse man ! " he 
 added bitterly. 
 
 "I believe he was," said the lady, smil- 
 ing, "and I think he still is. But," she 
 
142 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 added, glancing at Reddy under her light 
 fringed lids, "you you're regularly re- 
 formed, aren't you? You're stouter, too, 
 and altogether more solid and commercial 
 looking. Yet who 'd have thought of your 
 keeping a hotel or ever doing anything but 
 speculate in wild-cat or play at draw poker. 
 How did you drift into it ? Come, tell me ! 
 I 'm not Mrs. Sylvester just yet, and maybe 
 I might like to go into the business too. 
 You don't want a partner, do you?" 
 
 Her manner was light and irresponsible, 
 or rather it suggested a childlike putting of 
 all responsibility for her actions upon oth- 
 ers, which he remembered now too well. 
 Perhaps it was this which kept him from 
 observing that the corners of her smiling 
 lips, however, twitched slightly, and that 
 her fingers, twisting the threads of the tas- 
 sel, were occasionally stiffened nervously. 
 For he burst out: Oh yes; he had drifted 
 into it when it was a toss up if it wasn't 
 his body instead that would be found drift- 
 ing out to sea from the first wharf of San 
 Francisco. Yes, he had been a common 
 laborer, a farm hand, in those fields she 
 had passed, a waiter in the farm kitchen, 
 and but for luck he might be taking her 
 
The, Reformation of James Reddy. 143 
 
 orders now in this very hotel. It was not 
 her fault if he was not in the gutter. 
 
 She raised her thin hand with a tired 
 gesture as if to ward off the onset of his 
 words. "The same old Jim," she repeated; 
 "and yet I thought you had forgotten all 
 that now, and become calmer and more sen- 
 sible since you had taken flesh and grown 
 so matter of fact. You ought to have 
 known then, as you know now, that I never 
 could have been anything to you as long 
 as I was tied to Dick. And you know you 
 forced your presents on me, Jim. I took 
 them from you because I would take no- 
 thing from Dick, for I hated him. And 
 I never knew positively that you were in 
 straits then; you know you always talked 
 big, Jim, and were always going to make 
 your fortune with the next thing you had in 
 hand!" 
 
 It was true, and he remembered it. He 
 had not intended this kind of recrimination, 
 but he was exasperated with her wearied 
 acceptance of his reproaches and by a sud- 
 den conviction that his long-cherished griev- 
 ance against her now that he had voiced it 
 was inadequate, mean, and trifling. Yet 
 he could not help saying : 
 
144 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 "Then you had presents from Sylvester, 
 too. I presume you did not hate him, 
 either?" 
 
 "He would have married me the day 
 after I got my divorce." 
 
 "And so would I," burst out Eeddy. 
 
 She looked at him fixedly. " You would ? " 
 she said with a peculiar emphasis. " And 
 now " 
 
 He colored. It had been part of his 
 revengeful purpose on seeing her to tell her 
 of his engagement to Nelly. He now found 
 himself tongue-tied, irresolute, and ashamed. 
 Yet he felt she was reading his innermost 
 thoughts. 
 
 She, however, only lowered her eyes, and 
 with the same tired expression said: "No 
 matter now. Let us talk of something 
 nearer. That was two months ago. And 
 so you have charge of this hotel ! I like it 
 so much. I mean the place itself. I fancy 
 I could live here forever. It is so far away 
 and restful. I am so sick of towns and 
 cities, and people. And this little grove 
 is so secluded. If one had merely a little 
 cottage here, one might be so happy." 
 
 What did she mean ? what did she ex- 
 pect? what did she think of doing? She 
 
The Reformation of James Rvddy. 145 
 
 must be got rid of before Nelly's arrival, 
 and yet he found himself wavering under 
 her potent and yet scarcely exerted influ- 
 ence. The desperation of weakness is apt 
 to be more brutal than the determination 
 of strength. He remembered why he had 
 come upstairs, and blurted out: "But you 
 can't stay here. The rules are very strin- 
 gent in regard to to strangers like your- 
 self. It will be known who you really are 
 and what people say of you. Even your 
 divorce will tell against you. It 's all 
 wrong, I know but what can I do? I 
 didn't make the rules. I am only a ser- 
 vant of the landlord, and must carry them 
 out." 
 
 She leaned back against the sofa and 
 laughed silently. But she presently recov- 
 ered herself, although with the same expres- 
 sion of fatigue. "Don't be alarmed, my 
 poor Jim! If you mean your friend, Mr. 
 Woodridge, I know him. It was he, him- 
 self, who suggested my coming here. And 
 don't misunderstand him nor me either. 
 He's only a good friend of Sylvester's; 
 they had some speculation together. He 's 
 coming here to see me after Louis arrives. 
 He 's waiting in San Francisco for his wife 
 
146 The Reformation of James Heddy. 
 
 and daughter, who come on the same 
 steamer. So you see you won't get into 
 trouble on my account. Don't look so 
 scared, my dear boy." 
 
 "Does he know that you knew me?" said 
 Eeddy, with a white face. 
 
 " Perhaps. But then that was three 
 months ago," returned the lady, smiling, 
 "and you know how you have reformed 
 since, and grown ever so much more steady 
 and respectable." 
 
 "Did he talk to you of me?" continued 
 Reddy, still aghast. 
 
 " A little complimentary of course. 
 Don't look so frightened. I didn't give 
 you away." 
 
 Her laugh suddenly ceased, and her face 
 changed into a more nervous activity as she 
 rose and went toward the window. She 
 had heard the sound of wheels outside 
 the coach had just arrived. 
 
 " There 's Mr. Woodridge now," she 
 said in a more animated voice. "The 
 steamer must be in. But I don't see Louis; 
 do you?" 
 
 She turned to where Reddy was standing, 
 but he was gone. 
 
 The momentary animation of her face 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 147 
 
 changed. She lifted her shoulders with a 
 half gesture of scorn, but in the midst of 
 it suddenly threw herself on the sofa, and 
 buried her face in her hands. 
 
 A few moments elapsed with the bustle 
 of arrival in the hall and passages. Then 
 there was a hesitating step at her door. 
 She quickly passed her handkerchief over 
 her wet eyes and resumed her former look 
 of weary acceptation. The door opened. 
 But it was Mr. Woodridge who entered. 
 The rough shirt- sleeved ranchman had de- 
 veloped, during the last four months, into 
 an equally blunt but soberly dressed pro- 
 prietor. His keen energetic face, however, 
 wore an expression of embarrassment and 
 anxiety, with an added suggestion of a half 
 humorous appreciation of it. 
 
 "I would n't have disturbed you, Mrs. 
 Merry dew," he said, with a gentle blunt- 
 ness, "if I hadn't wanted to ask your 
 advice before I saw Keddy. I 'm keeping 
 out of his way until I could see you. I left 
 Nelly and her mother in 'Frisco. There 's 
 been some queer goings-on 011 the steamer 
 coming home; Nelly has sprung a new 
 game on her mother, and and suthin' 
 that looks as if there might be a new deal. 
 
148 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 However," here a sense that he was, per- 
 haps, treating his statement too seriously, 
 stopped him, and he smiled reassuringly, 
 "that is as may be." 
 
 "I don't know," he went on, "as I ever 
 told you anything about my Nelly and 
 Reddy, partik'lerly about Nelly. She 's 
 a good girl, a square girl, but she 's got 
 some all-fired romantic ideas in her head. 
 Mebbee it kem from her reading, mebbee 
 it kem from her not knowing other girls, 
 or seeing too much of a queer sort of men ; 
 but she got an interest in the bad ones, and 
 thought it was her mission to reform them, 
 reform them by pure kindness, attentive 
 little sisterly ways, and moral example. 
 She first tried her hand on Eeddy. When 
 he first kem to us he was well, he was 
 a blazin' ruin ! She took him in hand, 
 yanked him outer himself, put his foot on 
 the bedrock, and made him what you see 
 him now. Well what happened $ why, 
 he got reg'larly soft on her; wanted to 
 marry her, and I agreed conditionally, of 
 course, to keep him up to the mark. Did 
 you speak?" 
 
 "No," said the lady, with her bright eyes 
 fixed upon him. 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 149 
 
 "Well, that was all well and good, and 
 I 'd liked to have carried out my part of 
 the contract, and was willing, and am still. 
 But you see, Nelly, after she 'd landed 
 Reddy on firm ground, got a little tired, I 
 reckon, gal-like, of the thing she 'd worked 
 so easily, and when she went East she 
 looked around for some other wreck to try 
 her hand on, and she found it on the 
 steamer coming back. And who do you 
 think it was? Why, our friend Louis 
 Sylvester!" 
 
 Mrs. Merrydew smiled slightly, with her 
 bright eyes still on the speaker. 
 
 " Well, you know he is fast at times if 
 he is a friend of mine and she reg'larly 
 tackled him ; and as my old woman says, it 
 was a sight to see her go for him. But 
 then he didn't tumble to it. No! Re- 
 formin' ain't in his line I 'm afeard. And 
 what was the result? Why, Nelly only got 
 all the more keen when she found she 
 couldn't manage him like Reddy, and, 
 between you and me, she 'd have liked 
 Reddy more if he had n't been so easy, 
 and it 's ended, I reckon, in her now falling 
 dead in love with Sylvester. She swears 
 she won't marry any one else, and wants to 
 
150 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 devote her whole life to him! Now, what 's 
 to be done! Keddy don't know it yet, and 
 I don't know how to tell him. Nelly says 
 her mission was ended when she made a 
 new man of him, and he oughter be thank- 
 ful for that. Couldn't you kinder break 
 the news to him and tell him there ain't 
 any show for him? " 
 
 "Does he love the girl so much, then?" 
 said the lady gently. 
 
 "Yes; but I am afraid there is no hope 
 for Reddy as long as she thinks there 's a 
 chance of her capturing Sylvester." 
 
 The lady rose and went to the writing- 
 table. "Would it be any comfort to you, 
 Mr. Woodridge, if you were told that she 
 had not the slightest chance with Sylves- 
 ter?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She wrote a few lines on a card, put it in 
 an envelope, and handed it to Woodridge. 
 "Find out where Sylvester is in San Fran- 
 cisco, and give him that card. I think it 
 will satisfy you. And now as I have to 
 catch the return coach in ten minutes, I 
 must ask you to excuse me while I put my 
 things together." 
 
 "And you won't first break the news to 
 Reddy forme?" 
 
The Reformation of James Eeddy. 151 
 
 "No; and I advise you to keep the whole 
 matter to yourself for the present. Good- 
 by!" 
 
 She smiled again, fascinatingly as usual, 
 but, as it seemed to him, a trifle wearily, 
 and then passed into the inner room. Years 
 after, in his practical, matter of fact recol- 
 lections of this strange woman,, he always 
 remembered her by this smile. 
 
 But she had sufficiently impressed him 
 by her parting adjuration to cause him to 
 answer Reddy's eager inquiries with the 
 statement that Nelly and her mother were 
 greatly preoccupied* with some friends in 
 San Francisco, and to speedily escape fur- 
 ther questioning. Reddy's disappointment 
 was somewhat mitigated by the simulta- 
 neous announcement of Mrs. Merry dew's 
 departure. But he was still more relieved 
 and gratified to hear, a few days later, of 
 the marriage of Mrs. Merry dew with Louis 
 Sylvester. If, to the general surprise and 
 comment it excited, he contributed only a 
 smile of cynical toleration and superior self- 
 complacency, the reader will understand 
 and not blame him. Nor did the public, 
 who knew the austere completeness of his 
 reform. Nor did Mr. Woodridge, who 
 
152 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 failed to understand the only actor in this 
 little comedy who might perhaps have dif- 
 fered from them all. 
 
 A month later James Reddy married 
 Nelly Woodridge, in the chilly little church 
 at Oakdale. Perhaps by that time it might 
 have occurred to him that although the 
 freshness and fruition of summer were 
 everywhere, the building seemed to be still 
 unwarmed. And when he stepped forth 
 with his bride, and glanced across the pros- 
 perous landscape toward the distant bay 
 and headlands of San Francisco, he shiv- 
 ered slightly at the dryly practical kiss of 
 the keen northwestern Trades. 
 
 But he was prosperous and comfortable 
 thereafter, as the respectable owner of 
 broad lands and paying shares. It was 
 said that Mrs. Reddy contributed much to 
 the popularity of the hotel by her charming 
 freedom from prejudice and sympathy with 
 mankind; but this was perhaps only due 
 to the contrast to her more serious and 
 at times abstracted husband. At least this 
 was the charitable opinion of the prover- 
 bially tolerant and kind-hearted Baroness 
 Streichholzer (nee Merrydew, and relict of 
 the kte lamented Louis Sylvester, Esq.), 
 
The Reformation of James Reddy. 153 
 
 whom I recently had the pleasure of meet- 
 ing at Wiesbaden, where the waters and 
 reposeful surroundings strongly reminded 
 her of Oakdale. 
 
THE HEIR OF THE McHULISHES. 
 
 THE consul for the United States of Amer- 
 ica at the port of St. Kentigern was sitting- 
 alone in the settled gloom of his private 
 office. Yet it was only high noon, of a 
 "seasonable" winter's day, by the face of 
 the clock that hung like a pallid moon on 
 the murky wall opposite to him. What 
 else could be seen of the apartment by the 
 faint light that struggled through the pall 
 of fog outside the lustreless windows pre- 
 sented the ordinary aspect of a business 
 sanctum. There were a shelf of fog-bound 
 admiralty law, one or two colored prints 
 of ocean steamships under full steam, bow 
 on, tremendously foreshortened, and seem- 
 ing to force themselves through shadowy 
 partitions; there were engravings of Lin- 
 coln and Washington, as unsubstantial and 
 shadowy as the dead themselves. Outside, 
 against the window, which was almost level 
 with the street, an occasional procession of 
 
The, Heir of the McHulishes. 155 
 
 black silhouetted figures of men and women, 
 with prayer-books in their hands and gloom 
 on their faces, seemed to be born of the fog, 
 and prematurely to return to it. At which 
 a conviction of sin overcame the consul. 
 He remembered that it was the Sabbath 
 day, and that he had no business to be at 
 the consulate at all. 
 
 Unfortunately, with this shameful con- 
 viction came the sound of a bell ringing 
 somewhere in the depths of the building, 
 and the shuffling of feet on the outer steps. 
 The light of his fire had evidently been 
 seen, and like a beacon had attracted some 
 wandering and possibly intoxicated mariner 
 with American papers. The consul walked 
 into the hall with a sudden righteous fri- 
 gidity of manner. It was one thing to be 
 lounging in one's own office on the Sabbath 
 day, and quite another to be deliberately 
 calling there on business. 
 
 He opened the front door, and a middle- 
 aged man entered, accompanying and partly 
 shoving forward a more diffident and younger 
 one. Neither appeared to be a sailor, 
 although both were dressed in that dingy 
 respectability and remoteness of fashion 
 affected by second and third mates when 
 
156 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 ashore. They were already well in the hall, 
 and making their way toward the private 
 office, when the elder man said, with an air 
 of casual explanation, "Lookin' for the 
 American consul; I reckon this yer 's the 
 consulate?" 
 
 "It is the consulate," said the official 
 dryly, "and I am the consul; but" 
 
 "That's all right," interrupted the 
 stranger, pushing past him, and opening the 
 door of the private office, into which he 
 shoved his companion. "Thar now!" he 
 continued to the diffident youth, pointing 
 to a chair, and quite ignoring the presence 
 of the consul ; " thar 's a bit of America. 
 Sit down thar. You 're under the flag now, 
 and can do as you darn please." Neverthe- 
 less, he looked a little disappointed as he 
 glanced around him, as if he had expected a 
 different environment and possibly a differ- 
 ent climate. 
 
 "I presume," said the consul suavely, 
 "you wish to see me on some urgent matter; 
 for you probably know that the consulate is 
 closed on Sunday to ordinary business. I 
 am here myself quite accidentally." 
 
 "Then you don't live here? " said the vis- 
 itor disappointedly. 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 157 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I reckon that 's the reason why we 
 didn't see no flag a-flyin' when we was 
 a-huntin' this place yesterday. We were 
 directed here, but I says to Malcolm, says 
 I, 'No; it ain't here, or you'd see the 
 Stars and Stripes afore you 'd see any thin' 
 else. ' But I reckon you float it over your 
 house, eh? " 
 
 The consul here explained smilingly that 
 he did not fly a flag over his lodgings, and 
 that except on national holidays it was not 
 customary to display the national ensign on 
 the consulate. 
 
 "Then you can't do here and you a 
 consul what any nigger can do in the 
 States, eh? That 's about how it pans out, 
 don't it? But I did n't think you 'd tumble 
 to it quite so quick, Jack." 
 
 At this mention of his Christian name, 
 the consul turned sharply on the speaker. 
 A closer scrutiny of the face before him 
 ended with a flash of reminiscence. The 
 fog without and within seemed to melt away ; 
 he was standing once more on a Western 
 hillside with this man; a hundred miles 
 of sparkling sunshine and crisp, dry air 
 stretching around him, and above a blue 
 
158 ' The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 and arched sky that roofed the third of a 
 continent with six months' summer. And 
 then the fog seemed to come back heavier 
 and thicker to his consciousness. He emo- 
 tionally stretched out his hand to the 
 stranger. But it was the fog and his per- 
 sonal surroundings which now seemed to be 
 unreal. 
 
 "Why it 's Harry Ouster! " he said with 
 a laugh that, however, ended in a sigh. " I 
 did n't recognize you in this half light." He 
 then glanced curiously toward the diffident 
 young man, as if to identify another possi- 
 ble old acquaintance. 
 
 "Well, I spotted you from the first," said 
 Custer, "though I ain't seen you since we 
 were in Scott's Camp together. That 's ten 
 years ago. You 're lookin' at him," he 
 continued, following the consul's wandering 
 eye. "Well, it 's about him that I came to 
 see you. This yer 's a McHulish a gen- 
 uine McHulish! " 
 
 He paused, as if to give effect to this 
 statement. But the name apparently offered 
 no thrilling suggestion to the consul, who 
 regarded the young man closely for further 
 explanation. He was a fair-faced youth of 
 about twenty years, with pale reddish-brown 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 159 
 
 eyes, dark hair reddish at the roots, and a 
 singular white and pink waxiness of oval 
 cheek, which, however, narrowed suddenly 
 at the angle of the jaw, and fell away with 
 the retreating chin. 
 
 "Yes," continued Custer; "I oughter say 
 the only McHulish. He is the direct heir 
 and of royal descent ! He 's one of them 
 McHulishes whose name in them old history 
 times was enough to whoop up the boys and 
 make 'em paint the town red. A regular 
 campaign boomer the old McHulish was. 
 Stump speeches and brass-bands warn't in 
 it with the boys when he was around. 
 They 'd go their bottom dollar and last car- 
 tridge if they 'd had cartridges in them 
 days on him. That was the regular Mc- 
 Hulish gait. And Malcolm there 's the 
 last of 'em got the same style of features, 
 too." 
 
 Ludicrous as the situation was, it struck 
 the consul dimly, as. through fog and dark- 
 ness, that the features of the young man 
 were not unfamiliar, and indeed had looked 
 out upon him dimly and vaguely at various 
 times, from various historic canvases. It 
 was the face of complacent fatuity, incom- 
 petency, and inconstancy, which had 
 
160 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 dragged down strength, competency, and 
 constancy to its own idiotic fate and levels, 
 a face for whose weaknesses valor and 
 beauty had not only sacrificed themselves, 
 but made things equally unpleasant to a 
 great many minor virtues. Nevertheless, 
 the consul, with an amused sense of its 
 ridiculous incongruity to the grim Scottish 
 Sabbath procession in the street, and the 
 fog-bound volumes of admiralty law in the 
 room, smiled affably. 
 
 "Of course our young friend has no de- 
 sire to test the magic of his name here, in 
 these degenerate days." 
 
 "No," said Custer complacently; "though 
 between you and me, old man, there 's al- 
 ways no tellin' what might turn up over in 
 this yer monarchy. Things of course are 
 different over our way. But jest now Mal- 
 colm will be satisfied to take the title and 
 property to which he 's rightful heir." 
 
 The consul's face fell. Alas! it was 
 only the old, old story. Its endless repeti- 
 tions and variations had been familiar to 
 him even in his youth and in his own land. 
 "Ef that man had his rights," had once 
 been pointed out to him in a wild Western 
 camp, "he'd be now sittin' in scarlet on 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 161 
 
 the right of the Queen of England! " The 
 gentleman who was indicated in this apoca- 
 lyptical vision, it appeared, simply bore a 
 singular likeness to a reigning Hanoverian 
 family, which for some unexplained reason 
 he had contented himself with bearing with 
 fortitude and patience. But it was in his 
 official capacity that the consul's experience 
 had been the most trying. At times it had 
 seemed to him that much of the real prop- 
 erty and peerage of Great Britain was the 
 inherited right of penniless American re- 
 publicans who had hitherto refrained from 
 presenting their legal claims, and that the 
 habitual first duty of generations of British 
 noblemen on coming into their estates and 
 titles was to ship their heirs and next of 
 kin to America, and then forget all about 
 them. He had listened patiently to claims 
 to positions more or less exalted, claims 
 often presented with ingenuous sophistry or 
 pathetic simplicity, prosecuted with great 
 good humor, and abandoned with invincible 
 cheerf ulness ; but they seldom culminated 
 more seriously than in the disbursement of 
 a few dollars by the consul to enable the 
 rightful owner of millions to procure a 
 steerage passage back to his previous demo- 
 
162 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 cratic retirement. There had been others, 
 less sincere but more pretentious in qual- 
 ity, to whom, however, a letter to the Her- 
 alds' College in London was all sufficient, 
 and who, on payment of various fees and 
 emoluments, were enabled to stagger back 
 to New York or Boston with certain un- 
 claimed and forgotten luggage which a 
 more gallant ancestor had scorned to bring 
 with him into the new life, or had thrown 
 aside in his undue haste to make them citi- 
 zens of the republic. Still, all this had 
 grown monotonous and wearisome, and was 
 disappointing as coming through the inter- 
 vention of an old friend who ought to know 
 better. 
 
 "Of course you have already had legal 
 opinion on the subject over there," said the 
 consul, with a sigh, "but here, you know, 
 you ought first to get some professional ad- 
 vice from those acquainted with Scotch pro- 
 cedure. But perhaps you have that too." 
 
 "No," said Ouster cheerfully. "Why, 
 it ain't only two months ago that I first saw 
 Malcolm. Tumbled over him on his own 
 farm jest out of MacCorkleville, Kentucky, 
 where he and his fathers before him had 
 been livin' nigh a hundred years yes, a 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 163 
 
 hundred years, by Jove! ever since they 
 first emigrated to the country. Had a talk 
 over it; saw an old Bible about as big and 
 as used up as that," lifting the well-worn 
 consular Bible, "with dates in it, and 
 heard the whole story. And here we are." 
 
 "And you have consulted no lawyer?" 
 gasped the consul. 
 
 "The McHulishes," said an unexpected 
 voice that sounded thin and feminine, 
 "never took any legal decision. From the 
 craggy summits of Glen Crankie he lifted 
 the banner of his forefathers, or raised the 
 war-cry, 'Hulish dhu, ieroe! ' from the bat- 
 tlements of Craigiedurrach. And the clan 
 gathered round him with shouts that rent 
 the air. That was the way of it in old 
 times. And the boys whooped him up and 
 stood by him." It was the diffident young 
 man who had half spoken, half recited, 
 with an odd enthusiasm that even the cul- 
 minating slang could not make conven- 
 tional. 
 
 "That 's about the size of it," said Cus- 
 ter, leaning back in his chair easily with an 
 approving glance at the young man. "And 
 I don't know if that ain't the way to work 
 the thing now." 
 
164 TJie Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 The consul stared hopelessly from the 
 one to the other. It had always seemed 
 possible that this dreadful mania might 
 develop into actual insanity, and he had lit- 
 tle doubt but that the younger man's brain 
 was slightly affected. But this did not 
 account for the delusion and expectations 
 of the elder. Harry Custer, as the consul 
 remembered him, was a level-headed, prac- 
 tical miner, whose leaning to adventure and 
 excitement had not prevented him from be- 
 ing a cool speculator, and he had amassed 
 more than a competency by reason of his 
 judicious foresight and prompt action. Yet 
 he was evidently under the glamour of this 
 madman, although outwardly as lazily self- 
 contained as ever. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me," said the con- 
 sul in a suppressed voice, "that you two 
 have come here equipped only with a state- 
 ment of facts and a family Bible, and that 
 you expect to take advantage of a feudal 
 enthusiasm which no longer exists and 
 perhaps never did exist out of the pages of 
 romance as a means of claiming estates 
 whose titles have long since been settled by 
 law, and can be claimed only under that 
 tenure? Surely I have misunderstood you. 
 You cannot be in earnest." 
 
TJie Heir of the McHulishes. 165 
 
 "Honest Injun," said Custer, nodding 
 his head lazily. "We mean it, but not 
 jest that way you 've put it. F'r instance, 
 it ain't only us two. This yer thing, ole 
 pard, we 're runnin' as a syndicate." 
 
 "A syndicate?" echoed the consul. 
 
 "A syndicate," repeated Custer. "Half 
 the boys that were at Eagle Camp are in it, 
 and two of Malcolm's neighbors from Ken- 
 tucky the regular old Scotch breed like 
 himself; for you know that MacCorkle 
 County was settled by them old Scotch 
 Covenanters, and the folks are Scotch Pres- 
 byterians to this day. And for the matter 
 of that, the Eagle boys that are in it are 
 of Scotch descent, or a kind of blend, you 
 know ; in fact, I 'm half Scotch myself 
 or Irish," he added thoughtfully. "So you 
 see that settles your argument about any 
 local opinion, for if them Scots don't know 
 their own people, who does? " 
 
 "May I ask," said the consul, with a des- 
 perate attempt to preserve his composure, 
 "what you are proposing to do?" 
 
 "Well," said Custer, settling himself 
 comfortably back in his chair again, "that 
 depends. Do you remember the time that we 
 jumped them Mexican claims on the North 
 
166 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 Fork - - the time them greasers wanted 
 to take in the whole river-bank because 
 they 'd found gold on one of the upper 
 bars? Seems to me we jest went peaceful- 
 like over there one moonshiny night, and 
 took up their stakes and set down ours. 
 Seems to me you were one of the party." 
 
 "That was in our own country," returned 
 the consul hastily, "and was an indefensi- 
 ble act, even in a lawless frontier civiliza- 
 tion. But you are surely not mad enough 
 even to conceive of such a thing here ! " 
 
 "Keep your hair on, Jack," said Ouster 
 lazily. "What 's the matter with constitu- 
 tional methods, eh? Do you remember the 
 time when we didn't like Pueblo rules, and 
 we laid out Eureka City on their lines, and 
 whooped up the Mexicans and diggers to 
 elect mayor and aldermen, and put the city 
 front on Juanita Creek, and then corraled 
 it for water lots? Seems to me you were 
 county clerk then. Now who 's to keep 
 Dick Macgregor and Joe Hamilton, that 
 are both up the Nile now, from droppin' in 
 over here to see Malcolm in his own house? 
 Who 's goin' to object to Wallace or Baird, 
 who are on this side, doin' the Eytalian 
 lakes, from comin' here on their way home; 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 167 
 
 or Watson and Moore and Tiniley, that are 
 livin' over in Paris, from joinin' the boys 
 in givin' Malcolm a housewarmin' in his 
 old home? What 's to keep the whole syn- 
 dicate from gatherhr at Kelpie Island up 
 here off the west coast, among the tombs 
 of Malcolm's ancestors, and fixin' up things 
 generally with the clan? " 
 
 "Only one thing," said the consul, with 
 a gravity which he nevertheless felt might 
 be a mistaken attitude. "You should n't 
 have told me about it. For if, as your old 
 friend, I cannot keep you from committing 
 an unconceivable folly, as the American 
 consul here it will be my first duty to give 
 notice to our legation, and perhaps warn 
 the authorities. And you may be sure I 
 will do it." 
 
 To his surprise Ouster leaned forward 
 and pressed his hand with an expression of 
 cheerful relief. "That's so, old pard; I 
 reckoned on it. In fact, I told Malcolm 
 that that would be about your gait. Of 
 course you couldn't do otherwise. And it 
 would have been play in' it rather low down 
 on you to have left you out in the cold 
 without even that show in the game. For 
 what you will do in warnin' the other fel- 
 
168 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 lows, don't you see, will just waken up the 
 clan. It 's better than a campaign circu- 
 lar." 
 
 "Don't be too sure of that," said the 
 consul, with a half -hysterical laugh. "But 
 we won't consider so lamentable a contin- 
 gency. Come and dine with me, both of 
 you, and we '11 discuss the only thing worth 
 discussing, your legal rights, and you 
 can tell me your whole story, which, by the 
 way, I have n't heard." 
 
 "Sorry, Jack, but it can't be done," said 
 Custer, with his first approach to serious- 
 ness of manner. "You see, we 'd made up 
 our mind not to come here again after this 
 first call. We ain't goin' to compromise 
 you." 
 
 "I am the best judge of that," returned 
 the consul dryly. Then suddenly changing 
 his manner, he grasped Ouster's hands 
 with both his own. "Come, Harry," he 
 said earnestly ; " I will not believe that this 
 is not a joke, but I beg of you to promise 
 me one thing, do not move a step further 
 in this matter without legal counsel. I will 
 give you a letter to a legal friend of mine 
 a man of affairs, a man of the world, 
 and a Scot as typical, perhaps, as any you 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 169 
 
 have mentioned. State your legal case to 
 him only that ; but his opinion will show 
 you also, if I am not mistaken, the folly of 
 your depending upon any sectional or his- 
 torical sentiment in this matter." 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, he sat down 
 and hastily wrote a few lines to a friendly 
 local magnate. When he had handed the 
 note to Ouster, the latter looked at the 
 address, and showed it to his young com- 
 panion. 
 
 "Same name, isn't it?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," responded Mr. McHulish. 
 
 "Do you know him?" asked the consul, 
 evidently surprised. 
 
 "We don't; but he 's a friend of one of 
 the Eagle boys. I reckon we would have 
 seen him anyhow; but we '11 agree with you 
 to hold on until we do. It 's a go. Good- 
 by, old pard! So long." 
 
 They both shook the consul's hand, and 
 departed, leaving him staring at the fog 
 into which they had melted as if they were 
 unreal shadows of the past. 
 
170 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 II. 
 
 The next morning the fog had given way 
 to a palpable, horizontally driving rain, 
 which wet the inside as well as the outside 
 of umbrellas, and caused them to be pre- 
 sented at every conceivable angle as they 
 drifted past the windows of the consulate. 
 There was a tap at the door, and a clerk 
 entered. 
 
 "Ye will be in to Sir James MacFen? " 
 
 The consul nodded, and added, "Show 
 him in here." 
 
 It was the magnate to whom he had sent 
 the note the previous day, a man of large 
 yet slow and cautious nature, learned and 
 even pedantic, yet far-sighted and practical ; 
 very human and hearty in social intercourse, 
 which, however, left him as it found him, 
 with no sentimental or unbusiness-like 
 entanglements. The consul had known him 
 sensible and sturdy at board meetings and 
 executive councils; logical and convincing 
 at political gatherings ; decorous and grave 
 in the kirk; and humorous and jovial at 
 festivities, where perhaps later in the even- 
 ing, in company with others, hands were 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 171 
 
 clasped over a libation lyrically defined as 
 a "right guid williewaught. " On one of 
 these occasions they had walked home to- 
 gether, not without some ostentation of 
 steadiness; yet when MacFen's eminently 
 respectable front door had closed upon him, 
 the consul was perfectly satisfied that a dis- 
 tinctly proper and unswerving man of busi- 
 ness would issue from it the next morning. 
 
 "Ay, but it 's a soft day," said Sir James, 
 removing his gloves. "Ye '11 not be gadding 
 about in this weather." 
 
 "You got my note of introduction, I sup- 
 pose?" said the consul, when the momen- 
 tous topic of the weather was exhausted. 
 
 "Oh, ay." 
 
 "And you saw the gentlemen?" 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 "And what's your opinion of his 
 claims?" 
 
 "He's a fine lad that Malcolm a 
 fine type of a lad," said Sir James, with an 
 almost too effusive confidence. "Ye '11 be 
 thinking so yourself no doubt ? Ay, 
 it 's wonderful to consider the preservation 
 of type so long after its dispersal in other 
 lands. And it 's a strange and wonderful 
 country that of yours, with its plantations 
 
172 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 as one might say of homogeneity un- 
 impaired for so many years, and keeping 
 the old faith too and all its strange sur- 
 vivals. Ay, and that Kentucky, where his 
 land is it will be a rich State ! It 's 
 very instructing and interesting to hear his 
 account of that remarkable region they call 
 'the blue grass country,' and the stock they 
 raise there. I 'm obliged to ye, my friend, 
 for a most edifying and improving even- 
 ing." 
 
 "But his claim did he not speak of 
 that?" 
 
 "Oh, ay. And that Mr. Ouster he's 
 a grand man, and an amusing one. Ye '11 
 be great comrades, you and he! Man! it 
 was delightful to hear him tell of the rare 
 doings and the bit fun ye two had in the 
 old times. Eh, sir, but who 'd think that 
 of the proper American consul at St. Ken- 
 tigern!" And Sir James leaned back in 
 his chair, and bestowed an admiring smile 
 on that official. 
 
 The consul thought he began to under- 
 stand this evasion. "Then you don't think 
 much of Mr. McHulish's claim? " he said. 
 
 "I 'm not saying that." 
 
 "But do you really think a claim based 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 173 
 
 upon a family Bible and a family likeness 
 a subject for serious consideration?" 
 
 "I 'm not saying that either, laddie." 
 
 "Perhaps he has confided to you more 
 fully than he has to me, or possibly you 
 yourself knew something in corroboration 
 of his facts." 
 
 "No." 
 
 His companion had evidently no desire 
 to be communicative. But the consul had 
 heard enough to feel that he was justified 
 in leaving the matter in his hands. He 
 had given him fair warning. Yet, never- 
 theless, he would be even more explicit. 
 
 "I do not know," he began, "whether 
 this young McHulish confided to you his 
 great reliance upon some peculiar effect of 
 his presence among the tenants, and of es- 
 tablishing his claim to the property by ex- 
 citing the enthusiasm of the clan. It cer- 
 tainly struck me that he had some rather 
 exaggerated ideas, borrowed, perhaps, from 
 romances he 'd read, like Don Quixote his 
 books of chivalry. He seems to believe in 
 the existence of a clan loyalty, and the ac- 
 tual survival of old feudal instincts and of 
 old feudal methods in the Highlands. He 
 appears to look upon himself as a kind of 
 
174 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 local Prince Charlie, and, by Jove! I've 
 an idea he 's almost as crazy." 
 
 "And why should he na believe in his 
 own kith and kin?" said Sir James, 
 quickly, with a sudden ring in his voice, 
 and a dialectical freedom quite distinct 
 from his former deliberate and cautious 
 utterance. "The McHulishes were chief- 
 tains before America was discovered, and 
 many 's the time they overran the border 
 before they went as far as that. If there 's 
 anything in blood and loyalty, it would be 
 strange if they did na respond. And I can 
 tell ye, ma frien', there 's more in the Hie- 
 lands than any 'romancer,' as ye call them, 
 ay, even Scott hissel', and he was but 
 an Edinboro' man, ever dreamed of. 
 Don't fash yoursel' about that. And you 
 and me '11 not agree about Prince Charlie. 
 Some day I '11 tell ye, ma frien', mair aboot 
 that bonnie laddie than ye '11 gather from 
 your partisan historians. Until then ye '11 
 be wise when ye '11 be talking to Scotchmen 
 not to be expressing your Southern preju- 
 dices." 
 
 Intensely surprised and amused at this 
 sudden outbreak of enthusiasm on the part 
 of the usually cautious lawyer, the consul 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 175 
 
 could not refrain from accenting it by a 
 marked return to practical business. 
 
 "I shall be delighted to learn more about 
 Prince Charlie," he said, smiling, "but just 
 now his prototype if you '11 allow me to 
 call him so is a nearer topic, and for the 
 present, at least until he assume his new 
 titles and dignities, has a right to claim 
 my protection, and I am responsible for 
 him as an American citizen. Now, my dear 
 friend, is there really any property, land, 
 or title of any importance involved in his 
 claim, and what and where, in Heaven's 
 name, is it? For I assure you I know no- 
 thing practical about it, and cannot make 
 head or tail of it." 
 
 Sir James resumed his slow serenity, and 
 gathered up his gloves. "Ay, there's a 
 great deer-forest in Ballochbrinkie, and 
 there 's part of Loch Phillibeg in Cairn - 
 gormshire, and there 's Kelpie Island off 
 Moreover shire. Ay, there 's enough land 
 when the crofters are cleared off, and the 
 small sheep-tenants evicted. It will be a 
 grand property then." 
 
 The consul stared. "The crofters and 
 tenants evicted !" he repeated. "Are they 
 not part of the clan, and loyal to the Mc- 
 Hulish?" 
 
176 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 "The McHulish," said Sir James with 
 great deliberation, "has n't set foot there 
 for years. They 'd be burning him in 
 effigy." 
 
 "But," said the astonished consul, "that 's 
 rather bad for the expectant heir and the 
 magic of the McHulish presence." 
 
 " I 'm not saying that," returned Sir 
 James cautiously. "Ye see he can be mak- 
 ing better arrangements with the family on 
 account of it." 
 
 "With the family? " repeated the consul. 
 "Then does he talk of compromising?" 
 
 "I mean they would be more likely to 
 sell for a fair consideration, and he 'd be 
 better paying money to them than the law- 
 yers. The syndicate will be rich, eh? And 
 I 'm not saying the McHulish would n't take 
 Kentucky lands in exchange. It 's a fine 
 country, that blue grass district." 
 
 The consul stared at Sir James so long 
 that a faint smile came into the latter 's 
 shrewd eyes; at which the consul smiled, 
 too. A vague air of relief and understand- 
 ing seemed to fill the apartment. 
 
 " Oh, ay," continued Sir James, draw- 
 ing on his gloves with easy deliberation, 
 "he's a fine lad that Malcolm, and it's a 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 177 
 
 praiseworthy instinct in him to wish to 
 return to the land of his forebears, and 
 take his place again among them. And 
 I 'm noticing, Mr. Consul, that a great 
 many of your countrymen are doing the 
 same. Eh, yours is a gran' country of 
 progress and ceevel and religious liberty, 
 but for a' that, as Burns says, it 's in your 
 blood to turn to the auld home again. And 
 it 's a fine thing to have the money to do it 
 and, I 'm thinking, money well spent all 
 around. Good - morning. Eh, but I 'm 
 forgetting that I wanted to ask you to dine 
 with me and Malcolm, and your Mr. Cus- 
 ter, and Mr. Watson, who will be one of 
 your syndicate, and whom I once met 
 abroad. But ye '11 get a bit note of invita- 
 tion, with the day, from me later." 
 
 The consul remembered that Custer had 
 said that one of the "Eagle boys" had 
 known Sir James. This was evidently 
 Watson. He smiled again, but this time 
 Sir James responded only in a general sort 
 of way, as he genially bowed himself out of 
 the room. 
 
 The consul watched his solid and emi- 
 nently respectable figure as it passed the 
 window, and then returned to his desk, 
 
178 The, Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 still smiling. First of all he was relieved. 
 What had seemed to him a wild and reck- 
 less enterprise, with possibly some grim 
 international complications on the part of 
 his compatriots, had simply resolved itself 
 into an ordinary business speculation the 
 ethics of which they had pretty equally 
 divided with the local operators. If any- 
 thing, it seemed that the Scotchman would 
 get the best of the bargain, and that, for 
 once at least, his countrymen were deficient 
 in foresight. But that was a matter be- 
 tween the parties, and Ouster himself would 
 probably be the first to resent any sugges- 
 tion of the kind from the consul. The 
 vision of the McHulish burned in effigy by 
 his devoted tenants and retainers, and the 
 thought that the prosaic dollars of his coun- 
 trymen would be substituted for the potent 
 presence of the heir, tickled, it is to be 
 feared, the saturnine humor of the consul. 
 He had taken an invincible dislike to the 
 callow representative of the McHulish, who 
 he felt had in some extraordinary way im- 
 posed upon Ouster's credulity. But then 
 he had apparently imposed equally upon 
 the practical Sir James. The thought of 
 this sham ideal of feudal and privileged 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 179 
 
 incompetency being elevated to actual posi- 
 tion by the combined efforts of American 
 republicans and hard-headed Scotch dissen- 
 ters, on whom the soft Scotch mists fell 
 from above with equal impartiality, struck 
 him as being very amusing, and for some 
 time thereafter lightened the respectable 
 gloom of his office. Other engagements 
 prevented his attendance at Sir James's 
 dinner, although he was informed afterward 
 that it had passed off with great eclat^ the 
 later singing of " Auld lang Syne," and the 
 drinking of the health of Ouster and Mal- 
 colm with "Hieland honors." He learned 
 also that Sir James had invited Ouster and 
 Malcolm to his lacustrine country-seat in 
 the early spring. But he learned nothing 
 more of the progress of Malcolm's claim, 
 its details, or the manner in which it was 
 prosecuted. No one else seemed to know 
 anything about it; it found no echo in the 
 gossip of the clubs, or in the newspapers of 
 St. Kentigern. In the absence of the par- 
 ties connected with it, it began to assume 
 to him the aspect of a half-humorous ro- 
 mance. He often found himself wondering 
 if there had been any other purpose in this 
 quest or speculation than what had ap- 
 
180 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 peared on the surface, it seemed so inade- 
 quate in result. It would have been so 
 perfectly . easy for a wealthy syndicate to 
 buy up a much more valuable estate. He 
 disbelieved utterly in the sincerity of Mal- 
 colm's sentimental attitude. There must 
 be some other reason perhaps not known 
 even to the syndicate. 
 
 One day he thought that he had found it. 
 He had received a note addressed from one 
 of the principal hotels, but bearing a large 
 personal crest on paper and envelope. A 
 Miss Kirkby, passing through St. Kenti- 
 gern on her way to Edinburgh, desired to 
 see the consul the next day, if he would 
 appoint an hour at the consulate ; or, as her 
 time was limited, she would take it as a 
 great favor if he would call at her hotel. 
 Although a countrywoman, her name might 
 not be so well known to him as those of her 
 "old friends" Harry Custer, Esq., and Sir 
 Malcolm McHulish. The consul was a lit- 
 tle surprised; the use of the title unless 
 it referred to some other McHulish would 
 seem to indicate that Malcolm's claim was 
 successful. He had, however, no previous 
 knowledge of the title of "Sir" in connec- 
 tion with the estate, and it was probable 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 181 
 
 that his fair correspondent like most of 
 her countrywomen was more apprecia- 
 tive than correct in her bestowal of digni- 
 ties. He determined to waive his ordinary 
 business rules, and to call upon her at once, 
 accepting, as became his patriotism, that 
 charming tyranny which the American wo- 
 man usually reserves exclusively for her 
 devoted countrymen. 
 
 She received him with an affectation of 
 patronage, as if she had lately become un- 
 easily conscious of being in a country where 
 there were distinctions of class. She was 
 young, pretty, and tastefully dressed; the 
 national feminine adaptability had not, 
 however, extended to her voice and accent. 
 Both were strongly Southwestern, and as 
 she began to speak she seemed to lose her 
 momentary affectation. 
 
 "It was mighty good of you to come and 
 see me, for the fact is, I did n't admire 
 going to your consulate not one bit. 
 You see, I 'm a Southern girl, and never 
 was 'reconstructed ' either. I don't hanker 
 after your Gov'ment. I have n't recog- 
 nized it, and don't want to. I reckon I 
 ain't been under the flag since the wah. 
 So you see, I have n't any papers to get 
 
182 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 authenticated, nor any certificates to ask 
 for, and ain't wanting any advice or protec- 
 tion. I thought I 'd be fair and square 
 with you from the word 'go. ' ' 
 
 Nothing could be more fascinating and 
 infectious than the mirthful ingenuousness 
 which accompanied and seemed to mitigate 
 this ungracious speech, and the consul was 
 greatly amused, albeit conscious that it was 
 only an attitude, and perhaps somewhat 
 worn in sentiment. He knew that during 
 the war of the rebellion, and directly after 
 it, Great Britain was the resort of certain 
 Americans from the West as well as from 
 the South who sought social distinction by 
 the affectation of dissatisfaction with their 
 own government or the ostentatious simu- 
 lation of enforced exile; but he was quite 
 unprepared for this senseless protraction 
 of dead and gone issues. He ventured to 
 point out with good-humored practicality 
 that several years had elapsed since the war, 
 that the South and North were honorably 
 reconciled, and that he was legally supposed 
 to represent Kentucky as well as New 
 York. "Your friends," he added smil- 
 ingly, "Mr. Custer and Mr. McHulish, 
 seemed to accept the fact without any post- 
 humous sentiment." 
 
The, Heir of the McHulishes. 183 
 
 "I don't go much on that," she said with 
 a laugh. "I've been living in Paris till 
 maw who 's lying down upstairs came 
 over and brought me across to England 
 for a look around. And I reckon Mal- 
 colm 's got to keep touch with you on ac- 
 count of his property." 
 
 The consul smiled. "Ah, then, I hope 
 you can tell me something about that, for 
 I really don't know whether he has estab- 
 lished his claim or not." 
 
 "Why," returned the girl with naive as- 
 tonishment, "that was just what I was going 
 to ask you. He reckoned you 'd know all 
 about it." 
 
 "I haven't heard anything of the claim 
 for two months," said the consul; "but 
 from your reference to him as 'Sir Mal- 
 colm, ' I presumed you considered it settled. 
 Though, of course, even then he would n't 
 be 'Sir Malcolm,' and you might have 
 meant somebody else." 
 
 "Well, then, Lord Malcolm I can't 
 get the hang of those titles yet." 
 
 "Neither 'Lord ' nor 'Sir' ; you know the 
 estate carries no title whatever with it," 
 said the consul smilingly. 
 
 "But would n't he be the laird of some- 
 thing or other, you know?" 
 
184 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 "Yes; but that is only a Scotch descrip- 
 tion, not a title. It 's not the same as 
 Lord." 
 
 The young girl looked at him with un- 
 disguised astonishment. A half laugh 
 twitched the corners of her mouth. "Are 
 you sure? " she said. 
 
 "Perfectly," returned the consul, a little 
 impatiently ; " but do I understand that you 
 really know nothing more of the progress 
 of the claim?" 
 
 Miss Kirkby, still abstracted by some hu- 
 morous astonishment, said quickly: "Wait 
 a minute. I '11 just run up and see if 
 maw 's coming down. She 'd admire to see 
 you." Then she stopped, hesitated, and 
 as she rose added, "Then a laird's wife 
 wouldn't be Lady anything, anyway, would 
 she?" 
 
 "She certainly would acquire no title 
 merely through her marriage." 
 
 The young girl laughed again, nodded, 
 and disappeared. The consul, amused yet 
 somewhat perplexed over the naive brusque - 
 ness of the interview, waited patiently. 
 Presently she returned, a little out of 
 breath, but apparently still enjoying some 
 facetious retrospect, and said, "Maw will 
 
The Hew of the McHulishes. 185 
 
 be down soon." After a pause, fixing her 
 bright eyes mischievously on the consul, she 
 continued : 
 
 "Did you see much of Malcolm?" 
 
 "I saw him only once." 
 
 "What did you think of him?" 
 
 The consul in so brief a period had been 
 unable to judge. 
 
 "You wouldn't think I was half engaged 
 to him, would you?" 
 
 The consul was obliged again to protest 
 that in so short an interview he had been 
 unable to conceive of Malcolm's good for- 
 tune. 
 
 "I know what you mean," said the girl 
 lightly. "You think he 's a crank. But it 's 
 all over now; the engagement 's off." 
 
 " I trust that this does not mean that you 
 doubt his success? " 
 
 The lady shrugged her shoulders disdain- 
 fully. "That 's all right enough, I reckon. 
 There 's a hundred thousand dollars in the 
 syndicate. Maw put in twenty thousand, 
 and Ouster's bound to make it go par- 
 ticularly as there 's some talk of a com- 
 promise. But Malcolm 's a crank, and I 
 reckon if it wasn't for the compromise the 
 syndicate would n't have much show. Why, 
 
186 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 he did n't even know that the McHulishes 
 had no title." 
 
 "Do you think he has been suffering 
 under a delusion in regard to his relation- 
 ship?" 
 
 " No ; he was only a fool in the way he 
 wanted to prove it. He actually got these 
 boys to think it could be filibustered into 
 his possession. Had a sort of idea of 'a 
 rising in the Highlands,' you know, like 
 that poem or picture which is it? And 
 those fool boys, and Custer among them, 
 thought it would be great fun and a great 
 spree. Luckily, maw had the gumption to 
 get Watson to write over about it to one of 
 his friends, a Mr. Mr. MacFen, a very 
 prominent man." 
 
 "Perhaps you mean Sir James MacFen," 
 suggested the consul. "He 's a knight. 
 And what did he say? " he added eagerly. 
 
 "Oh, he wrote a most sensible letter," 
 returned the lady, apparently mollified by 
 the title of Watson's adviser, "saying that 
 there was little doubt, if any, that if the 
 American McHulishes wanted the old estate 
 they could get it by the expenditure of a lit- 
 tle capital. He offered to make the trial ; 
 that was the compromise they 're talking 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 187 
 
 about. But he didn't say anything about 
 there being no 'Lord ' McHulish." 
 
 "Perhaps he thought, as you were Amer- 
 icans, you didn't care for that," said the 
 consul dryly. 
 
 "That's no reason why we shouldn't 
 have it if it belonged to us, or we chose to 
 pay for it," said the lady pertly. 
 
 "Then your changed personal relations 
 with Mr. McHulish is the reason why you 
 hear so little of his progress or his expecta- 
 tions? " 
 
 "Yes; but he don't know that they are 
 changed, for we have n't seen him since 
 we 've been here, although they say he 's 
 here, and hiding somewhere about." 
 
 "Why should he be hiding?" 
 
 The young girl lifted her pretty brows. 
 "Maybe he thinks it 's mysterious. Didn't 
 I tell you he was a crank? " Yet she 
 laughed so naively, and with such sublime 
 unconsciousness of any reflection on herself, 
 that the consul was obliged to smile too. 
 
 "You certainly do not seem to be break- 
 ing your heart as well as your engagement," 
 he said. 
 
 " Not much but here comes maw. 
 Look here," she said, turning suddenly and 
 
188 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 coaxingly upon him, "if she asks you to 
 come along with us up north, you '11 come, 
 won't you? Do ! It will be such fun ! " 
 
 "Up north?" repeated the consul inter- 
 rogatively. 
 
 " Yes ; to see the property. Here 's 
 maw." 
 
 A more languid but equally well-ap- 
 pointed woman had entered the room. 
 When the ceremony of introduction was 
 over, she turned to her daughter and said, 
 " Run away, dear, while I talk business with 
 er this gentleman," and, as the girl 
 withdrew laughingly, she half stifled a rem- 
 iniscent yawn, and raised her heavy lids to 
 the consul. 
 
 "You 've had a talk with my Elsie?" 
 
 The consul confessed to having had that 
 pleasure. 
 
 " She speaks her mind," said Mrs. 
 Kirkby wearily, "but she means well, and 
 for all her flightiness her head 's level. 
 And since her father died she runs me," she 
 continued with a slight laugh. After a 
 pause, she added abstractedly, "I suppose 
 she told you of her engagement to young 
 McHulish?" 
 
 "Yes; but she said she had broken it." 
 
The, Heir of the, McHulishes. 189 
 
 Mrs. Kirkby lifted her eyebrows with an 
 expression of relief. "It was a piece of 
 girl and boy foolishness, anyway," she said. 
 "Elsie and he were children together at 
 MacCorkleville, second cousins, in fact, 
 
 and I reckon he got her fancy excited 
 over his nobility, and his being the chief 
 of the McHulishes. Of course Custer will 
 manage to get something for the sharehold- 
 ers out of it, I never knew him to fail in 
 a money speculation yet, but I think 
 that 's about all. I had an idea of going 
 up with Elsie to take a look at the property, 
 and I thought of asking you to join us. 
 Did Elsie tell you? I know she 'd like it 
 
 and so would I." 
 
 For all her indolent, purposeless manner, 
 there was enough latent sincerity and ear- 
 nestness in her request to interest the con- 
 sul. Besides, his own curiosity in regard 
 to this singularly supported claim was ex- 
 cited, and here seemed to be an opportunity 
 of satisfying it. He was not quite sure, 
 either, that his previous antagonism to his 
 fair countrywoman's apparent selfishness 
 and snobbery was entirely just. He had 
 been absent from America a long time; 
 perhaps it was he himself who had changed, 
 
190 The Heir of the Mcffulishes. ' 
 
 and lost touch with his compatriots. And 
 yet the demonstrative independence and 
 recklessness of men like Custer were less 
 objectionable to, and less inconsistent with, 
 his American ideas than the snobbishness 
 and almost servile adaptability of the wo- 
 men. Or was it possible that it was only 
 a weakness of the sex, which no republi- 
 can nativity or education could eliminate? 
 Nevertheless he looked up smilingly. 
 
 "But the property is, I understand, scat- 
 tered about in various places," he said. 
 
 "Oh, but we mean to go only to Kelpie 
 Island, where there is the ruin of an old 
 castle. Elsie must see that." 
 
 The consul thought it might be amusing. 
 "By all means let us see that. I shall be 
 delighted to go with you." 
 
 His ready and unqualified assent appeared 
 to relieve and dissipate the lady's abstrac- 
 tion. She became more natural and con- 
 fiding; spoke freely of Malcolm's mania, 
 which she seemed to accept as a hallucina- 
 tion or a conviction with equal cheerfulness, 
 and, in brief, convinced the consul that her 
 connection with the scheme was only the 
 caprice of inexperienced and unaccustomed 
 idleness. He left her, promising to return 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 191 
 
 the next day and arrange for their early 
 departure. 
 
 His way home lay through one of the 
 public squares of St. Kentigern, at an hour 
 of the afternoon when it was crossed by 
 working men and women returning to their 
 quarters from the docks and factories. 
 Never in any light a picturesque or even 
 cheery procession, there were days when its 
 unwholesome, monotonous poverty and dull 
 hopelessness of prospect impressed him 
 more forcibly. He remembered how at 
 first the spectacle of barefooted girls and 
 women slipping through fog and mist across 
 the greasy pavement had offended his fresh 
 New World conception of a more tenderly 
 nurtured sex, until his susceptibilities 
 seemed to have grown as callous and hard- 
 ened as the flesh he looked upon, and he 
 had begun to regard them from the easy 
 local standpoint of a distinct and differently 
 equipped class. 
 
 It chanced, also, that this afternoon some 
 of the male workers had added to their 
 usual solidity a singular trance-like intox- 
 ication. It had often struck him before 
 as a form of drunkenness peculiar to the 
 St. Kentigern laborers. Men passed him 
 
192 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 singly and silently, as if following some 
 vague alcoholic dream, or moving through 
 some Scotch mist of whiskey and water. 
 Others clung unsteadily but as silently to- 
 gether, with no trace of convivial fellow- 
 ship or hilarity in their dull fixed features 
 and mechanically moving limbs. There 
 was something weird in this mirthless com- 
 panionship, and the appalling loneliness of 
 those fixed or abstracted eyes. Suddenly 
 he was aware of two men who were reeling 
 toward him under the influence of this 
 drug-like intoxication, and he was startled 
 by a likeness which one of them bore to 
 some one he had seen ; but where, and un- 
 der what circumstances, he could not deter- 
 mine. The fatuous eye, the features of 
 complacent vanity and self-satisfied reverie 
 were there, either intensified by drink, or 
 perhaps suggesting it through some other 
 equally hopeless form of hallucination. He 
 turned and followed the man, trying to 
 identify him through his companion, who 
 appeared to be a petty tradesman of a 
 shrewder, more material type. But in 
 vain, and as the pair turned into a side 
 street the consul slowly retraced his steps. 
 But he had not proceeded far before the 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 193 
 
 recollection that had escaped him returned, 
 and he knew that the likeness suggested by 
 the face he had seen was that of Malcolm 
 McHulish. 
 
 III. 
 
 A journey to Kelpie Island consisted of 
 a series of consecutive episodes by rail, by 
 coach, and by steamboat. The consul was 
 already familiar with them, as indeed were 
 most of the civilized world, for it seemed 
 that all roads at certain seasons led out of 
 and returned to St. Kentigern as a point in 
 a vast circle wherein travelers were sure to 
 meet one another again, coming or going, 
 at certain depots and caravansaries with 
 more or less superiority or envy. Tourists 
 on the road to the historic crags of Wateffa 
 came sharply upon other tourists returning 
 from them, and glared suspiciously at them, 
 as if to wrest the dread secret from their 
 souls a scrutiny which the others returned 
 with half -humorous pity or superior calm. 
 
 The consul knew, also, that the service by 
 boat and rail was admirable and skillful; 
 for were not the righteous St. Kentigerners 
 of the tribe of Tubal-cain, great artificers 
 in steel and iron, and a mighty race of en- 
 
194 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 gineers before the Lord, who had carried 
 their calling and accent beyond the seas? 
 He knew, too, that the land of these de- 
 lightful caravansaries overflowed with mar- 
 malade and honey, and that the manna of 
 delicious scones and cakes fell even upon 
 deserted waters of crag and heather. He 
 knew that their way would lie through 
 much scenery whose rude barrenness, and 
 grim economy of vegetation, had been 
 usually accepted by cockney tourists for 
 sublimity and grandeur; but he knew, also, 
 that its severity was mitigated by lowland 
 glimpses of sylvan luxuriance and tangled 
 delicacy utterly unlike the complacent snug- 
 ness of an English pastoral landscape, with 
 which it was often confounded and misun- 
 derstood, as being tame and civilized. 
 
 It rained the day they left St. Kentigern, 
 and the next, and the day after that, spas- 
 modically, as regarded local effort, sporadi- 
 cally, as seen through the filmed windows 
 of railway carriages or from the shining 
 decks of steamboats. There was always a 
 shower being sown somewhere along the 
 valley, or reluctantly tearing itself from a 
 mountain-top, or being pulled into long 
 threads from the leaden bosom of a lake; 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 195 
 
 the coach swept in and out of them to 
 the folding and unfolding of umbrellas and 
 mackintoshes, accompanied by flying beams 
 of sunlight that raced with the vehicle on 
 long hillsides, and vanished at the turn of 
 the road. There were hat-lifting scurries 
 of wind down the mountain-side, small 
 tumults in little lakes below, hysteric ebul- 
 litions on mild, melancholy inland seas, 
 boisterous passages of nearly half an hour 
 with landings on tempestuous miniature 
 quays. All this seen through wonderful 
 aqueous vapor, against a background of sky 
 darkened at times to the depths of an India 
 ink washed sketch, but more usually blurred 
 and confused on the surface like the gray 
 silhouette of a child's slate-pencil drawing, 
 half rubbed from the slate by soft palms. 
 Occasionally a rare glinting of real sun- 
 shine on a distant fringe of dripping larches 
 made some frowning crest appear to smile 
 as through wet lashes. 
 
 Miss Elsie tucked her little feet under 
 the mackintosh. "I know," she said sadly, 
 "I should get web-footed if I stayed here 
 long. Why, it 's like coming down from 
 Ararat just after the deluge cleared up." 
 
 Mrs. Kirkby suggested that if the sun 
 
196 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 would only shine squarely and decently, 
 like a Christian, for a few moments, they 
 could see the prospect better. 
 
 The consul here pointed out that the 
 admirers of Scotch scenery thought that 
 this was its greatest charm. It was this 
 misty effect which made it so superior to 
 what they called the vulgar chromos and 
 sun-pictures of less favored lands. 
 
 "You mean because it prevents folks from 
 seeing how poor the view really is." 
 
 The consul remarked that perhaps dis- 
 tance was lacking. As to the sun shining 
 in a Christian way, this might depend upon 
 the local idea of Christianity. 
 
 "Well, I don't call the scenery giddy 
 or frivolous, certainly. And I reckon I 
 begin to understand the kind of sermons 
 Malcolm's folks brought over to MacCorkle- 
 ville. I guess they did n't know much of 
 the heaven they only saw once a year. 
 Why, even the highest hills which they 
 call mountains here ain't big enough to 
 get above the fogs of their own creating." 
 
 Feminine wit is not apt to be abstract. 
 It struck the consul that in Miss Elsie's 
 sprightliness there was the usual ulterior 
 and personal object, and he glanced around 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 197 
 
 at his fellow-passengers. The object evi- 
 dently was sitting at the end of the opposite 
 seat, an amused but well-behaved listener. 
 For the rest, he was still young and re- 
 served, but in face, figure, and dress ut- 
 terly unlike his companions, an English- 
 man of a pronounced and distinct type, the 
 man of society and clubs. While there 
 was more or less hinting of local influence 
 in the apparel of the others, there was 
 a kilt, and bare, unweather-beaten knees 
 from Birmingham, and even the American 
 Elsie wore a bewitching tam-o'-shanter, 
 the stranger carried easy distinction, from 
 his tweed traveling-cap to his well-made 
 shoes and gaiters, as an unmistakable 
 Southerner. His deep and pleasantly level 
 voice had been heard only once or twice, 
 and then only in answering questions, and 
 his quiet, composed eyes alone had re- 
 sponded to the young girl's provocation. 
 
 They were passing a brown glen, in the 
 cheerless depths of which a brown water- 
 course, a shade lighter, was running, and 
 occasionally foaming like brown beer. Be- 
 yond it heaved an arid bulk of hillside, 
 the scant vegetation of which, scattered 
 like patches of hair, made it look like the 
 
198 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 decaying hide of some huge antediluvian 
 ruminant. On the dreariest part of the 
 dreary slope rose the ruins of a tower, and 
 crumbling walls and battlements. 
 
 "Whatever possessed folks to build 
 there?" said Miss Elsie. "If they were 
 poor, it might be some excuse; but that 
 those old swells, or chiefs, should put up a 
 castle in such a God-forsaken place gets 
 me." 
 
 "But don't you know, they were poor, 
 according to our modern ideas, and I fancy 
 they built these things more for defense 
 than show, and really more to gather in 
 cattle like one of your Texan ranches 
 after a raid. That is, I have heard so ; I 
 rather fancy that was the idea, wasn't it?" 
 It was the Englishman who had spoken, 
 and was now looking around at the other 
 passengers as if in easy deference to local 
 opinion. 
 
 "What raid?" said Miss Elsie, ani- 
 matedly. "Oh, yes; I see one of their 
 old border raids moss-troopers. I used 
 to like to read about them." 
 
 "I fancy, don't you know," said the 
 Englishman slowly, "that it wasn't exactly 
 that sort of thing, you know, for it 's a 
 

 The Heir of the McHulishes. 199 
 
 good way from the border; but it was one 
 of their raids upon their neighbors, to lift 
 their cattle steal 'em, in fact. That 's 
 the way those chaps had. But of course 
 you 've read all about that. You Ameri- 
 cans, don't you know, are all up in these 
 historical matters." 
 
 "Eh, but they were often reprisals,^ said 
 a Scotch passenger. 
 
 "I don't suppose they took much trouble 
 to inquire if the beasts belonged to an en- 
 emy," said the Englishman. 
 
 But here Miss Elsie spoke of castles gen- 
 erally, and averred that the dearest wish 
 of her life was to see Macbeth 's castle at 
 Glamis, where Duncan was murdered. At 
 which the Englishman, still deferentially, 
 mistrusted the fact that the murder had 
 been committed there, and thought that the 
 castle to which Shakespeare probably re- 
 ferred, if he hadn't invented the murder, 
 too, was farther north, at Cawdor. "You 
 know," he added playfully, "over there in 
 America you 've discovered that Shake- 
 speare himself was an invention." 
 
 This led to some retaliating brilliancy 
 from the young lady, and when the coach 
 stopped at the next station their conver- 
 
200 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 sation had presumably become interesting 
 enough to justify him in securing a seat 
 nearer to her. The talk returning to ruins, 
 Miss Elsie informed him that they were 
 going to see some on Kelpie Island. The 
 consul, from some instinctive impulse, 
 perhaps a recollection of Ouster's peculiar 
 methods, gave her a sign of warning. 
 But the Englishman only lifted his eye- 
 brows in a kind of half -humorous concern. 
 
 "I don't think you 'd like it, you know. 
 It 's a beastly place, rocks and sea, 
 worse than this, and half the time you 
 can't see the mainland, only a mile away. 
 Really, you know, they oughtn't to have 
 induced you to take tickets there those 
 excursion - ticket chaps. They 're jolly 
 frauds. It 's no place for a stranger to 
 goto." 
 
 "But there are the ruins of an old castle, 
 the old seat of " - began the astonished 
 Miss Elsie ; but she was again stopped by 
 a significant glance from the consul. 
 
 "I believe there was something of the 
 kind there once something like your 
 friends the cattle -stealers' castle over on 
 that hillside," returned the Englishman; 
 "but the stones were taken by the fisher- 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 201 
 
 men for their cabins, and the walls were 
 quite pulled down." 
 
 " How dared they do that ? " said the 
 young lady indignantly. "I call it not only 
 sacrilege, but stealing." 
 
 " It was defrauding the owner of the prop- 
 erty; they might as well take his money," 
 said Mrs. Kirkby, in languid protest. 
 
 The smile which this outburst of proprie- 
 torial indignation brought to the face of 
 the consul lingered with the Englishman's 
 reply. 
 
 "But it was only robbing the old rob- 
 bers, don't you know, and they put their 
 spoils to better use than their old masters 
 did; certainly to more practical use than 
 the owners do now, for the ruins are good 
 for nothing." 
 
 "But the hallowed associations the 
 picturesqueness ! " continued Mrs. Kirkby, 
 with languid interest. 
 
 "The associations wouldn't be anything 
 except to the family, you know; and I 
 should fancy they wouldn't be either hal- 
 lowed or pleasant. As for picturesqueness, 
 the ruins are beastly ugly; weather-beaten 
 instead of being mellowed by time, you 
 know, and bare where they ought to be hid- 
 
202 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 den by vines and moss. I can't make out 
 why anybody sent you there, for you Ameri- 
 cans are rather particular about your sight- 
 seeing." 
 
 "We heard of them through a friend," 
 said the consul, with assumed carelessness. 
 "Perhaps it 's as good an excuse as any for 
 a pleasant journey." 
 
 "And very likely your friend mistook 
 it for something else, or was himself im- 
 posed upon," said the Englishman politely. 
 "But you might not think it so, and, after 
 all," he added thoughtfully, "it's years 
 since I 've seen it. I only meant that I 
 could show you something better a few 
 miles from my place in Gloucestershire, 
 and not quite so far from a railway as this. 
 If," he added with a pleasant deliberation 
 which was the real courtesy of his conven- 
 tionally worded speech, "you ever happened 
 at any time to be anywhere near Audrey 
 Edge, and would look me up, I should be 
 glad to show it to you and your friends." 
 An hour later, when he left them at a rail- 
 way station where their paths diverged, 
 Miss Elsie recovered a fluency that she had 
 lately checked. "Well, I like that! He 
 never told us his name, or offered a card. I 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 203 
 
 wonder if they call that an invitation over 
 here. Does he suppose anybody 's going to 
 look up his old Audrey Edge perhaps it 's 
 named after his wife to find out who he 
 is? He might have been civil enough to 
 have left his name, if he meant any- 
 thing." 
 
 "But I assure you he was perfectly sin- 
 cere, and meant an invitation, "returned the 
 consul smilingly. "Audrey Edge is evi- 
 dently a well-known place, and he a man of 
 some position. That is why he didn't spe- 
 cify either." 
 
 "Well, you won't catch me going there," 
 said Miss Elsie. 
 
 " You would be quite right in either going 
 or staying away," said the consul simply. 
 
 Miss Elsie tossed her head slightly. Nev- 
 ertheless, before they left the station, she 
 informed him that she had been told that 
 the station-master had addressed the stranger 
 as "my lord," and that another passenger 
 had said he was "Lord Duncaster." 
 
 "And that proves " 
 
 ".That I 'm right," said the young lady 
 decisively, "and that his invitation was a 
 mere form." 
 
 It was after sundown when they reached 
 
204 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 the picturesque and well-appointed hotel 
 that lifted itself above the little fishing- 
 village which fronted Kelpie Island. The 
 hotel was in as strong contrast to the nar- 
 row, curving street of dull, comfortless- 
 looking stone cottages below it, as were the 
 smart tourists who had just landed from 
 the steamer to the hard-visaged, roughly 
 clad villagers who watched them with a cer- 
 tain mingling of critical independence and 
 superior self - righteousness. As the new 
 arrivals walked down the main street, half 
 beach, half thoroughfare, their baggage fol- 
 lowing them in low trolleys drawn by por- 
 ters at their heels, like a decorous funeral, 
 the joyless faces of the lookers-on added to 
 the resemblance. Beyond them, in the pro- 
 longed northern twilight, the waters of the 
 bay took on a peculiar pewtery brightness, 
 but with the usual mourning-edged border 
 of Scotch seacoast scenery. Low banks of 
 cloud lay on the chill sea; the outlines of 
 Kelpie Island were hidden. 
 
 But the interior of the hotel, bright with 
 the latest fastidiousness in modern decora- 
 tion and art-furniture, and gay with pictured 
 canvases and color, seemed to mock the 
 sullen landscape, and the sterile crags amid 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 205 
 
 which the building was set. An attempt to 
 make a pleasance in this barren waste had 
 resulted only in empty vases, bleak statuary, 
 and iron settees, as cold and slippery to the 
 touch as the sides of their steamer. 
 
 "It'll be a fine morning to-morra, and 
 ther '11 be a boat going away to Kelpie for 
 a peekneek in the ruins," said the porter, as 
 the consul and his fair companions looked 
 doubtfully from the windows of the cheerful 
 hall. 
 
 A picnic in the sacred ruins of Kelpie! 
 The consul saw the ladies stiffening with in- 
 dignation at this trespass upon their possible 
 rights and probable privileges, and glanced 
 at them warningly. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that it is common 
 property, and anybody can go there?" de- 
 manded Miss Elsie scornfully. 
 
 "No; it's only the hotel that owns the 
 boat and gives the tickets a half-crown 
 the passage." 
 
 "And do the owners, the McHulishes, 
 permit this?" 
 
 The porter looked at them with a puz- 
 zled, half -pitying politeness. He was a 
 handsome, tall, broad-shouldered young fel- 
 low, with a certain naive and gentle courtesy 
 
206 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 of manner that relieved his strong accent. 
 " Oh, ay," he said, with a reassuring 
 smile; "ye '11 no be troubled by them. I '11 
 just gang away noo, and see if I can secure 
 the teekets." 
 
 An elderly guest, who was examining a 
 time-table on the wall, turned to them as 
 the porter disappeared. 
 
 "Ye '11 be strangers noo, and not know- 
 ing that Tonalt the porter is a McHulish 
 hissel' ? " he said deliberately. 
 
 "A what?" said the astonished Miss 
 Elsie. 
 
 "A McHulish. Ay, one of the family. 
 The McHulishes of Kelpie were his own 
 forebears. Eh, but he 's a fine lad, and 
 doin' well for the hotel." 
 
 Miss Elsie extinguished a sudden smile 
 with her handkerchief as her mother anx- 
 iously inquired, "And are the family as 
 poor as that? " 
 
 "But I am not saying he 's^oor, ma'am, 
 no," replied the stranger, with native cau- 
 tion. "What wi' tips and gratooities and 
 percentages on the teekets, it 's a bit of 
 money he '11 be having in the bank noo." 
 
 The prophecy of Donald McHulish as to 
 the weather came true. The next morning 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 207 
 
 was bright and sunny, and the boat to Kel- 
 pie Island a large yawl duly received 
 its complement of passengers and provision 
 hampers. The ladies had apparently be- 
 come more tolerant of their fellow pleasure- 
 seekers, and it appeared that Miss Elsie 
 had even overcome her hilarity at the dis- 
 covery of what "might have been" a rela- 
 tive in the person of the porter Donald. 
 "I had a long talk with him before break- 
 fast this morning," she said gayly, "and I 
 know all about him. It appears that there 
 are hundreds of him all McHulishes 
 all along the coast and elsewhere only 
 none of them ever lived on the island, and 
 don't want to. But he looks more like a 
 'laird ' and a chief than Malcolm, and if it 
 comes to choosing a head of the family, re- 
 member, maw, I shall vote solid for him." 
 
 "How can you go on so, Elsie?" said 
 Mrs. Kirkby, with languid protest. "Only 
 I trust you didn't say anything to him of 
 the syndicate. And, thank Heaven ! the 
 property isn't here." 
 
 "No; the waiter tells me all the lovely 
 things we had for breakfast came from 
 miles away. And they don't seem to have 
 ever raised anything on the island, from 
 
208 The, Heir of the McHulisltes. 
 
 its looks. Think of having to row three 
 miles for the morning's milk! " 
 
 There was certainly very little appearance 
 of vegetation on the sterile crags that soon 
 began to lift themselves above the steely 
 waves ahead. A few scraggy trees and 
 bushes, which twisted and writhed like 
 vines around the square tower and crum- 
 bling walls of an irregular but angular 
 building, looked in their brown shadows 
 like part of the debris. 
 
 "It 's just like a burnt-down bone-boiling 
 factory," said Miss Elsie critically; " and 
 I should n't wonder if that really was old 
 McHulish's business. They could n't have 
 it on the mainland for its being a nui- 
 sance." 
 
 Nevertheless, she was one of the first to 
 leap ashore when the yawl's bow grated in 
 a pebbly cove, and carried her pretty but 
 incongruous little slippers through the sea- 
 weed, wet sand, and slimy cobbles with 
 a heroism that redeemed her vanity. A 
 scrambling ascent of a few moments 
 brought them to a wall with a gap in it, 
 which gave easy ingress to the interior of 
 the ruins. This was merely a little curv- 
 ing hollow from which the outlines of the 
 
The Heir of the Mcffulishes. 209 
 
 plan had long since faded. It was kept 
 green by the brown walls, which, like the 
 crags of the mainland valleys, sheltered it 
 from the incessant strife of the Atlantic 
 gales. A few pale flowers that might have 
 grown in a damp cellar shivered against 
 the stones. Scraps of newspapers, soda- 
 water and beer bottles, highly decorated 
 old provision tins, and spent cartridge 
 cases, the remains of chilly picnics and 
 damp shooting luncheons, had at first 
 sight lent color to the foreground by mere 
 contrast, but the corrosion of time and 
 weather had blackened rather than mellowed 
 the walls in a way which forcibly reminded 
 the consul of Miss Elsie's simile of the 
 "burnt -down factory." The view from 
 the square tower a mere roost for unclean 
 sea-fowl, from the sides of which rags of 
 peeling moss and vine hung like tattered 
 clothing was equally depressing. The 
 few fishermen's huts along the shore were 
 built of stones taken from the ruin, and 
 roofed in with sodden beams and timbers 
 in the last stages of deliquescence. The 
 thick smoke of smouldering peat-fires came 
 from the low chimneys, and drifted across 
 the ruins with the odors of drying fish. 
 
210 IV Heir of tic Jfcffmlisb*. 
 
 ~I "re just seen a sort of ground-plan of 
 the easde," said Miss Elsie cheerfully. 
 ~It ai in lad a loom in it as big as oor 
 in the hotel and there were n't 
 to 1 round. A. sfit in 
 wide by two feet 
 extravagance 
 
 Malcolm's ancestors. I don't wonder 
 of 'OR broke out and swam orer to 
 
 over from the hotel 
 t to see 
 
 Miss Elsie, setting 
 "It ? s Mr. Cus- 
 with her now 
 They Ilbehei 
 
 He looked up, and saw that Miss 
 
 -To. know Mr. Ci 
 
 * We are eld California. 
 
lit Heir of tiu Mrffmliskc*. -211 
 "I tibM^ft ; fc* I Hide he looked a 
 
 He certainly was a little awkwanL as if 
 
 with Mrs. Kirkby. Bat the 
 
 and die fitfb party we 
 |in ! nllj nrjiijiar; fhrir wrll irVrtrd luarib 
 earn with the wholesome appetite of travel 
 and change. He 
 
 die 
 the 
 
 tore cyclones of the tarn paper and dried 
 twigs around them: but U*y ate, 
 and woe merry. At the ed of the 
 
 in the lee of As walL 
 
 "I iHH'Hii J** kOT afl about Mat 
 cohn?^ said Cuter, after 
 pause. 
 
 M My dear fdlow," said the 
 
 and you oo^ht to IOOT Hat by 
 
212 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 "I thought your friend, Sir James, might 
 have told you," continued Ouster, with sig- 
 nificant emphasis. 
 
 "I have not seen Sir James for two 
 months." 
 
 "Well, Malcolm 's a crank always 
 was one, I reckon, and is reg'larly off his 
 head now. Yes, sir; Scotch whiskey and 
 your friend Sir James finished him. After 
 that dinner at MacFen's he was done for 
 went wild. Danced a sword-dance, or a 
 strathspey, or some other blamed thing, on 
 the table, and yelled louder than the pipes. 
 So they all did. Jack, I 've painted the 
 town red once myself; I thought I knew 
 what a first-class jamboree was: but they 
 were prayer-meetings to that show. Every- 
 body was blind drunk but they all got 
 over it except him. They were a different 
 lot of men the next day, as cool and cau- 
 tious as you please, but he was shut up for 
 a week, and came out crazy." 
 
 "But what 's that to do with his claim?" 
 
 "Well, there ain't much use 'whooping 
 up the boys ' when only the whooper gets 
 wild." 
 
 " Still, that does not affect any right he 
 may have in the property." 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 213 
 
 "But it affects the syndicate," said Cus- 
 ter gloomily; "and when we found that he 
 was whooping up some shopkeepers and 
 factory hands who claimed to belong to the 
 clan, and you can't heave a stone at a 
 dog around here without hitting a McHu- 
 lish, we concluded we hadn't much use 
 for him ornamentally. So we shipped him 
 home last steamer." 
 
 "And the property?" 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," said Custer, still 
 gloomily. "We 've effected an amicable 
 compromise, as Sir James eatts it. That 
 means we 've taken a lot of land somewhere 
 north, that you can shoot over that is, 
 you needn't be afraid of hitting a house, 
 or a tree, or a man anywhere ; and we 've 
 got a strip more of the same sort on the 
 seashore somewhere off here, occupied only 
 by some gay galoots called crofters, and 
 you can raise a lawsuit and an imprecation 
 on every acre. Then there 's this soul- 
 subduing, sequestered spot, and what 's left 
 of the old bone -boiling establishment, and 
 the rights of fishing and peat-burning, and 
 otherwise creating a nuisance off the main- 
 land. It cost the syndicate only a hundred 
 thousand dollars, half cash and half in 
 
214 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 Texan and Kentucky grass lands. But 
 we 've carried the thing through." 
 
 "I congratulate you," said the consul. 
 
 "Thanks." Custer puffed at his cigar 
 for a few moments. "That Sir James 
 MacFen is a fine man." 
 
 "He is." 
 
 "A large, broad, all-round man. Knows 
 everything and everybody, don't he? " 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "Big man in the church, I should say? 
 No slouch at a party canvass, or ward poli- 
 tics, eh? As a board director, or presi- 
 dent, just takes the cake, don't he? " 
 
 "I believe so." 
 
 "Nothing mean about Jimmy as an ad- 
 vocate or an arbitrator, either, is there? 
 Rings the bell every time, don't he? Fi- 
 nanciers take a back seat when he 's 
 around? Owns half of Scotland by this 
 time, I reckon." 
 
 The consul believed that Sir James had 
 the reputation of being exceedingly saga- 
 cious in financial and mercantile matters, 
 and that he was a man of some wealth. 
 
 "Naturally. I wonder what he 'd take 
 to come over to America, and give the 
 boys points," continued Custer, in medita- 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 215 
 
 tive admiration. " There were two or three 
 men on Scott's River, and one Chinaman, 
 that we used to think smart, but they were 
 doddering ijuts to him. And as for me 
 I say, Jack, you did n't see any hayseed in 
 my hair that day I walked inter your con- 
 sulate, did you? " 
 
 The consul smilingly admitted that he 
 had not noticed these signs of rustic inno- 
 cence in his friend. 
 
 "Nor any flies? Well, for all that, when 
 I get home I 'm going to resign. No more 
 foreign investments for me. When anybody 
 calls at the consulate and asks for H. J. 
 Ouster, say you don't know me. And you 
 don't. And I say, Jack, try to smooth 
 things over for me with her." 
 
 "With Miss Elsie?" 
 
 Custer cast a glance of profound pity 
 upon the consul. "No; with Mrs. Kirkby, 
 of course. See?" 
 
 The consul thought he did see, and that 
 he had at last found a clue to Ouster's 
 extraordinary speculation. But, like most 
 theorists who argue from a single fact, a 
 few months later he might have doubted his 
 deduction. 
 
 He was staying at a large country-house 
 
216 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 many miles distant from the scene of his 
 late experiences. Already they had faded 
 from his memory with the departure of his 
 compatriots from St. Kentigern. He was 
 smoking by the fire in the billiard-room late 
 one night when a fellow-guest approached 
 him. 
 
 "Saw you didn't remember me at din- 
 ner." 
 
 The voice was hesitating, pleasant, and 
 not quite unfamiliar. The consul looked 
 up, and identified the figure before him as 
 one of the new arrivals that day, whom, in 
 the informal and easy courtesy of the house, 
 he had met with no further introduction 
 than a vague smile. He remembered, too, 
 that the stranger had glanced at him once 
 or twice at dinner, with shy but engaging 
 reserve. 
 
 "You must see such a lot of people, and 
 the way things are arranged and settled 
 here everybody expects to look and act like 
 everybody else, don't you know, so you 
 can't tell one chap from another. Deuced 
 annoying, eh? That 's where you Ameri- 
 cans are different, and that 's why those 
 countrywomen of yours were so charming, 
 don't you know, so original. We were all 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 217 
 
 together on the top of a coach in Scotland, 
 don't you remember? Had such a jolly 
 time in the beastly rain. You did n't catch 
 my name. It 's Duncaster." 
 
 The consul at once recalled his former 
 fellow- traveler. The two men shook hands. 
 The Englishman took a pipe from his smok- 
 ing- jacket, and drew a chair beside the 
 consul. 
 
 "Yes," he continued, comfortably filling 
 his pipe, "the daughter, Miss Kirkby, was 
 awfully good fun; so fresh, so perfectly 
 natural and innocent, don't you know, and 
 yet so extraordinarily sharp and clever. 
 She had some awfully good chaff over that 
 Scotch scenery before those Scotch tour- 
 ists, do you remember? And it was all so 
 beastly true, too. Perhaps she 's with you 
 here?" 
 
 There was so much unexpected and unaf- 
 fected interest in the young Englishman's 
 eyes that the consul was quite serious in his 
 regrets that the ladies had gone back to 
 Paris. 
 
 "I 'd like to have taken them over to 
 Audrey Edge from here. It 's no distance 
 by train. I did ask them in Scotland, but 
 I suppose they had something better to do. 
 
218 Ttie Heir of the Mcffulishes. 
 
 But you might tell them I 've got some sis- 
 ters there, and that it is an old place and 
 not half bad, don't you know, when you 
 write to them. You might give me their 
 address." 
 
 The consul did so, and added a few pleas- 
 ant words regarding their position, bar- 
 ring the syndicate, which he had gathered 
 from Custer. Lord Duncaster's look of 
 interest, far from abating, became gently 
 confidential. 
 
 "I suppose you must see a good deal of 
 your countrymen in your business, and I 
 suppose, just like Englishmen, they differ, 
 by Jove ! Some of them, don't you know, 
 are rather pushing and anxious for position, 
 and all that sort of thing ; and some of 'em, 
 like your friends, are quite independent and 
 natural." 
 
 He stopped, and puffed slowly at his 
 pipe. Presently he took it from his 
 mouth, with a little laugh. "I've a mind 
 to tell you a rather queer experience of 
 mine. It 's nothing against your people 
 generally, you know, nor do I fancy it 's 
 even an American type; so you won't mind 
 my speaking of it. I 've got some property 
 in Scotland, rather poor stuff you 'd call 
 
The Heir of the McHulishes. 219 
 
 it, but, by Jove ! some Americans have 
 been laying claim to it under some obscure 
 plea of relationship. There might have 
 been something in it, although not all they 
 claim, but my business man, a clever chap 
 up in your place, perhaps you may have 
 heard of him, Sir James MacFen, wrote 
 to me that what they really wanted were 
 some ancestral lands with the right to use 
 the family name and privileges. The odd- 
 est part of the affair was that the claimant 
 was an impossible sort of lunatic, and the 
 whole thing was run by a syndicate of 
 shrewd Western men. As I don't care for 
 the property, which has only been dropping 
 a lot of money every year for upkeep and 
 litigation, Sir James, who is an awfully 
 far-sighted chap at managing, thought he 
 could effect a compromise, and get rid of 
 the property at a fair valuation. And, by 
 Jove ! he did. But what your countrymen 
 can get out of it, for the shooting isn't 
 half as good as what they can get in their 
 own country, or what use the privileges 
 are to them, I can't fancy." 
 
 "I think I know the story," said the 
 consul, eying his fellow-guest attentively: 
 "but if I remember rightly, the young man 
 
220 The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 claimed to be the rightful and only surviv- 
 ing heir." 
 
 The Englishman rose, and, bending over 
 the hearth, slowly knocked the ashes from 
 his pipe. "That's quite impossible, don't 
 you know. For," he added, as he stood up 
 in front of the fire in face, figure, and care- 
 less repose more decidedly English than 
 ever, "you see my title of Duncaster only 
 came to me through an uncle, but I am the 
 direct and sole heir of the old family, and 
 the Scotch property. I don't perhaps look 
 like a Scot, we ' ve been settled in Eng- 
 land some time, but," he continued with 
 an invincible English drawling delibera- 
 tion, " / am really you know what 
 they call The McHulish." 
 
AN EPISODE OF WEST WOODLANDS. 
 I. 
 
 THE rain was dripping monotonously 
 from the scant eaves of the little church of 
 the Sidon Brethren at West Woodlands. 
 Hewn out of the very heart of & thicket of 
 buckeye spruce and alder, unsunned and 
 unblown upon by any wind, it was so green 
 and unseasoned in its solitude that it seemed 
 a part of the arboreal growth, and on 
 damp Sundays to have taken root again 
 and sprouted. There were moss and shin- 
 ing spots on the underside of the unplaned 
 rafters, little green pools of infusoria stood 
 on the ledge of the windows whose panes 
 were at times suddenly clouded by myste- 
 rious unknown breaths from without or 
 within. It was oppressed with an extrava- 
 gance of leaves at all seasons, whether in 
 summer, when green and limp they crowded 
 the porch, doorways, and shutters, or when 
 penetrating knot-holes and interstices of 
 shingle and clapboard, on some creeping 
 
222 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 vine, they unexpectedly burst and bour- 
 geoned on the walls like banners; or later, 
 when they rotted in brown heaps in corners, 
 outlined the edges of the floor with a thin 
 yellow border, or invaded the ranks of the 
 high -backed benches which served as pews. 
 
 There had been a continuous rustling at 
 the porch and the shaking out of water- 
 proofs and closing of umbrellas until the 
 half-filled church was already redolent of 
 damp dyes and the sulphur of India rubber. 
 The eyes of the congregation were turned to 
 the door with something more than the usual 
 curiosity and expectation. For the new 
 revivalist preacher from Horse Shoe Bay 
 was coming that morning. Already voices 
 of authority were heard approaching, and 
 keeping up their conversation to the very 
 door of the sacred edifice in marked con- 
 trast with the awed and bashful whisper- 
 ings in the porch of the ordinary congre- 
 gation. The worshipers recognized the 
 voices of Deacons Shad well and Bradley; 
 in the reverential hush of the building they 
 seemed charged with undue importance. 
 
 " It was set back in the road for quiet in 
 the Lord's work," said Bradley. 
 
 "Yes, but it oughtn't be hidden! Let 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 223 
 
 your light so shine before men, you know, 
 Brother Bradley," returned a deep voice, 
 unrecognized and unfamiliar presumably 
 that of the newcomer. 
 
 "It wouldn't take much to move it on 
 skids and rollers nearer to the road," 
 suggested Shadwell tentatively. 
 
 "No, but if you left it stranded there in 
 the wind and sun, green and sappy as it is 
 now, ye 'd have every seam and crack start- 
 in' till the ribs shone through, and no 
 amount of calkin' would make it water- 
 tight agin. No ; my idea is clear out the 
 brush and shadder around it! Let the 
 light shine in upon it! Make the waste 
 places glad around it, hut keep it there ! 
 And that 's my idea o' gen'ral missionary 
 work; that 's how the gospel orter be 
 rooted." 
 
 Here the bell, which from the plain open 
 four-posted belfry above had been clanging 
 with a metallic sharpness that had an odd 
 impatient worldlihess about it, suddenly 
 ceased. 
 
 "That bell," said Bradley 's voice, with 
 the same suggestion of conveying important 
 truths to the listening congregation within, 
 "was took from the wreck of the Tamalpais, 
 
224 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 Brother Horley bought it at auction at 
 Horse Shoe Bay and presented it. You 
 know the Tamalpais ran ashore on Skin- 
 ner's Reef, jest off here." 
 
 "Yes, with plenty of sea room, not half 
 a gale o' wind blowing, and her real course 
 fifty miles to westward ! The whole watch 
 must have drunk or sunk in slothful idle- 
 ness," returned the deep voice again. A 
 momentary pause followed, and then the 
 two deacons entered the church with the 
 stranger. 
 
 He appeared to be a powerfully-built 
 man, with a square, beardless chin: a face 
 that carried one or two scars of smallpox 
 and a deeper one of a less peaceful sugges- 
 tion, set in a complexion weather-beaten to 
 the color of Spanish leather. Two small, 
 moist gray eyes, that glistened with every 
 emotion, seemed to contradict the hard ex- 
 pression of the other features. He was 
 dressed in cheap black, like the two dea- 
 cons, with the exception of a loose, black 
 alpaca coat and the usual black silk neck- 
 erchief tied in a large bow under a turn- 
 down collar, the general sign and symbol 
 of a minister of his sect. He walked di- 
 rectly to the raised platform at the end of 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 225 
 
 the chapel, where stood a table 011 which 
 was a pitcher of water, a glass and hymn- 
 book, and a tall upright desk holding a 
 Bible. Glancing over these details, he 
 suddenly paused, carefully lifted some hith- 
 erto undetected object from the desk beside 
 the Bible, and, stooping gently, placed it 
 upon the floor. As it hopped away the 
 congregation saw that it was a staiall green 
 frog. The intrusion was by no means an 
 unusual one, but some odd contrast between 
 this powerful man and the little animal 
 affected them profoundly. No one even 
 the youngest smiled ; every one even 
 the youngest became suddenly attentive. 
 Turning over the leaves of the hymn- 
 book, he then gave out the first two lines 
 of a hymn. The choir accordion in the 
 front side bench awoke like an infant into 
 wailing life, and Cissy Appleby, soprano, 
 took up a little more musically the lugu- 
 brious chant. At the close of the verse 
 the preacher joined in, after a sailor fash- 
 ion, with a breezy bass that seemed to fill 
 the little building with the trouble of the 
 sea. Then followed prayer from Deacon 
 Shadwell, broken by "Amens" from the 
 preacher, with a nautical suggestion of 
 
226 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 "Ay, ay," about them, and he began his 
 sermon. 
 
 It was, as those who knew his methods 
 might have expected, a suggestion of the 
 conversation they had already overheard. 
 He likened the little chapel, choked with 
 umbrage and rotting in its dampness, to 
 the gospel seed sown in crowded places, 
 famishing in the midst of plenty, and ster- 
 ile from the absorptions of the more active 
 life around it. He pointed out again the 
 true work of the pioneer missionary; the 
 careful pruning and elimination of those 
 forces that grew up with the Christian's 
 life, . which many people foolishly believed 
 were a part of it. "The World must live 
 and the Word must live," said they, and 
 there were easy-going brethren who thought 
 they could live together. But he warned 
 them that the World was always closing 
 upon "shaddering " and strangling the 
 Word, unless kept down, and that "fair 
 seemin' settlement," or city, which appeared 
 to be "bustin' and bloomin' " with life and 
 progress, was really "hustlin* and jostlin' ' 
 the Word of God, even in the midst of 
 these "fancy spires and steeples" it had 
 erected to its glory. It was the work of 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 227 
 
 the missionary pioneer to keep down or 
 root out this carnal, worldly growth as 
 much in the settlement as in the wilderness. 
 Some were for getting over the difficulty by 
 dragging the mere wasted "letter of the 
 Word," or the rotten and withered husks 
 of it, into the highways and byways, where 
 the "blazin'" scorn of the World would 
 finish it. A low, penitential groan from 
 Deacon Shadwell followed this accusing 
 illustration. But the preacher would tell 
 them that the only way was to boldly attack 
 this rankly growing World around them; 
 to clear out fresh paths for the Truth, and 
 let the sunlight of Heaven stream among 
 them. 
 
 There was little doubt that the congre- 
 gation was moved. Whatever they might 
 have thought of the application, the fact 
 itself was patent. The rheumatic Beaseleys 
 felt the truth of it in their aching bones ; it 
 came home to the fever and ague stricken 
 Filgees in their damp seats against the 
 sappy wall; it echoed plainly in the chronic 
 cough of Sister Mary Strutt and Widow 
 Doddridge; and Cissy Appleby, with her 
 round brown eyes fixed upon the speaker, 
 remembering how the starch had been taken 
 
228 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 out of her Sunday frocks, how her long 
 ringlets had become uncurled, her frills 
 limp, and even her ribbons lustreless, felt 
 that indeed a prophet had arisen in Israel ! 
 
 One or two, however, were disappointed 
 that he had as yet given no indication 
 of that powerful exhortatory emotion for 
 which he was famed, and which had been 
 said to excite certain corresponding cory- 
 bantic symptoms among his sensitive female 
 worshipers. When the service was over, 
 and the congregation crowded around him, 
 Sister Mary Strutt, on the outer fringe of 
 the assembly, confided to Sister Evans that 
 she had "hearn tell how that when he was 
 over at Soquel he prayed that pow'ful that 
 all the wimmen got fits and tremblin' spells, 
 and ole Mrs. Jackson had to be hauled off 
 his legs that she was kneelin' and claspin' 
 while wrestling with the Sperit." 
 
 "I reckon we seemed kinder strange to 
 him this morning, and he wanted to jest 
 feel his way to our hearts first," exclaimed 
 Brother Jonas Steers politely. "He'll be 
 more at home at evenin' service. It 's 
 queer that some of the best exhortin' work 
 is done arter early candlelight. I reckon 
 he 's goin' to stop over with Deacon Brad- 
 ley to dinner." 
 
An JZpisode of West Woodland*. 229 
 
 But it appeared that the new preacher, 
 now formally introduced as Brother Sea- 
 bright, was intending to walk over to Hem- 
 lock Mills to dinner. He only asked to be 
 directed the nearest way ; he would not 
 trouble Brother Shadwell or Deacon Brad- 
 ley to come with him. 
 
 "But here's Cissy Appleby live*s within 
 a mile o' thar, and you could go along 
 with her. She 'd jest admire to show you 
 the way," interrupted Brother Shadwell. 
 "Would n't you, Cissy?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, the young chorister 
 a tall girl of sixteen or seventeen timidly 
 raised her eyes to Brother Seabright as he 
 was about to repeat his former protestation, 
 and he stopped. 
 
 "Ef the young lady is goin' that way, 
 it 's only fair to accept her kindness in a 
 Christian sperit," he said gently. 
 
 Cissy turned with a mingling of apology 
 and bashfulness towards a young fellow 
 who seemed to be acting as her escort, but 
 who was hesitating in an equal bashfulness, 
 when Seabright added : " And perhaps our 
 young friend will come too? " 
 
 But the young friend drew back with a 
 confused laugh, and Brother Seabright and 
 
230 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 Cissy passed out from the porch together. 
 For a few moments they mingled with the 
 stream and conversation of the departing 
 congregation, but presently Cissy timidly in- 
 dicated a diverging bypath, and they both 
 turned into it. 
 
 It was much warmer in the open than it 
 had been in the chapel and thicket, and 
 Cissy, by way of relieving a certain awk- 
 ward tension of silence, took off the water- 
 proof cloak and slung it on her arm. This 
 disclosed her five long brown cable-like 
 curls that hung down her shoulders, reaching 
 below her waist in some forgotten fashion 
 of girlhood. They were Cissy's peculiar 
 adornment, remarkable for their length, 
 thickness, and the extraordinary youthful- 
 ness imparted to a figure otherwise preco- 
 ciously matured. In some wavering doubt 
 of her actual years and privileges, Brother 
 Seabright offered to carry her cloak for 
 her, but she declined it with a rustic and 
 youthful pertinacity that seemed to settle 
 the question. In fact, Cissy was as much 
 embarrassed as she was flattered by the com- 
 pany of this distinguished stranger. How- 
 ever, it would be known to all West Wood- 
 land that he had walked home with her, 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 231 
 
 while nobody but herself would know that 
 they had scarcely exchanged a word. She 
 noticed how he lounged on with a heavy, 
 rolling gait, sometimes a little before or 
 behind her as the path narrowed. At such 
 times when they accidentally came in con- 
 tact in passing, she felt a half uneasy, phy- 
 sical consciousness of him, which she re- 
 ferred to his size, the scars on his face, or 
 some latent hardness of expression, but was 
 relieved to see that he had not observed 
 it. Yet this was the man that made grown 
 women cry; she thought of old Mrs. Jack- 
 son fervently grasping the plodding ankles 
 before her, and a hysteric desire to laugh, 
 with the fear that he might see it on her 
 face, overcame her. Then she wondered if 
 he was going to walk all the way home 
 without speaking, yet she knew she would 
 be more embarrassed if he began to talk to 
 her. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped, and she bumped up 
 against him. 
 
 "Oh, excuse me!" she stammered hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 "Eh?" He evidently had not noticed 
 the collision. "Did you speak?" 
 
 " No ! that is it was n't anything, " 
 returned the girl, coloring. 
 
232 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 But he had quite forgotten her, and 
 was looking intently before him. They had 
 come to a break in the fringe of woodland, 
 and upon a sudden view of the ocean. At 
 this point the low line of coast-range which 
 sheltered the valley of West Woodlands 
 was abruptly cloven by a gorge that crum- 
 bled and fell away seaward to the shore of 
 Horse Shoe Bay. On its northern trend 
 stretched the settlement of Horse Shoe to 
 the promontory of Whale Mouth Point, 
 with its outlying reef of rocks curved in- 
 wards like the vast submerged jaw of some 
 marine monster, through whose blunt, tooth- 
 like projections the ship-long swell of the 
 Pacific streamed and fell. On the southern 
 shore the light yellow sands of Punta de las 
 Concepcion glittered like sunshine all the 
 way to the olive-gardens and white domes 
 of the Mission. The two shores seemed to 
 typify the two different climates and civili- 
 zations separated by the bay. 
 
 The heavy, woodland atmosphere was 
 quickened by the salt breath of the sea. 
 The stranger inhaled it meditatively. 
 
 "That's the reef where the Tamalpais 
 struck," he said, "and more 'n fifty miles 
 out of her course yes, more 'n fifty miles 
 
An 'Episode of West Woodlands. 233 
 
 from where she should have bin! It don't 
 look nat'ral. No it don't look 
 nat'ral!" 
 
 As he seemed to be speaking to himself, 
 the young girl, who had been gazing with 
 far greater interest at the foreign-looking 
 southern shore, felt confused and did not 
 reply. Then, as if recalling hef presence, 
 Brother Seabright turned to her and 
 said : 
 
 "Yes, young lady; and when you hear 
 the old bell of the Tamalpais, and think 
 of how it came here, you may rejoice in the 
 goodness of the Lord that made even those 
 who strayed from the straight course and 
 the true reckoning the means of testifying 
 onto Him." 
 
 But the young are quicker to detect atti- 
 tudes and affectation than we are apt to 
 imagine ; and Cissy could distinguish a cer- 
 tain other straying in this afterthought or 
 moral of the preacher called up by her pres- 
 ence, and knew that it was not the real in- 
 terest which the view had evoked. She had 
 heard that he had been a sailor, and, with 
 the tact of her sex, answered with what she 
 thought would entertain him : 
 
 "I was a little girl when it happened, 
 
234 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 and I heard that some sailors got ashore 
 down there, and climbed up this gully from 
 the rocks below. And they camped that 
 night for there were no houses at West 
 Woodlands then just in the woods where 
 our chapel now stands. It was funny, 
 wasn't it? I mean," she corrected herself 
 bashfully, "it was strange they chanced to 
 come just there? " 
 
 But she had evidently hit the point of 
 interest. 
 
 "What became of them? " he said 
 quickly. "They never came to Horse 
 Shoe Settlement, where the others landed 
 from the wreck. I never heard of that 
 boat's crew or of any landing here." 
 
 "No. They kept on over the range 
 south to the Mission. I reckon they did n't 
 know there was a way down on this side to 
 Horse Shoe," returned Cissy. 
 
 Brother Seabright moved on and contin- 
 ued his slow, plodding march. But he 
 kept a little nearer Cissy, and she was con- 
 scious that he occasionally looked at her. 
 Presently he said : 
 
 "You have a heavenly gift, Miss Ap- 
 pleby." 
 
 Cissy flushed, and her hand involuntarily 
 
An JZpisode of West Woodlands. 235 
 
 went to one of her long, distinguishing 
 curls. It might be that. The preacher 
 continued : 
 
 "Yes; a voice like yours is a heavenly 
 gift. And you have properly devoted it to 
 His service. Have you been singing long? " 
 
 "About two years. But I 've got to 
 study a heap yet." 
 
 "The little birds don't think it necessary 
 to study to praise Him," said the preacher 
 sententiously. 
 
 It occurred to Cissy that this was very 
 unfair argument. She said quickly : 
 
 "But the little birds don't have to fol- 
 low words in the hymn-books. You don't 
 give out lines to larks and bobolinks," and 
 blushed. 
 
 The preacher smiled. It was a ver^ 
 engaging smile, Cissy thought, that light- 
 ened his hard mouth. It enabled her to 
 take heart of grace, and presently to chatter 
 like the very birds she had disparaged. 
 Oh yes; she knew she had to learn a great 
 deal more. She had studied "some" al- 
 ready. She was taking lessons over at 
 Point Concepcion, where her aunt had 
 friends, and she went three times a week. 
 The gentleman who taught her was not a 
 
236 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 Catholic, and, of course, he knew she was a 
 Protestant. She would have preferred to 
 live there, but her mother and father were 
 both dead, and had left her with her aunt. 
 She liked it better because it was sunnier 
 and brighter there. She loved the sun and 
 warmth. She had listened to what he had 
 said about the dampness and gloom of the 
 chapel. It was true. The dampness was 
 that dreadful sometimes it just ruined her 
 clothes, and even made her hoarse. Did 
 he think they would really take his advice 
 and clear out the woods round the chapel ? 
 
 "Would you like it?" he asked pleas- 
 antly. 
 
 "Yes." , 
 
 "And you think you wouldn't pine so 
 much for the sunshine and warmth of the 
 Mission?" 
 
 "I 'm not pining," said Cissy with a toss 
 of her curls, "for anything or anybody; 
 but I think the woods ought to be cleared 
 out. It 's just as it was when the runaways 
 hid there." 
 
 "When the runaways hid there!" said 
 Brother Seabright quickly. "What run- 
 aways?" 
 
 "Why, the boat's crew," said Cissy. 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 237 
 
 " Why do you call them runaways? " 
 
 "I don't know. Didn't you?" said 
 Cissy simply. " Did n't you say they 
 never came back to Horse Shoe Bay. Per- 
 haps I had it from aunty. But I know 
 it 's damp and creepy; and when ^ was lit- 
 tler I used to be frightened to be alone 
 there practicing." 
 
 "Why?" said the preacher quickly. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," hurried on Cissy, 
 with a vague impression that she had said 
 too much. "Only my fancy, I guess." 
 
 "Well," said Brother Seabright after a 
 pause ; "we '11 see what can be done to 
 make a clearing there. Birds sing best in 
 the sunshine, and you ought to have some 
 say about it." 
 
 Cissy's dimples and blushes came to- 
 gether this time. "That 's our house," she 
 said suddenly, with a slight accent of relief, 
 pointing to a weather-beaten farmhouse on 
 the edge of the gorge. "I turn off here, 
 but you keep straight on for the Mills; 
 they 're back in the woods a piece. But," 
 she stammered with a sudden sense of 
 shame of forgotten hospitality, "won't you 
 come in and see aunty?" 
 
 "No, thank you, not now." He stopped, 
 
238 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 turning his gaze from the house to her. 
 "How old is your house? Was it there at 
 the time of the wreck?" 
 
 "Yes," said Cissy. 
 
 "It 's odd that the crew did not come 
 there for help, eh? " 
 
 "Maybe they overlooked it in the dark- 
 ness and the storm," said Cissy simply. 
 "Good-by, sir." 
 
 The preacher held her hand for an instant 
 in his powerful, but gently graduated grasp. 
 "Good-by until evening service." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Cissy. 
 
 The young girl tripped on towards her 
 house a little agitated and conscious, and 
 yet a little proud as she saw the faces of 
 her aunt, her uncle, her two cousins, and 
 even her discarded escort, Jo Adams, at 
 the windows, watching her. 
 
 "So," said her aunt, as she entered 
 breathlessly, " ye walked home with the 
 preacher ! It was a speshal providence and 
 manifestation for ye, Cissy. I hope ye was 
 mannerly and humble and profited by the 
 words of grace." 
 
 "I don't know," said Cissy, putting aside 
 her hat and cloak listlessly. "He did n't 
 talk much of anything but the old wreck 
 of the Tamalpais." 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 239 
 
 "What?" said her aunt quickly. 
 
 "The wreck of the Tamalpais, and the 
 boat's crew that came up the gorge," re- 
 peated the young girl. 
 
 "And what did he know about the boat's 
 crew?" said her aunt hurriedly, fixing her 
 black eyes on Cissy. 
 
 "Nothing except what I told him." 
 
 "What you told him! " echoed her aunt, 
 with an ominous color filling the sallow 
 hollows of her cheek. 
 
 "Yes! He has been a sailor, you know 
 and I thought it would interest him ; and 
 it did! He thought it strange." 
 
 "Cecilia Jane Appleby," said her aunt 
 shrilly, "do you mean to say that you 
 threw away your chances of salvation and 
 saving grace just to tell gossiping tales 
 that you knew was lies, and evil report, 
 and false witnesses!" 
 
 "I only talked of what I'd heard, aunt 
 Vashti," said Cecilia indignantly. "And 
 he afterwards talked of of my voice, 
 and said I had a heavenly gift," she added, 
 with a slight quiver of her lip. 
 
 Aunt Yashti regarded the girl sharply. 
 
 "And you may thank the Lord for that 
 heavenly gift," she said, in a slightly low- 
 
240 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 ered voice; "for ef ye hadn't to use it to- 
 night, I 'd shut ye up in your room, to 
 make it pay for yer foolish gaddin' tongue! 
 And I reckon I '11 escort ye to chapel to- 
 night myself, miss, and get shut o' some of 
 this foolishness." 
 
 II. 
 
 The broad plaza of the Mission de la 
 Concepcion had been baking in the day- 
 long sunlight. Shining drifts from the 
 outlying sand dunes, blown across the ill- 
 paved roadway, radiated the heat in the 
 faces of the few loungers like the pricking 
 of liliputian arrows, and invaded even the 
 cactus hedges. The hot air visibly quiv- 
 ered over the dark red tiles of the tienda 
 roof as if they were undergoing a second 
 burning. The black shadow of a chimney 
 on the whitewashed adobe wall was like a 
 door or cavernous opening in the wall itself ; 
 the tops of the olive and pear trees seen 
 above it were russet and sere already in the 
 fierce light. Even the moist breath of the 
 sea beyond had quite evaporated before it 
 crossed the plaza, and now rustled the 
 leaves in the Mission garden with a dry, 
 crepitant sound. 
 
An JZpisode of West Woodlands. 241 
 
 Nevertheless, it seemed to Cissy Ap- 
 pleby, as she crossed the plaza, a very wel- 
 come change from West Woodlands. Al- 
 though the late winter rains had ceased a 
 month ago, a few days after the revivalist 
 preacher had left, the woods around the 
 chapel were still sodden and heavy, and the 
 threatened improvement in its site had not 
 taken place. Neither had the preacher him- 
 self alluded to it again ; his evening sermon 
 the only other one he preached there 
 was unexciting, and he had, in fact, left 
 West Woodlands without any display of 
 that extraordinary exhortatory faculty for 
 which he was famous. Yet Cissy, in spite 
 of her enjoyment of the dry, hot Mission, 
 remembered him, and also recalled, albeit 
 poutingly, his blunt suggesting that she 
 was "pining for it." Nevertheless, she 
 would like to have sung for him here 
 supposing it was possible to conceive of a 
 Sidon Brotherhood Chapel at the Mission. 
 It was a great pity, she thought, that the 
 Sidon Brotherhood and the Franciscan 
 Brotherhood were not more brotherly to- 
 wards each other. Cissy belonged to the 
 former by hereditary right, locality, and 
 circumstance, but it is to be feared that her 
 theology was imperfect. 
 
242 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 She entered a lane between the Mission 
 wall and a lighter iron fenced inclosure, 
 once a part of the garden, but now the ap- 
 purtenance of a private dwelling that was 
 reconstructed over the heavy adobe shell of 
 some forgotten structure of the old ecclesias- 
 tical founders. It was pierced by many 
 windows and openings, and that sunlight 
 and publicity which the former padres had 
 jealously excluded was now wooed from 
 long balconies and verandas by the new 
 proprietor, a well to do American. Elisha 
 Braggs, whose name was generously and 
 euphoniously translated by his native neigh- 
 bors into "Don Eliseo," although a heretic, 
 had given largess to the church in the way 
 of restoring its earthquake -shaken tower, 
 and in presenting a new organ to its dilapi- 
 dated choir. He had further endeared him- 
 self to the conservative Spanish population 
 by introducing no obtrusive improvements ; 
 by distributing his means through the old 
 channels ; by apparently inciting no further 
 alien immigration, but contenting himself 
 to live alone among them, adopting their 
 habits, customs, and language. A harm- 
 less musical taste, and a disposition to in- 
 struct the young boy choristers, was equally 
 
An Episode, of West Woodlands. 243 
 
 balanced by great skill in horsemanship and 
 the personal management of a ranche of 
 wild cattle on the inland plains. 
 
 Consciously pretty, and prettily conscious 
 in her white-starched, rose -sprigged muslin, 
 her pink parasol, beribboned gypsy hat, 
 and the long mane-like curls that swung 
 over her shoulders, Cissy entered the house 
 and was shown to the large low drawing- 
 room on the ground-floor. She once more 
 inhaled its hot potpourri fragrance, in which 
 the spice of the Castilian rose-leaves of 
 the garden was dominant. A few boys, 
 whom she recognized as the choristers of 
 the Mission and her fellow - pupils, were 
 already awaiting her with some degree of 
 anxiety and impatience. This fact, and a 
 certain quick animation that sprang to the 
 blue eyes of the master of the house as the 
 rose-sprigged frock and long curls appeared 
 at the doorway, showed that _ Cissy was 
 clearly the favorite pupil. 
 
 Elisha Braggs was a man of middle age, 
 with a figure somewhat rounded by the 
 adipose curves of a comfortable life, and 
 an air of fastidiousness which was, however, 
 occasionally at variance with what seemed 
 to be his original condition. He greeted 
 
244 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 Cissy with a certain nervous overconscious- 
 ness of his duties as host and teacher, and 
 then plunged abruptly into the lesson. It 
 lasted an hour, Cissy tactfully dividing his 
 somewhat exclusive instruction with the 
 others, and even interpreting it to their 
 slower comprehension. When it was over, 
 the choristers shyly departed, according 
 to their usual custom, leaving Cissy and 
 Don Eliseo and occasionally one of the 
 padres to more informal practicing and 
 performance. Neither the ingenuousness 
 of Cissy nor the worldly caution of aunt 
 Vashti had ever questioned the propriety of 
 these prolonged and secluded seances ; and 
 the young girl herself, although by no means 
 unaccustomed to the bashful attentions of 
 the youth of West Woodlands, had never 
 dreamed of these later musical interviews 
 as being anything but an ordinary recrea- 
 tion of her art. The feeling of gratitude 
 and kindness she had for Don Eliseo, her 
 aunt's friend, had never left her conscious 
 or embarrassed when she was alone with 
 him. But to-day, possibly from his own 
 nervousness and preoccupation, she was 
 aware of some vague uneasiness, and at an 
 early opportunity rose to go. But Don 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 245 
 
 Eliseo gently laid his hand on hers and 
 said : 
 
 "Don't go yet; I want to talk to you." 
 
 His touch suddenly reminded her that 
 once or twice before he had done the same 
 thing, and she had been disagreeably im- 
 pressed by it. But she lifted her brown 
 eyes to his with an unconsciousness that 
 was more crushing than a withdrawal of her 
 hand, and waited for him to go on. 
 
 " It is such a long way for you to come, 
 and you have so little time to stay when 
 you are here, that I am thinking of asking 
 your aunt to let you live here at the Mis- 
 sion, as a pupil, in the house of the Senora 
 Hernandez, until your lessons are finished. 
 Padre Jose will attend to the rest of your 
 education. Would you like it? " 
 
 Poor Cissy's eyes leaped up in unaffected 
 and sparkling affirmation before her tongue 
 replied. To bask in this beloved sunshine 
 for days together ; to have this quaint Span- 
 ish life before her eyes, and those soft Span- 
 ish accents in her ears ; to forget herself in 
 wandering in the old-time Mission garden 
 beyond ; to have daily access to Mr. Braggs's 
 piano and the organ of the church this 
 was indeed the realization of her fondest 
 
246 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 dreams! Yet she hesitated. Somewhere 
 in her inherited Puritan nature was a vague 
 conviction that it was wrong, and it seemed 
 even to find an echo in the warning of the 
 preacher: this was what she was "pining 
 for." 
 
 "I don't know," she stammered. "I 
 must ask auntie; I shouldn't like to leave 
 her; and there 's the chapel." 
 
 "Isn't that revivalist preacher enough 
 to run it for a while? " said her companion, 
 half-sneeringly. 
 
 The remark was not a tactful one. 
 
 "Mr. Seabright has n't been here for a 
 month," she answered somewhat quickly. 
 "But he's coming next Sunday, and I'm 
 glad of it. He 's a very good man. And 
 there 's nothing he don't notice. He saw 
 how silly it was to stick the chapel into 
 the very heart of the woods, and he told 
 them so." 
 
 "And I suppose he '11 run up a brand- 
 new meeting-house out on the road," said 
 Braggs, smiling. 
 
 "No, he 's going to open up the woods, 
 and let the sun and light in, and clear out 
 the underbrush." 
 
 "And what 's that for?" 
 
An JZpisode of West Woodlands. 247 
 
 There was such an utter and abrupt 
 change in the speaker's voice and manner 
 which until then had been lazily fastidi- 
 ous and confident that Cissy was startled. 
 And the change being rude and dictatorial, 
 she was startled into opposition. She had 
 wanted to say that the improvement had 
 been suggested by her, but she took a more 
 aggressive attitude. 
 
 "Brother Seabright says it 's a question 
 of religion and morals. It 's a scandal and 
 a wrong, and a disgrace to the Word, that 
 the chapel should have been put there." 
 
 Don Eliseo's face turned so white and 
 waxy that Cissy would have noticed it had 
 she not femininely looked away while tak- 
 ing this attitude. 
 
 "I suppose that 's a part of his sensation 
 style, and very effective," he said, resuming 
 his former voice and manner. "I must try 
 to hear him some day. But, now, in regard 
 to your coming here, of course I shall con- 
 sult your aunt, although I imagine she will 
 have no objection. I only wanted to know 
 how you felt about it." He again laid his 
 hand on hers. 
 
 "I should like to come very much," said 
 Cissy timidly; "and it 's very kind of you, 
 
248 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 I 'm sure ; but you '11 see what auntie says, 
 won't you?" She withdrew her hand after 
 momentarily grasping his, as if his own act 
 had been only a parting salutation, and 
 departed. 
 
 Aunt Vashti received Cissy's account of 
 her interview with a grim satisfaction. She 
 did not know what ideas young gals had 
 nowadays, but in her time she 'd been fit 
 to jump outer her skin at such an offer 
 from such a good man as Elisha Braggs. 
 And he was a rich man, too. And ef he 
 was goin' to give her an edication free, it 
 wasn't goin' to stop there. For her part, 
 she didn't like to put ideas in young girls' 
 heads, goodness knows they 'd enough 
 foolishness already ; but if Cissy made a 
 Christian use of her gifts, and 'tended to 
 her edication and privileges, and made her- 
 self a fit helpmeet for any man, she would 
 say that there were few men in these parts 
 that was as " comf'ble ketch " as Lish 
 Braggs, or would make as good a husband 
 and provider. 
 
 The blood suddenly left Cissy's cheeks and 
 then returned with uncomfortable heat. Her 
 annt's words had suddenly revealed to her 
 the meaning of the uneasiness she had felt 
 
An JZpisode of West Woodlands. 249 
 
 in Braggs's house that morning the old 
 repulsion that had come at his touch. She 
 had never thought of him as a suitor or a 
 beau before, yet it now seemed perfectly 
 plain to her that this was the ulterior mean- 
 ing of his generosity. And yet she received 
 that intelligence with the same mixed emo- 
 tions with which she had received his offer 
 to educate her. She did not conceal from 
 herself the pride and satisfaction she felt in 
 this presumptive selection of her as his 
 wife ; the worldly advantages that it prom- 
 ised ; nor that it was a destiny far beyond 
 her deserts. Yet she was conscious of 
 exactly the same sense of wrong-doing in 
 her preferences something that seemed 
 vaguely akin to that "conviction of sin" of 
 which she had heard so much as when 
 she received his offer of education. It was 
 this mixture of fear and satisfaction that 
 caused her alternate paling and flushing, 
 yet this time it was the fear that came first. 
 Perhaps she was becoming unduly sensitive. 
 The secretiveness of her sex came to her aid 
 here, and she awkwardly changed the sub- 
 ject. Aunt Vashti, complacently believing 
 that her words had fallen on fruitful soil, 
 discreetly said no more. 
 
250 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 It was a hot morning when Cissy walked 
 alone to chapel early next Sunday. There 
 was a dry irritation in the air which even 
 the northwest trades, blowing through the 
 seaward gorge, could not temper, and for 
 the first time in her life she looked forward 
 to the leafy seclusion of the buried chapel 
 with a feeling of longing. She had avoided 
 her youth'ful escort, for she wished to prac- 
 tice alone for an hour before the service 
 with the new harmonium that had taken the 
 place of the old accordion and its unskillful 
 performer. Perhaps, too, there was a timid 
 desire to be at her best on the return of 
 Brother Seabright, and to show him, with 
 a new performance, that the "heavenly 
 gift " had not been neglected. She opened 
 the chapel with the key she always carried, 
 "swished" away an intrusive squirrel, left 
 the door and window open for a moment, 
 until the beating of frightened wings 
 against the rafters had ceased, and, after 
 carefully examining the floor for spiders, 
 mice, and other creeping things, brushed 
 away a few fallen leaves and twigs from 
 the top of the harmonium. Then, with her 
 long curls tossed over her shoulders and 
 hanging limply down the back of her new 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 251 
 
 maple-leaf yellow frock, which was also 
 a timid recognition of Brother Seabright's 
 return, and her brown eyes turned to the 
 rafters, this rustic St. Cecilia of the Coast 
 Range began to sing. The shell of the 
 little building dilated with the melojiy; the 
 sashes of the windows pulsated, the two 
 ejected linnets joined in timidly from their 
 coign of vantage in the belfry outside, and 
 the limp vines above the porch swayed like 
 her curls. Once she thought she heard 
 stealthy footsteps without; once she was 
 almost certain she felt the brushing of 
 somebody outside against the thin walls of 
 the chapel, and once she stopped to glance 
 quickly at the window with a strange in- 
 stinct that some one was looking at her. 
 But she quickly reflected that Brother Sea- 
 bright would come there only when the 
 deacons did, and with them. Why she 
 should think that it was Brother Seabright, 
 or why Brother Seabright should come thus 
 and at such a time, she could not have ex- 
 plained. 
 
 He did not, in fact, make his appearance 
 until later, and after the congregation had 
 quite filled the chapel; he did not, more- 
 over, appear to notice her as she sat there, 
 
252 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 and when he gave out the hymn he seemed 
 to have quietly overlooked the new harmo- 
 nium. She sang her best, however, and 
 more than one of the audience thought that 
 "little Sister Appleby" had greatly im- 
 proved. Indeed, it would not have seemed 
 strange to some remembering Brother 
 Seabright's discursive oratory if he had 
 made some allusion to it. But he did not. 
 His heavy eyes moved slowly over the con- 
 gregation, and he began. 
 
 As usual he did not take a text. But he 
 would talk to them that morning about 
 "The Conviction of Sin" and the sense of 
 wrong-doing that was innate in the sinner. 
 This included all form of temptation, for 
 what was temptation but the inborn con- 
 sciousness of something to struggle against, 
 and that was sin ! At this apparently con- 
 cise exposition of her own feelings in regard 
 to Don Eliseo's offer, Cissy felt herself 
 blushing to the roots of her curls. Could 
 it be possible that Brother Seabright had 
 heard of her temptation to leave West 
 Woodlands, and that this warning was in- 
 tended for her? He did not even look in 
 her direction. Yet his next sentence seemed 
 to be an answer to her own mental query. 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 253 
 
 "Folks might ask," he continued, "if even 
 the young and inexperienced should feel 
 this or was there a state of innocent guilt 
 without consciousness?" He would answer 
 that question by telling them what had hap- 
 pened to him that morning. He Jiad come 
 to the chapel, not by the road, but through 
 the tangled woods behind them (Cissy 
 started) through the thick brush and un- 
 dergrowth that was choking the life out of 
 this little chapel the wilderness that he 
 had believed was never before trodden by 
 human feet, and was known only to roam- 
 ing beasts and vermin. But that was where 
 he was wrong. 
 
 In the stillness and listening silence, a 
 sudden cough from some one in one of the 
 back benches produced that instantaneous 
 diversion of attention common to humanity 
 on such occasions.' Cissy's curls swung 
 round with the others. But she was sur- 
 prised to see that Mr. Braggs was seated in 
 one of the benches near the door, and from 
 the fact of his holding a handkerchief to his 
 mouth, and being gazed at by his neigh- 
 bors, it was evident that it was he who had 
 coughed. Perhaps he had come to West 
 Woodlands to talk to her aunt ! With the 
 
254 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 preacher before her, and her probable suitor 
 behind her, she felt herself again blushing. 
 
 Brother Seabright continued. Yes, he 
 was wrong, for there before him, in the 
 depths of the forest, were two children. 
 They were looking at a Dush of "pizon ber- 
 ries," the deadly nightshade, as it was 
 fitly called, and one was warning the other 
 of its dangerous qualities. 
 
 "But how do you know it's the 'pizon 
 berry ' ? " asked the other. 
 
 "Because it 's larger, and nicer, and big- 
 ger, and easier to get than the real good 
 ones," returned the other. 
 
 And it was so. Thus was the truth re- 
 vealed from the mouths of babes and suck- 
 lings; even they were conscious of tempta- 
 tion and sin ! But here there was another 
 interruption from the back benches, which 
 proved, however, to be only the suppressed 
 giggle of a boy evidently the youthful 
 hero of the illustration, surprised into ner- 
 vous hilarity. 
 
 The preacher then passed to the "Con- 
 viction of Sin " in its more familiar phases. 
 Many brothers confounded this with discov- 
 ery and publicity. It was not their own sin 
 "finding them out," but others discovering 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 255 
 
 it. Until that happened, they fancied 
 themselves safe, stilling their consciences, 
 confounding the blinded eye of the world 
 with the all-seeing eye of the Lord. But 
 were they safe even then ? Did not sooner 
 or later the sea deliver up its dead, the 
 earth what was buried in it, the w*ild woods 
 what its depths had hidden ? Was not the 
 foolish secret, the guilty secret, the forgot- 
 ten sin, sure to be disclosed? Then if they 
 could not fly from the testimony of His 
 works, if they could not evade even their 
 fellow-man, why did they not first turn to 
 Him? Why, from the penitent child at 
 his mother's knee to the murderer on the 
 scaffold, did they only at the last confess 
 unto Him? 
 
 His voice and manner had suddenly 
 changed. From the rough note of accusa- 
 tion and challenge it had passed into the 
 equally rough, but broken and sympathetic, 
 accents of appeal. Why did they hesitate 
 longer to confess their sin not to man 
 but unto Him? Why did they delay? 
 Now that evening! That very moment! 
 This was the appointed time ! He entreated 
 them in the name of religious faith, in the 
 name of a human brotherly love. His de- 
 
256 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 livery was now no longer deliberate, but 
 hurried and panting; his speech now no 
 longer chosen, but made up of reiterations 
 and repetitions, ejaculations, and even in- 
 coherent epithets. His gestures and long 
 intonations which began to take the place 
 of even that interrupted speech affected 
 them more than his reasoning! Short sighs 
 escaped them ; they swayed to and fro with 
 the rhythm of his voice and movements. 
 They had begun to comprehend this exacer- 
 bation of emotion this paroxysmal rhap- 
 sody. This was the dithyrambic exalta- 
 tion they had ardently waited for. They 
 responded quickly. First with groans, 
 equally inarticulate murmurs of assent, 
 shouts of "Glory," and the reckless invo- 
 cation of sacred names. Then a wave of 
 hysteria seemed to move the whole mass, 
 and broke into tears and sobs among the 
 women. In her own excited consciousness 
 it seemed to Cissy that some actual strug- 
 gle between good and evil like unto the 
 casting out of devils was shaking the lit- 
 tle building. She cast a hurried glance 
 behind her and saw Mr. Braggs sitting- 
 erect, white and scornful. She knew that 
 she too was shrinking from the speaker, 
 
An Episode, of West Woodlands. 257 
 
 not from any sense of conviction, but 
 because he was irritating and disturbing 
 her innate sense of fitness and harmony, 
 and she was pained that Mr. Braggs should 
 see him thus. Meantime the weird, invisi- 
 ble struggle continued, heightened and, it 
 seemed to her, incited by the partisan 
 groans and exultant actions of those around 
 her, until suddenly a wild despairing cry 
 arose above the conflict. A vague fear 
 seized her the voice was familiar ! She 
 turned in time to see the figure of aunt 
 Vashti rise in her seat with a hysterical 
 outburst, and fall convulsively forward 
 upon her knees! She would have rushed 
 to her side, but the frenzied woman was 
 instantly caught by Deacon Shadwell and 
 surrounded by a group of her own sex and 
 became hidden. And when Cissy recov- 
 ered herself she was astonished to find 
 Brother Seabright with every trace of his 
 past emotion vanished from his hard-set 
 face calmly taking up his coherent dis- 
 course in his ordinary level tones. The 
 furious struggle of the moment before was 
 over; the chapel and its congregation had 
 fallen back into an exhausted and apathetic 
 silence! Then the preacher gave out the 
 
258 An JZpisode of West Woodlands. 
 
 hymn the words were singularly jubi- 
 lant among that usually mournful collection 
 in the book before her and Cissy began 
 it with a tremulous voice. But it gained 
 strength, clearness, and volume as she went 
 on, and she felt thrilled throughout with a 
 new human sympathy she had never known 
 before. The preacher's bass supported her 
 now for the first time not unmusically 
 and the service was over. 
 
 Relieved, she turned quickly to join her 
 aunt, but a hand was laid gently upon her 
 shoulder. It was Brother Seabright, who 
 had just stepped from the platform. The 
 congregation, knowing her to be the niece 
 of the hysteric woman, passed out without 
 disturbing them. 
 
 "You have, indeed, improved your gift, 
 Sister Cecilia," he said gravely. "You 
 must have practiced much." 
 
 "Yes that is, no! only a little," 
 stammered Cissy. 
 
 "But, excuse me, I must look after 
 auntie," she added, drawing timidly away. 
 
 "Your aunt is better, and has gone on 
 with Sister Shadwell. She is not in need 
 of your help, and really would do better 
 without you just now. I shall see her 
 myself presently." 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 259 
 
 "But you made her sick already," said 
 Cissy, with a sudden, half-nervous auda- 
 city. "You even frightened me." 
 
 "Frightened you?" repeated Seabright, 
 looking at her quickly. 
 
 "Yes," said Cissy, meeting his gaze with 
 brown, truthful eyes. "Yes; when you 
 when you made those faces. I like to 
 hear you talk, but " she stopped. 
 
 Brother Seabright 's rare smile again 
 lightened his face. But it seemed sadder 
 than when she had first seen it. 
 
 "Then you have been practicing again at 
 the Mission?" he said quietly; "and you 
 still prefer it? " 
 
 "Yes," said Cissy. She wanted to ap- 
 pear as loyal to the Mission in Brother 
 Seabright's presence as she was faithful to 
 West Woodlands in Mr. Braggs's. She 
 had no idea that this was dangerously near 
 to coquetry. So she said a little archly, 
 "I don't see why you don't like the Mis- 
 sion. You 're a missionary yourself. The 
 old padres came here to spread the Word. 
 So do you." 
 
 "But not in that way," he said curtly. 
 "I 've seen enough of them when I was 
 knocking round the world a seafaring man 
 
260 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 and a sinner. I knew them receivers of 
 the ill-gotten gains of adventurers, fools, 
 and scoundrels. I knew them enriched 
 by the spoils of persecution and oppression ; 
 gathering under their walls outlaws and 
 fugitives from justice, and flinging an in- 
 dulgence here and an absolution there, as 
 they were paid for it. Don't talk to me of 
 them I know them." 
 
 They were passing out of the chapel to- 
 gether, and he made an impatient gesture 
 as if dismissing the subject. Accustomed 
 though she was to the sweeping criticism of 
 her Catholic friends by her West Wood- 
 lands associates, she was nevertheless hurt 
 by his brusqueness. She dropped a little 
 behind, and they separated at the porch. 
 Notwithstanding her anxiety to see her 
 aunt, she felt she could not now go to Dea- 
 con Shad well's without seeming to follow 
 him and after he had assured her that 
 her help was not required! She turned 
 aside and made her way slowly towards her 
 home. 
 
 There she found that her aunt had not 
 returned, gathering from her uncle that she 
 was recovering from a fit of "high strikes" 
 (hysterics), and would be better alone. 
 
An JZpisode of West Woodlands. 261 
 
 Whether he underrated her complaint, or 
 had a consciousness of his masculine help- 
 lessness in such disorders, he evidently 
 made light of it. And when Cissy, after- 
 wards, a little ashamed that she had allowed 
 her momentary pique against Brother Sea- 
 bright to stand in the way of her duty, de- 
 termined to go to her aunt, instead of re- 
 turning to the chapel that evening, he did 
 not oppose it. She learned also that Mr. 
 Braggs had called in the morning, but, 
 finding that her aunt Vashti was at chapel, 
 he had followed her there, intending to re- 
 turn with her. But he had not been seen 
 since the service, and had evidently returned 
 to the Mission. 
 
 But when she reached Deacon ShadweU's 
 house she was received by Mrs. Shad well 
 only. Her aunt, said that lady, was physi- 
 cally better, but Brother Seabright had left 
 "partkler word" that she was to see no- 
 body. It was an extraordinary case of 
 "findin' the Lord," the like of which had 
 never been known before in West Wood- 
 lands, and she (Cissy) would yet be proud 
 of one of her "fammerly being speshally 
 selected for grace." But the "workin's o' 
 salvation was not to be finicked away on 
 
262 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 worldly things or even the affections of the 
 flesh;" and if Cissy really loved her aunt, 
 "she wouldn't interfere with her while she 
 was, so to speak, still on the mourners' 
 bench, wrastlin' with the Sperret in their 
 back sittin'-room." But she might wait 
 until Brother Seabright's return from even- 
 ing chapel after service. 
 
 Cissy waited. Nine o'clock came, but 
 Brother Seabright did not return. Then a 
 small but inconsequent dignity took posses- 
 sion of her, and she slightly tossed her long 
 curls from her shoulders. She was not 
 going to wait for any man's permission to 
 see her own aunt. If auntie did not want 
 to see her, that was enough. She could go 
 home alone. She didn't want anyone to 
 go with her. 
 
 Lifted and sustained by these loftly con- 
 siderations, with an erect head and slightly 
 ruffled mane, well enwrapped in a becom- 
 ing white merino "cloud," the young girl 
 stepped out on her homeward journey. 
 She had certainly enough to occupy her 
 mind and, perhaps, justify her independ- 
 ence. To have a suitor for her hand in 
 the person of the superior and wealthy Mr. 
 Braggs, for that was what his visit that 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 263 
 
 morning to West Woodlands meant, and 
 to be personally complimented on her im- 
 provement by the famous Brother Sea- 
 bright, all within twelve hours, was some- 
 thing to be proud of, even although it 
 was mitigated by her aunt's illness, her 
 suitor's abrupt departure, and Brother 
 Seabright's momentary coldness and impa- 
 tience. Oddly enough, this last and ap- 
 parently trivial circumstance occupied her 
 thoughts more than the others. She found 
 herself looking out for him in the windings 
 of the moonlit road, and when, at last, she 
 reached the turning towards the little wood 
 and chapel, her small feet unconsciously 
 lingered until she felt herself blushing un- 
 der her fleecy "cloud." She looked down 
 the lane. From the point where she was 
 standing the lights of the chapel should 
 have been plainly visible; but now all was 
 dark. It was nearly ten o'clock, and he 
 must have gone home by another road. 
 Then a spirit of adventure seized her. She 
 had the key of the chapel in her pocket. 
 She remembered she had left a small black 
 Spanish fan a former gift of Mr. Braggs 
 lying on the harmonium. She would go 
 and bring it away, and satisfy herself that 
 
264 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 Brother Seabright was not there still. It 
 was but a step, and in the clear moonlight. 
 The lane wound before her like a silver 
 stream, except where it was interrupted and 
 bridged over by jagged black shadows. 
 The chapel itself was black, the clustering 
 trees around it were black also ; the porch 
 seemed to cover an inky well of shadow; 
 the windows were rayless and dead, and in 
 the chancel one still left open showed a 
 yawning vault of obscurity within. Never- 
 theless, she opened the door softly, glided 
 into the dark depths, and made her way to 
 the harmonium. But here the sound of 
 footsteps without startled her; she glanced 
 hurriedly through the open window, and 
 saw the figure of Elisha Braggs suddenly 
 revealed in the moonlight as he crossed the 
 path behind the chapel. He was closely 
 followed by two peons, whom she recog- 
 nized as his servants at the Mission, and 
 they each carried a pickaxe. From their 
 manner it was evident that they had no sus- 
 picion of her presence in the chapel. But 
 they had stopped and were listening. Her 
 heart beat quickly ; with a sudden instinct 
 she ran and bolted the door. But it was 
 evidently another intruder they were watch- 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 265 
 
 ing, for she presently saw Brother Sea- 
 bright quietly cross the lane and approach 
 the chapel. The three men had disap- 
 peared; but there was a sudden shout, the 
 sound of scuffling, the deep voice of Brother 
 Seabright saying, "Back, there, will you! 
 Hands off!" and a pause. She could see 
 nothing; she listened in every pulse. Then 
 the voice of Brother Seabright arose again 
 quite clearly, slowly, and as deliberately as 
 if it had risen from the platform in the 
 chapel. 
 
 "Lish Barker! I thought as much! 
 Lish Barker, first mate of the Tamalpais, 
 who was said to have gone down with a 
 boat's crew and the ship's treasure after she 
 struck. I thought I knew that face to- 
 day." 
 
 "Yes," said the voice of him whom she 
 had known as Elisha Braggs, "yes, and 
 I knew your face, Jim Seabright, ex- 
 whaler, slaver, pirate, and bo's'ii of the 
 Highflyer, marooned in the South Pacific, 
 where you found the Lord ha ! ha ! 
 and became the psalm-singing, converted 
 American sailor preacher ! " 
 
 "I am not ashamed before men of my 
 past, which every one knows," returned 
 
266 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 Seabright slowly. " But what of yours, 
 Elisha Barker yours that has made you 
 sham death itself to hide it from them? 
 What of yours spent in the sloth of your 
 ill-gotten gains! Turn, sinner, turn! 
 Turn, Elisha Braggs, while there is yet 
 time!" 
 
 "Belay there, Brother Seabright; we're 
 not inside your gospel -shop just now ! 
 Keep your palaver for those that need it. 
 Let me pass, before I have to teach you that 
 you haven't to deal with a gang of hysteri- 
 cal old women to-night." 
 
 "But not until you know that one of 
 those women, Vashti White, by God's 
 grace converted of her sins, has confessed 
 her secret and yours, Elisha Barker ! Yes ! 
 She has told me how her sister's husband 
 the father of the young girl you are trying 
 to lure away helped you off that night 
 with your booty, took his miserable reward 
 and lived and died in exile with the rest 
 of your wretched crew, afraid to return 
 to his home and country whilst you - 
 shameless and impenitent lived in sloth- 
 ful ease at the Mission ! " 
 
 " Liar ! Let me pass ! " 
 
 "Not until I know your purpose here to- 
 night." 
 
An Episode, of West Woodlands. 267 
 
 "Then take the consequences! Here, 
 Pedro! Ramon! Seize him. Tie him 
 head and heels together, and toss him in 
 the bush!" 
 
 The sound of scuffling recommenced. 
 The struggle seemed fierce and lon, with 
 no breath wasted in useless outcry. Then 
 there was a bright flash, a muffled report, 
 and the stinging and fire of gunpowder at 
 the window. 
 
 Transfixed with fear, Cissy cast a de- 
 spairing glance around her. Ah, the bell- 
 rope ! In another instant she had grasped 
 it frantically in her hands. 
 
 All the fear, indignation, horror, sympa- 
 thy, and wild appeal for help that had 
 arisen helplessly in her throat and yet re- 
 mained unuttered, now seemed to thrill 
 through her fingers and the tightened rope, 
 and broke into frantic voice in the clanging 
 metal above her. The whole chapel, the 
 whole woodland, the clear, moonlit sky 
 above was filled with its alarming accents. 
 It shrieked, implored, protested, summoned, 
 and threatened, in one ceaseless outcry, 
 seeming to roll over and over as, indeed, 
 it did in leaps and bounds that shook the 
 belfry. Never before, even in the blows of 
 
268 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 the striking surges, had the bell of the 
 Tamalpais clamored like that! Once she 
 heard above the turmoil the shaking of the 
 door against the bolt that still held firmly ; 
 once she thought she heard Seabright's 
 voice calling to her; once she thought she 
 smelled the strong smoke of burning grass. 
 But she kept on, until the window was sud- 
 denly darkened by a figure, and Brother 
 Seabright, leaping in, caught her in his 
 arms as she was reeling fainting, but still 
 clinging to the rope. But his strong pres- 
 ence and some powerful magnetism in his 
 touch restored her. 
 
 "You have heard all! " he said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then for your aunt's sake, for your dead 
 father's sake, forget all! That wretched 
 man has fled with his wounded hirelings 
 let his sin go with him. But the village is 
 alarmed the brethren may be here any 
 moment! Neither question nor deny what 
 I shall tell them. Fear nothing. God will 
 forgive the silence that leaves the vengeance 
 to His hands alone ! " Voices and footsteps 
 were heard approaching the chapel. Brother 
 Seabright significantly pressed her hand 
 and strode towards the door. Deacon 
 Shadwell was first to enter. 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 269 
 
 " You here Brother Seabright ! What 
 has happened? " 
 
 "God be praised!" said Brother Sea- 
 bright cheerfully, "nothing of consequence! 
 The danger is over ! Yet, but for the cour- 
 age and presence of mind of Sister Appleby 
 a serious evil might have been done." He 
 paused, and with another voice turned half- 
 interrogatively towards her. "Some chil- 
 dren, or a passing tramp, had carelessly 
 thrown matches in the underbrush, and they 
 were ignited beside the chapel. Sister Ap- 
 pleby, chancing to return here for " 
 
 "For my fan," said Cissy with a timid 
 truthfulness of accent. 
 
 "Found herself unable to cope with it, 
 and it occurred to her to give the alarm 
 you heard. I happened to be passing and 
 was first to respond. Haply the flames had 
 made but little headway, and were quickly 
 beaten down. It is all over now. But let 
 us hope that the speedy clearing out of the 
 underbrush and the opening of the woods 
 around the chapel will prevent any recur- 
 rence of the alarm of to-night." 
 
 That the lesson thus reiterated by Brother 
 Seabright was effective, the following ex- 
 
270 An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 tract, from the columns of the "Whale 
 Point Gazette," may not only be offered as 
 evidence, but may even give the cautious 
 reader further light on the episode itself : 
 
 STRANGE DISCOVERY AT WEST WOOD- 
 LANDS. THE TAMALPAIS MYSTERY 
 AGAIN. 
 
 The improvements in the clearing around 
 the Sidon Chapel at West Woodlands, 
 undertaken by the Rev. James Seabright, 
 have disclosed another link in the mystery 
 which surrounded the loss of the Tamal- 
 pais some years ago at Whale Mouth 
 Point. It will be remembered that the 
 boat containing Adams & Co.'s treasure, 
 the Tamalpais' first officer, and a crew of 
 four men was lost on the rocks shortly 
 after leaving the ill-fated vessel. None 
 of the bodies were ever recovered, and 
 the treasure itself completely baffled the 
 search of divers and salvers. A lidless 
 box bearing the mark of Adams & Co., of 
 the kind in which their treasure was usually 
 shipped, was yesterday found in the woods 
 behind the chapel, half buried in brush, 
 bark, and windfalls. There were no other 
 indications, except the traces of a camp-fir? 
 
An Episode of West Woodlands. 271 
 
 at some remote period, probably long be- 
 fore the building of the chapel. But how 
 and when the box was transported to the 
 upland, and by whose agency, still remains 
 a matter of conjecture. Our reporter who 
 visited the Rev. Mr. SeabrightJ who has 
 lately accepted the regular ministry of the 
 chapel, was offered every facility for in- 
 formation, but it was evident that the early 
 settlers who were cognizant of the fact if 
 there were any are either dead or have 
 left $he vicinity. 
 
THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES. 
 I. 
 
 FOR many minutes there had been no 
 sound but the monotonous drumming of the 
 rain on the roof of the coach, the swishing 
 of wheels through the gravelly mud, and the 
 momentary clatter of hoofs upon some rpcky 
 outcrop in the road. Conversation had 
 ceased; the light-hearted young editor in 
 the front seat, more than suspected of dan- 
 gerous levity, had relapsed into silence 
 since the heavy man in the middle seat had 
 taken to regarding the ceiling with ostenta- 
 tious resignation, and the thin female be- 
 side him had averted her respectable bon- 
 net. An occasional lurch of the coach 
 brought down a fringe of raindrops from 
 its eaves that filmed the windows and shut 
 out the sodden prospect already darkening 
 into night. There had been a momentary 
 relief in their hurried dash through Summit 
 Springs, and the spectacle of certain newly 
 arrived County Delegates crowding the 
 
The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 273 
 
 veranda of its one hotel; but that was now 
 three miles behind. The young editor's 
 sole resource was to occasionally steal a 
 glance at the face of the one passenger who 
 seemed to be in sympathy with ^im, but 
 who was too far away for easy conversa- 
 tion. It was the half -amused, half -perplexed 
 face of a young man who had been for some 
 time regarding him from a remote corner of 
 the coach with an odd mingling of admir- 
 ing yet cogitating interest, which, however, 
 had never extended to any further encour- 
 agement than a faint sad smile. Even this 
 at last faded out in the growing darkness ; 
 the powerful coach lamps on either side 
 that flashed on the wayside objects gave 
 no light to the interior. Everybody was 
 slowly falling asleep. Suddenly everybody 
 woke up to find that the coach was appar- 
 ently standing still ! When it had stopped 
 no one knew! The young editor lowered 
 his window. The coach lamp on that side 
 was missing, but nothing was to be seen. 
 In the distance there appeared to be a faint 
 splashing. 
 
 "Well," called out an impatient voice 
 from the box above ; " what do you make 
 it?" It was the authoritative accents of 
 
274 The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 Yuba Bill, the driver, and everybody lis- 
 tened eagerly for the reply. 
 
 It came faintly from the distance and the 
 splashing. "Almost four feet here, and 
 deepening as you go." 
 
 "Dead water?" 
 
 "No back water from the Fork." 
 
 There was a general movement towards 
 the doors and windows. The splashing 
 came nearer. Then a light flashed, on the 
 trees, the windows, and two feet of yellow 
 water peacefully flowing beneath them! 
 The thin female gave a slight scream. 
 
 "There 's no danger," said the Express- 
 man, now wading towards them with the 
 coach lamp in his hand. "But we '11 have 
 to' pull round out of it and go back to the 
 Springs. There 's no getting past this 
 break to-night." 
 
 "Why did n't you let us know this be- 
 fore," said the heavy man indignantly from 
 the window. 
 
 "Jim," said the driver with that slow 
 deliberation which instantly enforced com- 
 plete attention. 
 
 "Yes, Bill." 
 
 "Have you got a spare copy of that reg- 
 'lar bulletin that the Stage Kempany issoos 
 
The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 275 
 
 every ten minutes to each passenger to tell 
 'em where we are, how far it is to the next 
 place, and wots the state o' the weather 
 gin'rally?" 
 
 "No!" said the Expressman grimly, as 
 he climbed to the box "there 's not one 
 left. Why?" 
 
 "Cos the Emperor of Chiny 's inside 
 wan tin' one! Hoop! Keep your seats 
 down there! G'lang!" the whip cracked, 
 there was a desperate splashing, a backward 
 and forward jolting of the coach, the glis- 
 tening wet flanks and tossing heads of the 
 leaders seen for a moment opposite the win- 
 dows, a sickening swirl of the whole body 
 of the vehicle as if parting from its axles, a 
 long straight dragging pull, and presently 
 the welcome sound of hoofs once more beat- 
 ing the firmer ground. 
 
 "Hi! Holdup driver!" 
 
 It was the editor's quiet friend who was 
 leaning from the window. 
 
 "Isn't Wilkes's ranch just off here? " 
 
 "Yes, half a mile along the ridge, I 
 reckon," returned the driver shortly. 
 
 "Well, if you're not going on to-night, 
 I 'd get off and stop there." 
 
 "I reckon your head's level, stranger," 
 
276 The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 said Bill approvingly; "for they're about 
 chock full at the Springs' House." 
 
 To descend, the passenger was obliged to 
 pass out by the middle seat and before the 
 young editor. As he did so he cast a shy 
 look on him and, leaning over, said hesitat- 
 ingly, in a lower voice: "I don't think you 
 will be able to get in at the Springs Hotel. 
 If if you care to come with me to to 
 the ranch, I can take care of you." 
 
 The young editor a man of action 
 paused for an instant only. Then seizing 
 his bag, he said promptly: "Thank you," 
 and followed his newly -found friend to the 
 ground. The whip cracked, the coach 
 rolled away. 
 
 "You know Wilkes?" he said. 
 
 " Ye-ee-s. He 's my father." 
 
 "Ah," said the editor cheerfully, "then 
 you 're going home ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 It was quite light in the open, and the 
 stranger, after a moment's survey of the 
 prospect, a survey that, however, seemed 
 to be characterized by his previous hesita- 
 tion, said : "This way," crossed the road, 
 and began to follow a quite plain but long 
 disused wagon track along the slope. His 
 
The Home-Coming of Jim Wilkes. 277 
 
 manner was still so embarrassed that the 
 young editor, after gayly repeating his 
 thanks for his companion's thoughtful cour- 
 tesy, followed him in silence. At the end 
 of ten minutes they had reached some cul- 
 tivated fields and orchards; the 'stranger 
 brightened, although still with a preoccu- 
 pied air, quickened his pace, and then sud- 
 denly stopped. When the editor reached 
 his side he was gazing with apparently still 
 greater perplexity upon the level, half oblit- 
 erated, and blackened foundations of what 
 had been a large farmhouse. 
 
 "Why, it's been burnt down!" he said 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 The editor stared at him! Burnt down 
 it certainly had been, but by no means re- 
 cently. Grasses were already springing up 
 from the charred beams in the cellar, vines 
 were trailing over the fallen chimneys, ex- 
 cavations, already old, had been made 
 among the ruins. "When were you here 
 last?" the editor asked abruptly. 
 
 "Five years ago," said the stranger ab- 
 stractedly. 
 
 " Five years ! and you knew nothing of 
 this?" 
 
 "No. I was in Tafiiti, Australia, Japan, 
 and China all the time." 
 
278 The Home- Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 "And you never heard from home?" 
 
 "No. You see I quo'led with the old 
 man, and ran away." 
 
 "And you didn't write to tell them you 
 were coming? " 
 
 "No." He hesitated, and then added: 
 "Never thought o' coming till I saw you." 
 
 "Me!" 
 
 "Yes ; you and the high water." 
 
 "Do you mean to say," said the young 
 editor sharply, " that you brought me 
 an utter stranger to you out of that coach 
 to claim the hospitality of a father you 
 had quarreled with hadn't seen for five 
 years and did n't know if he would receive 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes, you see that's just why I did 
 it. You see, I reckoned my chances would 
 be better to see him along with a cheer- 
 ful, chipper fellow like you. I did n't, of 
 course, kalkilate on this," he added, point- 
 ing dejectedly to the ruins. 
 
 The editor gasped ; then a sudden concep- 
 tion of the unrivaled absurdity of the situ- 
 ation flashed upon him, of his passively 
 following the amiable idiot at his side in 
 order to contemplate, by the falling rain 
 and lonely night, a heap of sodden ruins, 
 
The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 279 
 
 while the coach was speeding to Summit 
 Springs and shelter, and, above all, the 
 reason why he was invited, until, putting 
 down his bag, he leaned upon his stick, and 
 laughed until the tears came to his eyes. 
 
 At which his companion visibly bright- 
 ened. "I told you so," he said cheerfully; 
 "I knew you 'd be able to take it and the 
 old man in that way, and that would 
 have fetched him round." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake! don't talk any 
 more," said the editor, wiping his eyes, 
 "but try to remember if you ever had any 
 neighbors about here where we can stay to- 
 night. We can't walk to Summit Springs, 
 and we can't camp out on these ruins." 
 
 "There did n't use to be anybody nearer 
 than the Springs." 
 
 "But that was five years ago, you say," 
 said the editor impatiently; "and although 
 your father probably moved away after the 
 house burned down, the country 's been 
 thickly settled since then. That field has 
 been lately planted. There must be an- 
 other house beyond. Let 's follow the trail 
 a little farther." 
 
 They tramped along in silence, this time 
 the, editor leading. Presently he stopped. 
 
280 The Home-Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 "There's a house in there among the 
 trees," he said, pointing. "Whose is it?" 
 The stranger shook his head dubiously. 
 Although apparently unaffected by any 
 sentimental consideration of his father's 
 misfortune, the spectacle of the blackened 
 ruins of the homestead had evidently shaken 
 his preconceived plans. "It wasn't there 
 in my time," he said musingly. 
 
 "But it is there in our time," responded 
 the editor briskly, "and / propose to go 
 there. From what you have told me of 
 your father even if his house were still 
 standing our chances of getting supper 
 and a bed from him would be doubtful ! I 
 suppose," he continued as they moved on 
 together, "you left him in anger five 
 years ago?" 
 "Ye-es." 
 
 "Did he say anything as you left? " 
 "I don't remember anything particular 
 that he said." 
 
 "Well, what did he do ?" 
 "Shot at me from the window! " 
 " Ah ! " said the young editor softly. 
 Nevertheless they walked on for some time 
 in silence. Gradually a white picket fence 
 came into view at right angles with .the 
 
The Home-Coming of Jim Wilkes. 281 
 
 trail, and a man appeared walking leisurely 
 along what seemed to be the regularly trav- 
 eled road, beside it. The editor, who had 
 taken matters in his own hands, without 
 speaking to his companion, ran quickly for- 
 ward and accosted the stranger, briefly stat- 
 ing that he had left the stage-coach with a 
 companion, because it was stopped by high 
 water, and asked, without entering into 
 further details, to be directed to some place 
 where they could pass the night. The man 
 quite as briefly directed him to the house 
 among the trees, which he said was his own, 
 and then leisurely pursued his way along 
 the road. The young editor ran back to 
 his companion, who had halted in the drip- 
 ping shadow of a sycamore, and recounted 
 his good fortune. 
 
 "I did n't," he added, "say anything 
 about your father. You can make inquiries 
 yourself later." 
 
 " I reckon there won't be much need 
 of that," returned his companion. "You 
 didn't take much note o' that man, did 
 you?" 
 
 "Not much," said the editor. 
 
 "Well, that's my father, and I reckon 
 that new house must be his." 
 
282 The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 II. 
 
 The young editor was a little startled. 
 The man he had just quitted certainly was 
 not dangerous looking, and yet, remember- 
 ing what his son had said, there were homi- 
 cidal possibilities. "Look here," he said 
 quickly, "he 's not there now. Why don't 
 you seize the opportunity to slip into the 
 house, make peace with your mother and 
 sisters, and get them to intercede with your 
 father when he returns?" 
 
 "Thar ain't any mother; she died afore 
 I left. My sister Almiry 's a little girl 
 though that 's four years ago and mebbee 
 she 's growed. My brothers and me didn't 
 pull together much. But I was thinkin' 
 that mebbee you might go in thar for me 
 first, and see how the land lays ; then sorter 
 tell 'em 'bout me in your takin', chipper, 
 easy way; make 'em laugh, and when 
 you 've squared 'em I '11 be hangin' round 
 outside you kin call me in. Don't you 
 see?" 
 
 The young editor did see. Ridiculous 
 as the proposal would have seemed to him 
 an hour ago, it now appeared practical, and 
 
The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 283 
 
 even commended itself to his taste. His 
 name was well known in the county and 
 his mediation might be effective. Perhaps 
 his vanity was slightly flattered by his com- 
 panion's faith in him; perhaps he W-as not 
 free from a certain human curiosity to 
 know the rest ; perhaps he was more inter- 
 ested than he cared to confess in the help- 
 less home-seeker beside him. 
 
 "But you must tell me something more 
 of yourself, and your fortune and pros- 
 pects. They '11 be sure to ask questions." 
 
 "Mebbee they won't. But you can say 
 I 've done well made my pile over in 
 Australia, and ain't comin' on them. Re- 
 member say I ' ain't comin' on them ' ! " 
 
 The editor nodded, and then, as if fearful 
 of letting his present impulse cool, ran off 
 towards the house. 
 
 It was large and respectable looking, and 
 augured well for the present fortunes of the 
 Wilkes's. The editor had determined to 
 attack the citadel on its weaker, feminine 
 side, and when the front door was opened 
 to his knock, asked to see Miss Almira 
 Wilkes. The Irish servant showed him 
 into a comfortable looking sitting-room, 
 and in another moment with a quick rustle 
 
284 The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 of skirts in the passage a very pretty girl 
 impulsively entered. From the first flash 
 of her keen blue eyes the editor a fair 
 student of the sex conceived the idea that 
 she had expected somebody else; from the 
 second that she was an arrant flirt, and did 
 not intend to be disappointed. This much 
 was in his favor. 
 
 Spurred by her provoking eyes and the 
 novel situation, he stated his business with 
 an airy lightness and humor that seemed to 
 justify his late companion's estimate of his 
 powers. But even in his cynical attitude 
 he was unprepared for the girl's reception 
 of his news. He had expected some indig- 
 nation or even harshness towards this man 
 whom he was beginning to consider as a 
 kind of detrimental outcast or prodigal, but 
 he was astounded at the complete and utter 
 indifference the frank and heartless un- 
 concern with which she heard of his re- 
 turn. When she had followed the narrator 
 rather than his story to the end, she lan- 
 guidly called her brothers from the adjoin- 
 ing room. "This gentleman, Mr. Grey, of 
 the ' Argus, ' has come across Jim and 
 Jim is calculating to come here and see 
 father." 
 
The, Home - Coming of Jim Wilkes. 285 
 
 The two brothers stared at Grey, slightly 
 shrugged their shoulders with the same utter 
 absence of fraternal sympathy or concern 
 which the girl had shown, and said nothing. 
 
 "One moment," said Grey a little- warmly ; 
 "I have no desire to penetrate family se- 
 crets, but would you mind telling me if 
 there is any grave reason why he should not 
 come. Was there any scandalous conduct, 
 unpardonable offense let us even say 
 any criminal act on his part which makes 
 his return to this roof impossible?" 
 
 The three looked at each other with a 
 dull surprise that ended in a vacant won- 
 dering smile. "No, no," they said in one 
 voice. "No, only " 
 
 "Only what?" asked Grey impatiently. 
 
 "Dad just hates him!" 
 
 "Like pizon," smiled Almira. 
 
 The young editor rose with a slight in- 
 crease of color. "Look here," said the girl, 
 whose dimples had deepened as she keenly 
 surveyed him, as if detecting some amorous 
 artifice under his show of interest for her 
 brother. "Dad 's gone down to the sheep- 
 fold and won't be back for an hour. Yo' 
 might bring yo* friend in. " 
 
 "He ain't wantin' anything? Ain't dead 
 
286 The Home- Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 broke? nor nothin', eh?" suggested one of 
 the brothers dubiously. 
 
 Grey hastened to assure them of Jim's 
 absolute solvency, and even enlarged con- 
 siderably on his Australian- fortune. They 
 looked relieved but not interested. 
 
 " Go and fetch him," said the witch, 
 archly hovering near Grey with dancing 
 eyes; "and mind yo 1 come back, too! " 
 
 Grey hesitated a moment and then passed 
 out in the dark porch. A dripping figure 
 emerged from the trees opposite. It was 
 Jim. 
 
 "Your sister and brothers will see you," 
 said Grey hastily, to avoid embarrassing 
 details. "He won't be here for an hour. 
 But I 'd advise you to make the most of 
 your time, and get the good -will of your 
 sister." He would have drawn back to let 
 the prodigal pass in alone, but the man ap- 
 pealingly seized his arm, and Grey was 
 obliged to reenter with him. He noticed, 
 however, that he breathed hard. 
 
 They turned slightly towards their rela- 
 tive, but did not offer to shake hands with 
 him, nor did he with them. He sat down 
 sideways on an unoffered chair. "The old 
 house got burnt! " he said, wiping his lips, 
 
The Home -Corning of Jim Wilkes. 287 
 
 and then drying his wet hair with his hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 As the remark was addressed to no one 
 in particular it was some seconds before the 
 elder brother replied : "Yes." 
 
 " Almira 's growed." 
 
 Again no one felt called upon to answer, 
 and Almira glanced archly at the young 
 editor as if he might have added : " and im- 
 proved." 
 
 "You've done well?" returned one of 
 the brothers tentatively. 
 
 "Yes, I 'm all right," said Jim. 
 
 There was another speechless interval. 
 Even the conversational Grey felt under 
 some unhallowed spell of silence that he 
 could not break. 
 
 "I see the old well is there yet," said 
 Jim, wiping his lips again. 
 
 "Where dad was once goin' to chuck you 
 down for givin' him back talk," said the 
 younger brother casually. 
 
 To Mr. Grey's relief and yet astonish- 
 ment, Jim burst into a loud laugh and 
 rubbed his legs. "That's so how old 
 times do come back! " 
 
 " And," said the bright-eyed Almira, 
 " there 's that old butternut-tree that you 
 
288 The Home - Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 shinned up one day when we set the hounds 
 on you. Goodness! how you scooted! " 
 
 Again Jim laughed loudly and nodded. 
 "Yes, the same old butternut. How you do 
 remember, Almira!" This admiringly, 
 
 "And don't you remember Delia Short? " 
 continued Almira, pleased at the admira- 
 tion, and perhaps a little exalted at the 
 singular attention which the young editor 
 was giving to those cheerful reminiscences. 
 "She, you know, you was reg'larly sick 
 after, so that we always allowed she kinder 
 turned yo' brain afore you went away! 
 Well! all the while you were courtin' her 
 it appears she was secretly married to Jo 
 - yo' friend Jo Stacy. Lord! there was 
 a talk about that ! and about yo' all along 
 thinkin' yo' had chances! Yo' friend here," 
 with an arch glance at Grey, "who 's allus 
 puttin' folks in the newspapers, orter get a 
 hold on that!" 
 
 Jim again laughed louder than the oth- 
 ers, and rubbed his lips. Grey, however, 
 offered only the tribute of a peculiar smile 
 and walked to the window. "You say your 
 father will return in an hour?" he said, 
 turning to the elder brother. 
 
 "Yes, unless he kept 011 to Watson's." 
 
The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 289 
 
 "Where? " said Jim suddenly. 
 
 It struck Grey that his voice had changed 
 or rather that he was now speaking for 
 the first time in his natural tone. 
 
 "Watson's, just over the bridge," ex- 
 plained his brother. "If he went there he 
 won't be back till ten." 
 
 Jim picked up his India rubber cape and 
 hat, said, " I reckon I '11 just take a turn 
 outside until he gets back," and walked 
 towards the door. None of his relatives 
 moved nor seemed to offer any opposition. 
 Grey followed him quickly. "I '11 go with 
 you," he said. 
 
 "No," returned Jim with singular ear- 
 nestness. "You stay here and keep 'em 
 up cheerful like this. They 're doing all 
 this for you, you know; Almiry 's just this 
 chipper only on your account." 
 
 Seeing the young man was inflexible, 
 Grey returned grimly to the room, but not 
 until he had noticed, with some surprise, 
 that Jim, immediately on leaving the house, 
 darted off at a quick run through the rain 
 and darkness. Preoccupied with this, and 
 perhaps still influenced by the tone of the 
 previous conversation, he did not respond 
 readily to the fair Almira's conversational 
 
290 The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 advances, and was speedily left to a seat by 
 the fire alone. At the end of ten minutes 
 he regretted he had ever come; when half 
 an hour had passed he wondered if he had 
 not better try to reach the Summit alone. 
 With the lapse of an hour he began to feel 
 uneasy at Jim's prolonged absence in spite 
 of the cold indifference of the household. 
 Suddenly he heard stamping in the porch, 
 a muttered exclamation, and the voices of 
 the two brothers in the hall. "Why, dad! 
 what 's up ? Yo' look half drowned ! " 
 
 The door opened upon the sodden, steam- 
 ing figure of the old man whom he had met 
 on the road, followed by the two sons. But 
 he was evidently more occupied and pos- 
 sessed by some mental passion than by his 
 physical discomfort. Yet strong and domi- 
 nant over both, he threw off his wet coat 
 and waistcoat as he entered, and marched 
 directly to the fire. Utterly ignoring the 
 presence of a stranger, he suddenly turned 
 and faced his family. 
 
 "Half drowned. Yes! and I might have 
 been hull drowned for that matter. The 
 back water of the Fork is all over Wat- 
 son's, and the bridge is gone. I stumbled 
 onto this end of it in the dark, and went 
 
The Home - Coming of Jim Wilkes. 291 
 
 off, head first, into twenty feet of water! 
 Tried to fight my way out, but the current 
 was agin me. I 'd bin down twice, and 
 was going down for the third time, when 
 somebody grabbed me by the scruff o' my 
 neck and under the arm so ! and swam 
 me to the bank ! When I scrambled up I 
 sez: C I can't see your face,' sez I, 'I don't 
 know who you are,' sez I, 'but I reckon 
 you 're a white man and clear grit, ' sez I, 
 ' and there 's my hand on it ! ' And he 
 grabs it and sez, 'We 're quits,' and scooted 
 out o' my sight. And," continued the old 
 man staring at their faces and raising his 
 voice almost to a scream, "who do you think 
 it was? Why, that sneakin' hound of a 
 brother of yours Jim ! Jim ! the scalla- 
 wag that I booted outer the ranch five years 
 ago, crawlin', writhin' back again after all 
 these years to insult his old father's gray 
 hairs ! And some of you by God once 
 thought that / was hard on him 1 " 
 
 The sun was shining brightly the next 
 morning as the young editor halted the up 
 coach in the now dried hollow. As he was 
 clambering to a seat beside the driver, his 
 elbow was jogged at the window. Looking 
 down he saw the face of Jim. 
 
292 The Home -Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 "We had a gay talk last night, remem- 
 bering old times, did n't we ? " said the 
 prodigal cheerfully. 
 
 "Yes, but where are you going now? " 
 
 "Back to Australia, I reckon! But it 
 was mighty good to drop in on the old 
 homestead once more ! " 
 
 "Eather," said the editor, clinging to 
 the window and lingering in mid-air to the 
 manifest impatience of Yuba Bill; "but I 
 say look here ! were you quite satis- 
 fied?" 
 
 Jim's hand tightened around the young 
 editor's as he answered cheerfully, "Yes." 
 But his face was turned away from the 
 window. 
 
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THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ 
 
 This book is due on the last DATE stamped below. 
 
 >Om-l.'69(J564388 12373 3A.1 
 

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