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The Household Library, No. 3, Vol. 7, April 16.1890^ -Annual subscription $26.00. IssuedWeekJy 
 
Babe Murphy 
 
 BY 
 
 PATIENCE STAPLETON. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "KADY." 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 BELFORD-CLARKE 00. 
 
 1890. 
 

 1890. 
 COPYRIGHT BY 
 
 BELFORD-CLARKE CO. 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 I I Receive My Legacy and Resolve to go a 
 
 Junketing 5 
 
 II Mr. Beach is very Polite 11 
 
 III Babe Murphy to the Rescue 20 
 
 IV Babe Murphy Thinks I'm "A Good Sam-Some- 
 
 thing" 29 
 
 V Mr. Beach Airs His Sentiments Freely 41 
 
 VI Babe Murphy Holds Her Own 56 
 
 VII We Make a Discovery in the Wood 66 
 
 VIII A Visit from Mrs. Beach and Tom 76 
 
 IX Mrs. Beach is a Conundrum 85 
 
 X A Mountain Picnic 94 
 
 XI "Sweet is True Love" Ill 
 
 XII Babe Pleads with Her Father 128 
 
 XIII ' ' King Arthur Needs a Modred " , 135 
 
 XIV Mr. Beach Sorely Smitten 143 
 
 XV A Tragedy 151 
 
 XVI Weary of the Mountain Walls 163 
 
 XVII Dick Daggett Talks 173 
 
 XVIII Clara and Con 186 
 
 XIX The Death of Con 196 
 
 XX The Colonel Expects Company 211 
 
 XXI A Looker-on in Vienna 223 
 
 XXII Mr. Beach's Gratitude 240 
 
 XXIII Mrs. Ballinger's Baby 251 
 
 XXIV A Falsehood for Love. 261 
 
 XXV Pathsof Peace '. 270 
 
 M2G2-9&S 
 
BABE MURPHY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I KECEIVE MY LEGACY AND KES0LVE TO GO A 
 JUNKETING. 
 
 It seemed to me when brother Nathan died and left 
 me $3,000 that all at once I knew what it was to be 
 •rich and to feel like Vanderbilt. Nathan had never 
 married, and had divided what he earned by tailoring, 
 between his landlady and me. She, that wrote me of 
 Nathan's death, and hoped I wouldn't go into lawing, 
 for if I'd any idea what Nathan's disposition was, 
 I'd know she earned it. She was a widow with a 
 John Rodgersy sort of family, nine children like I 
 used to read about in the primer, bnt her's were older. 
 I knew what she looked like pretty well, without ever 
 seeing her — thin and wrinkled, with red eyes, large and 
 bony hands and faded black gowns. ' Oly dear woman," 
 I wrote to her, "you are welcome to half; you deserved 
 the whole, for Nathan Wilder was all Sproul, taking- 
 after mother's side of the family, and not a mite like the 
 Wilders. He must have been a trial, and dear me, him 
 and me haven't spoken to each other for twenty years, 
 nor writ aline." She wrote back to me, " Could she? " — 
 and meant she would, too — keep my precious letter to 
 show folks, as some had been low down enough to say, 
 
 5 
 
G BABE MU11PI1Y. 
 
 and such of her neighbors, indeed, whose white com- 
 plexions and cnypped hair might mean they had been in 
 the law's clutches, not that she'd mention names nor 
 jails, but they had insinuated she had coaxed and 
 wheedled Nathan Wilder, whereas she had treated him 
 as a Christian woman should." 
 
 I answered in a spirit of levity, my fun not quite ex- 
 tinct in my bleak life: " As long as there could be 
 nothing said against Nathan's morals or hers, etc. (and 
 I willfully put etc., to aggravate her to frenzy regarding 
 my meaning), I thought it all right. My reply to this 
 was a solemn document from a parson in Boston, certi- 
 fying the high character, as Christian and woman, of 
 Mrs. Joseph Hart/' 
 
 Well, enough of that. I got my legacy the first of 
 June, and, as I locked the schoolhouse door for the last 
 time, the little place where, off and on, I had taught for 
 thirty years, I would not have been human if I did 
 not feel a tugging at my heart-strings. I watched the 
 children run homeward on the familiar road, the river, 
 winding through the trees, and I pondered over the 
 long buried hopes that had come to life again. I knew 
 one old soul, at rest these long years in the shady, 
 neglected graveyard at Southport, whose only ambition 
 was to see the world. "No heaven for me, sir, nor 
 everlasting glory," she said to the minister, on her death 
 bed, "I've never been outer Southport all my days, an' 
 now I'm free of airth, I'm goin' to travel. I don't 
 wanter to be shet up in no place." That was what I 
 said now. Oh, hateful burden of peaceful hills, of 
 placid river, of homely duties to my recent dead father 
 
/ RECEIVE MY LEG A CY. 7 
 
 and mother, of bare bread-getting. My cage is opened 
 with a key of gold, and I, Lydia Ann Wilder, fifty 
 years old, am going a junketing. I looked that word up, 
 and I see though we use it for traveling down a long 
 shore, it means a private feast or entertainment. Well, 
 that is just what I expect to get. I mean to feast my 
 soul on other scenes and folks. When I was a child and 
 desired to go along the dusty road outside our stone wall, 
 I was sternly called home and forbid to go a trapesing — 
 a word also a Southport phrase, now I had no one to 
 call me back, and means to go, and a trapesing I would 
 
 go- 
 Yet, it seemed like a dream when I was fairly off , after 
 
 renting my house to Captain Stinson and his wife, who 
 promised to look after things, and she's a tidy woman 
 and good housekeeper. But here I was at last, in a 
 decent black gown on my small body, a neat shawl and 
 bonnet, and a carpet bag — had been father's — as big as 
 I could lug. My horse-hair trunk was along, too, and 
 when there was time, and it was possible, I got out at 
 stations and peeked in the baggage car to see it was all 
 right. Where was I going? Oh, to Denver 'way out in 
 Colorado. One of our neighbor's boys had been there, 
 Mrs. Somses' John, and he did well and talked of noth- 
 ing else when he was home on a visit, especially about 
 the climate. I says to myself, I've been "froze up" for 
 forty-nine winters, as the Indians say, and I'll try a spell 
 of warmer weather. I had half a mind for California, 
 but he said Denver was a great place for women, and 
 they were well treated there, particularly in the mount- 
 ain towns. I ain't a bad looking woman, for our folks 
 
8 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 is fresh complected and have good features, and my light 
 hair is hardly gray. Then, as this is a true story, I 
 might as well tell just what I did think, I might have 
 had some sort of a hope Fd fall in with a middle-aged 
 man not more averse to matrimony than I was. And I 
 do wonder if a woman ever outgrows the idea of getting 
 married until she is most a hundred. 
 
 There was a pretty crowded train from Chicago to 
 Denver, but I took a ticket for the palace car. I just 
 wanted to feel rich for once. Fve pinched so all my 
 life I have lost the faculty of enjoying spending money. 
 The first day out I surveyed the male person who was 
 to climb in the bunk over me. Just here I do want 
 to protest against the uncomfortableness of sleeping cars 
 to women like myself. I can stand other women keeping 
 the dressing room for hours Vay beyond their needs, 
 I know their natures so well, and I can get along with 
 bay rum to wash my face, and my hair curls naturally, 
 if theirs don't; but the spectacle of a great, live man, in 
 his stocking feet, clambering over my head and groan- 
 ing and tossing and coming down unexpected in the 
 morning, will always send a cold chill along my spine. 
 
 I knew by experience that the person riding facing me, 
 his back to the engine, was the one to climb over my head, 
 so I took a good long look at this latest one. He was tall 
 and bony, clean-shaved, except a pair of thin side 
 whiskers. He had cold, blue eyes, a sort of sickly, white 
 complexion, thin, unpleasant lips, and I don't know 
 why, but I kept noticing his white hands with their 
 large jointed fingers, and wondering if he used to crack 
 'em when he was a boy, like my scholars did. His 
 
J RECEIVE M Y LEGACY. 9 
 
 clothes were dull- colored but fine material, and his 
 watch chain solid but neat, just as spic and span he was 
 as if he'd been kept in a band box. After a few mo- 
 ments he drew out a black silk scull cap, put it on his 
 thin gray hair, and buried himself in a book of statis- 
 tics. Dear me, how I do hate figures, and arithmetic 
 never was my forte. My life has been one long deceit, 
 fearing the committee or big boys would find out how 
 little I knew, or catch the key in my desk where I kept 
 it hid, to peek at after the sums were done. 
 
 Somehow, though this man looked dreadful respect- 
 able, I liked much better the college lad who had had 
 the berth over mine the night before. He and his chums 
 were guying me all the way, and T knew it perfectly 
 well, and just after I had retired, I heard 'em giggling 
 across the aisle, so I poked my head out, keeping the 
 curtains close about my neck, and says: 
 
 "Boys, enjoy your fun, but don't think I'm uncon- 
 scious of it. I've taught lads for thirty years, and some- 
 how, if your jokes are at my expense, I'm in sympathy 
 with you." 
 
 They quieted mighty quick, and my young man car- 
 ried my carpet bag when 1 changed cars and saw me 
 aboard all right, as polite as a basket of chips. 
 
 Well, I studied my vis-a-vis, and he read the statis- 
 tics, and after a time he drew a black-looking cigar out 
 of his pocket, laid it beside his nose and then went out 
 to smoke in that mysterious car where women are not 
 allowed. I know that by experience, for I blundered 
 into one by mistake, and a scared-looking man, acting 
 as if I was a woman suffragist and meant to take his 
 
10 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 rights away, or share 'em, rushed at me and says: 
 "Madam you must go out of here." "Only too quick," 
 I answers, short enough, "unless I was a human ham," 
 so I fancy I was ahead on that. 
 
 When the stranger was gone I peeked at the book he'd 
 left. I forgot the title, but I shall always remember the 
 name in legible writing on it. "Henry Dubois Beach ." 
 A dignified, straight-up name in similar handwriting, 
 not H. Dubois Beach, which parting a name always 
 seemed to me like parting a man's hair in the middle, 
 and both habits to belong to Miss Xancy's. 
 
 I grew sort of tired, so I left my bonnet on the seat, 
 and having a chance, the last infant in the car being 
 thoroughly watered, I went out to the dressing-room to 
 brush my hair and slick up, as we say down East. When 
 I got back, Mr. Beach — as I supposed from his book — 
 was sitting in my place, reading, as calm as you please. 
 I gave him one look — that he did not see — and sat down 
 to ride backwards, though I've been told in case of ac- 
 cident the shock is more apt to break the neck. I sat 
 there awhile, putting things to rights in a little hand 
 reticule I carried and thinking how dreadful dear trav- 
 eling was, when suddenly I missed something. I kept 
 a worrying, when all at once I put my hand to my head. 
 Then in my most ugly voice, in my chilliest manner, I 
 leaned forward to that Mr. Beach : 
 
 "Sir," I said, "I am sorry to trouble you, but you 
 are not only occupying the place I paid for, but you are 
 sitting on my bonnet !" 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 MR. BEACH IS VERY POLITE. 
 
 He looked at me coldly. " Madam, did you address 
 me?" he said, in a frosty sort of voice that went well 
 with his face and manner. 
 
 " That I did/' I snapped, " and the longer you sit 
 on that bonnet the harder it will be to get into shape." 
 
 He rose stiffly, looking sort of surprised, and sure 
 enough — I'd died if it hadn't been there — he was on my 
 bonnet that I'd paid five dollars for in Bath, Maine, 
 and it was all mussed out of shape. He handed it to 
 me in his stiff, but polite way. 
 
 "I fear, madam, the damage is excessive — beyond 
 repair." 
 
 " Straw ain't so brittle," I said, cheerfully, for the 
 moment he began to act sorry, womanlike, I forgave 
 him, " that's the benefit of good material, it bends 
 right back into shape." 
 
 "And I occupy your place," he w T ent on, "really I 
 am sadly forgetful, so many business cares — permit me 
 to change with you. I am used to a lower berth, I 
 never rode backwards before. This time, as usual, I 
 telegraphed ahead, but was informed by the insolent 
 negro porter, the lower berth was engaged by — a per- 
 son," he finished, with a slight hesitation. 
 
 "Me," I said, promptly, "but I didn't telegraph, 
 the young man that helped me aboard the car gave the 
 porter a dollar to secure this place for me." 
 
 11 
 
12 BABE MUliPIIT. 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Mr. Beach, "have you the young 
 man's name ?" 
 
 "I don't — don't," says I, "know it, I met him"en 
 voyage/'as the French say. But I am, Mr. Beach (as 
 your book names you), of an age when introductions 
 don't count." 
 
 " Certainly," he answered absently, and though that 
 was true, his agreeing with me did not please me none 
 too well. 
 
 After that we talked considerable, and he was real 
 polite about helping me on and off the train. I noticed 
 at meal stations, where the victuals were pretty bad, he 
 would neither eat nor complain, only looking about him 
 with a stony disgust. In fact, he assured me, "that 
 there might be people who liked ' roughing it/to use 
 an Americanism, but he was not of that class. Even 
 yachting was a weariness his stomach revolted, as 
 for fishing, he preferred to*eat fish with which he had 
 had no previous acquaintance, nor did their death strug- 
 gles, impaled on a hook, give zest to his appetite." 
 
 Somehow the next day, though he paid but a sort of 
 abstracted attention, I found myself telling him my 
 history. 
 
 ' ' But, Miss Wilder," he says, solemnly, "why not have 
 put that $3,000 at interest, even in government bonds? 
 you would have had some little income." 
 
 "I was sick of being chained in by circumstance, I 
 wanted to see the world and go a junketing." 
 
 " You have singular ideas," he said in his frozen way, 
 not unkindly at all, but regarding me as some strange 
 animal, " now what do you propose to do when you are 
 
1[R. BEACH IS VERY POLITE. 13 
 
 weary of, or forced by financial reasons to abandon — 
 to use yonr expression, your junketing?" 
 
 "Teach, or nurse, or something. I can drag along 
 the years left if I have had one good time. If your life had 
 been like mine, as barren as those plains," I said, look- 
 ing out on those never-ending stretches of level land, 
 olive tinted, glimmering here and there with a gor- 
 geously colored flower, "like me, you would barter the 
 future for a glorious to-day, for the good time that 
 comes so easy to some favored folks." 
 
 I saw him look at my wrinkled face and old-maidish 
 appearing self with a sort of sui^rise. 
 
 "You are a Christian woman I hope?" he says. 
 
 " As much as any of us are." 
 
 Still surprised, he buried himself in his book, and I 
 glanced out the window not a bit sorry I had waked him up. 
 
 ' ' Do you know," he said, after a pause, laying down 
 the book, as if his human interest had got the better of 
 his dignity, and looking kindly at me, "you have in- 
 terested me." 
 
 La, how condescending he was. " I suppose you 
 have wondered," he went on, impressively, "where I 
 live. Let me tell you. Imagine a town of log-houses 
 set up in the Eocky Mountains, nine thousand feet 
 above the sea. Imagine those houses grouped about a 
 big wooden building, where a tall chimney sends forth 
 poisonous smoke night and day. Imagine a great hill 
 of grey ore about the mouth of a dark, deep shaft, and 
 over this hill, while daylight lasts, numbers of human 
 ants scrambling and tugging, hurrying to fill the repa- 
 cious mouth of the mill-monster that turns the grey 
 
14 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 ore into shining silver bars. Picture a deep gorge, for 
 the village lies on the mountain side and straggles 
 down a winding road along the brink of a precipice, 
 forest everywhere, and laden trains of mules and wag- 
 ons, or on distant mountain sides, tiny donkeys — bur- 
 ros we call them — pack-weighted. Picture great tower- 
 ing mountains all around you, and across the purple 
 shadows shining, snow-clad peaks, while in every gorge 
 are brown and noisy brooks, and in our valley the Unca- 
 pahgre rushes madly to the distant sea-hastening rivers 
 of the plains. That is my home, the town of Erin, 
 made famous and populous by the Maid of Erin mine, 
 of which I am the superintendent and part owner. A 
 little world in itself, is our mountain town, thirty miles 
 from any other place, approached only by a dangerous 
 road." 
 
 "Pd like to go there," I said, "I do long to see 
 real mountains." 
 
 "In a pretty grove away from the town I have a 
 pleasant home, and below the mine, nearer the river, is 
 the church and school house. Do you know, despite my 
 brief acquaintance with you, I almost feel like suggest- 
 ing you come and try to teach our school for a period. 
 I think it has been quite three months since we had a 
 session. You see," he went on, slowly, "we find great 
 difficulty in keeping a female teacher — " 
 
 "Is it so lawless?" I asked. I have heard and read 
 Western stories, but somehow I could not place that 
 cold-blooded, precise gentleman in any of them. 
 
 "Decidedly not, I can assure you, thanks to my 
 influence and laws, but the trouble with our young lady 
 
MR. BEACH 18 VERT POLITE. 15 
 
 teachers is they enter into the bonds of matrimony with 
 the men employed in the mine. Do not misunderstand 
 me, I am thoroughly a believer in marriage, necessary to 
 the development and morality of a country, but admit 
 that it is vexatious to import a teacher at considerable 
 expense from Denver and have her do as the last one 
 did, marry my foreman a month after her arrival. I 
 do not believe in celibacy at all, I have a very charming 
 wife at Erin. I would like Mrs. Beach to know you, but 
 you must not talk of junketing to her, young minds, 
 Miss Wilder (and I did think then what on earth 
 induced a young woman to marry you?) now what do 
 you think of my plan?" 
 
 " I might try for a term (I hesitated, remembering 
 fractions and compound interest that I never was sure 
 of, and this man would find it out too, by a few ques- 
 tions), if the boys are small." 
 
 "The smallest; the older children become toilers very 
 early, and you will find all sadly backward, for I infer, 
 by some examinations that I have attended, that the 
 teachers have given more attention to the vanities of toi- 
 let than to the cultivation of their own or scholars'minds." 
 
 So it was, after a day's longer journey through such 
 scenery that fills my heart yet with joy, that I did 
 junket and cut loose from old traditions, and that filled 
 my heart with awe and admiration of the glory of God, 
 I found myself in Silver City. 
 
 In the hotel parlor I sat and looked out on twenty- 
 five saloons across the road, with a population, as I 
 watched, of five to six drinking men to each. Land ! 
 I says, what a thirst these mountain altitudes gives to 
 
16 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 human beings ! It seemed strange to me, coming from 
 a temperance State where liquor comes in barrels marked 
 kerosene, and is retailed at drug store back doors, or 
 consumed in cellars and barns. While I sat there, a 
 girl about fifteen came in, carrying a crying baby about 
 stifled in cloaks and wraps. 
 
 "Seems to me, miss," I says, "your little sister is 
 mostly smothered in clothes. I'd take off that flannel 
 cloak if I was you, and give the little thing some air." 
 
 " 'Tain't my sister, it's my baby, "she snaps, "an' I 
 guess I kin run it better than a old maid kin, an' it's 
 bin colicky sence it was borned." 
 
 La, thinks I, they get married dreadful young out 
 here, and what a land it is, and unconsciously I thought, 
 looking at her, where every prospect pleases and only 
 manners is vile. Then Beach came for me, and, 
 waiting at the door was a fine carriage, made extra 
 strong and hung pretty low, and drawn by a pair of 
 stout, chunky horses, cream colored, and known as 
 bronchos, containing more ugliness than any other ani- 
 mals I ever saw harnessed up. 
 
 "Your baggage has already gone," said Mr. Beach, 
 and I could imagine the look he cast on that brass- 
 nailed, frowsy trunk of mine. I got in the back seat 
 and he took the front. "I hope the parcels do not 
 inconvenience you," he says. "Not at all," I answered, 
 though I was most buried in them. I noticed he was 
 not liked about the hotel, that everybody served him 
 unwillingly, flinging things around, and, as we drove 
 off I heard a great creature in a big hat and his pants 
 tucked in his boots say: 
 
MR. BEACH IS VERY POLITE. 17 
 
 "Git onto that old chromo; Beach has got a school 
 marm that will stay this time." 
 
 Oh that ride along chasms, abysses, and precipices, 
 when every hair of my curls seemed to rise and I would 
 have given a year of my life to fetch one screech, but 
 was quieted by that dignity driving. But then again, 
 such vistas through the evergreens, such shady spots 
 under the aspens by mountains' cascades, such views of 
 shining distant peaks and far purple hills. Once he 
 whipped up the yellow bronchos and says: 
 
 "Miss Wilder, the road ahead, around this bend, has 
 a sheer fall of nine hundred feet, is cut out of the solid 
 rock, and cost $40,000 to the mile." 
 
 Then he actually whipped up the horses, right on the 
 brink of that awful precipice. I said, "Lord a mercy 
 me," and held tight to the seat. It was so awful, that 
 away, away, down, and the glint of a river so far below 
 you couldn't hear it ripple. I felt all at once I had been 
 a trifling, wicked woman, and junketing might be sinful. 
 
 Soon after that we reached the town that was just as 
 he had described, and he let me out at a neat cottage 
 kept by the widow Finnerty, whose husband had been 
 lost in the mine, and who had the rusty clothes and 
 big knuckles of all the afflicted. I wondered if letting 
 rooms and keeping boarders isn't a kind of penance a 
 woman pays for losing a husband; most widows is in 
 that business, sort of like those misguided females in 
 India who used to be burned alive after their husbands' 
 funerals. 
 
 The sitting room that was to be my bedroom was 
 quite neat and tasty, and the supper was not bad 3 but 
 
18 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 afterwards I did get tired of beans and canned victuals. 
 After this, and some conversation with Mrs. Finnerty, 
 principally about "him," the general subject of relicts, 
 (and there's one comfort that word can't be put oil my 
 tombstone, as if I was a scrap of human kind) I went 
 out for a walk. I went away from the town, near the 
 river and the school house; the path was pleasant and 
 shady, and in the clearing by the school house — not 
 much different from ours in Southport, but built of 
 logs — I got a fine view of the sunset on the mountains. 
 I stayed quite a spell, absorbed in the beauty of the 
 glow on the snowy peaks, and the quick-falling purple 
 twilight, that it was considerable late when I started 
 back, and the stars were out in the great black vault 
 above. I kept a sharp lookout for cows, having my 
 umbrella along, but of men I never thought at all. 
 But as I went along, standing in a side path as if 
 waiting for me, was a monstrous looking man in a 
 flannel shirt, trowsers tucked in his boots and one of 
 those big hats on his head. He may not have been so 
 awful big, but looked so in my scared condition, a real 
 Western Buffalo Bill sort of creature. I was minding 
 my business and hoped he would do likewise, so I went 
 calmly ahead, but lo and behold, he steps after me, 
 quicker as I hurried, till, fairly drove to it, I turned and 
 faced him. 
 
 "Man," I said, "what are your intentions?" 
 "You're the new school marm, ain't you?" he says, 
 familiar enough. 
 
 "If I am, I haven't been introduced to you,". I said, 
 with scorn. 
 
MR. BE AC II 18 VERT POLITE. 19 
 
 "You have a trim look, if you are done up in that 
 veil,"he says, coming closer to me; (i I saw you walking 
 this way and thought you might want company. " 
 
 "I generally pick my own," I sneered. 
 
 "Oh pshaw/' he says, "don't be offish," and made a 
 lunge at me. I raised my umbrella and whacked at 
 him, and though I struck considerable hard, he didn't 
 seem to mind it at all. 
 
 "I'll kiss you for that," he says, and catches my 
 umbrella (it was only cotton and was replaced with a 
 ten-dollar silk one later, and I took it too, as any one 
 would) and breaks it and grabs me. My weapon gone, 
 I gave a screech that fairly woke the echoes. It seemed 
 the condensed misery of all my experiences on that 
 ride along precipices when I dassent say a word. I 
 yelled a second time and mercifully, some one heard, 
 for there was the sound of a horse's galloping hoofs, and 
 horse and rider came dashing almost over us! 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 'BABE MURPHY TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 " Save me!" I screeched, while the man let go of me, 
 and then I saw my rescuer was only another female like 
 myself, riding a horse. " Goodness, go get a man," I 
 says, "some one to attend to this creature. " 
 
 ""Why, Jim Dunn, ain't you ashamed/' says a pleas- 
 ant sort of voice, don't be scared, ma'am, he don't 
 mean any harm ." 
 
 "Don't indeed," I snapped, "I hope to gracious his 
 behavior ain't common in this country." 
 
 " Did you try to kiss her, Jim ?" says that sweet 
 voice, and I could see in the half-light the speaker was 
 tall and straight, sitting her horse well and fearlessly. 
 
 " None of your business/' mumbles Jim. 
 
 "And you broke my umbrella," I put in, vicious 
 enough. 
 
 ' ' Oh, Jim, come now, that was a mean way to treat 
 the new teacher." 
 
 "Well, you see," says the villain Jim, "the other 
 fellers always cut me out with the teachers, and I heard 
 a new one had come, and I see her all veiled and fixed 
 up, prancing out for a walk, and I made up my mind 
 I'd be ahead this time, and get acquainted with her the 
 first." 
 
 "You went about it in a nice way," laughs my 
 rescuer. 
 
 "You needn't giggle, if she didn't want to be fol- 
 lowed, what did she go out for?" 
 
 20 
 
BABE MURPHY TO THE RESCUE. 21 
 
 " Oh, indeed!" I said. " So no one can set foot out- 
 doors in this land of savages!" 
 
 Suddenly a match flared up, and the lady leaned for- 
 ward from her horse, and snatched off my veil. "Jim, 
 Fm ashamed of you ! " 
 
 "A woman old enough to be your mother," I put in, 
 but I was mad at the girl's impudence. Minx, I could 
 have boxed her ears. Well, I shall never forget that 
 man's face seen for a second by the fading light. 
 
 " Cork-screw curls and all," he says with a kind of 
 groan, " and I was bent on kissing that. Babe Murphy, 
 if you ever tell on me you'll be sorry. Say, old lady, 
 I'll give you a ten-dollar umbrella, and dern me, but 
 you are the trimmest old gal I ever see. I'm sorry I 
 scared you — apologize, but I'll be — (somewhat of a pro- 
 fane expression that I found rather common in the 
 locality, but won't print) if I was your age I'd cata- 
 waul if a fellow wanted to kiss me. Might have known 
 you were an old maid by your screeches." 
 
 With that he slouches by, but the girl flared another 
 match in his face as he passed, and if he didn't look 
 cheap. 
 
 "I'd like to wring you neck," he says. 
 
 " For stopping you, Jim?" she answers, pert enough, 
 and bursts into a peal of rippling laughter. I giggled, 
 too, even at my own expense, and he went away grum- 
 bling, "Don't you dare tell. Pretty badly sold, if the 
 boys knew," and when he was some ways off, we heard 
 him roar, too. 
 
 "Your manners are none too good, Miss," I says, 
 "and if you are a respectable girl, I can't see why your 
 
22 BABE MURPHY, 
 
 folks allow yon to galivate around at this time of night 
 alone for." 
 
 "My manner ain't good," she says with another peal 
 of laughter, "and hless your heart the men here at 
 Erin know me. I was raised here, place called after 
 my mother's birthplace, that mine was called after her, 
 she was a maid of Erin. Like to see anyone insult me. 
 I saw you riding with old Beach today, did he freeze 
 you on the way? They say since he came winter sets 
 in a month earlier, and there's frost every day in the 
 year. Don't get mad about the veil, it was such a dandy 
 on Jim. Are you going to Mrs. Finnerty's? Of course 
 you are, all the teachers stop there. I'll go 'long with 
 
 you." 
 
 At that she jumps off her horse, pulls his bridle 
 through her arm, grabs up her long skirt, and walks 
 with me. 
 
 "If you have a mind to go, you can," I said, stiff 
 enough; for I was not sure she was a proper kind of a 
 person. 
 
 "You needn't be so distant," she said, still laughing, 
 " I wanted to know you since I've set eyes on you. I 
 was up mountain when you passed with Beach. I 
 never liked the other teachers, nor they me. They were 
 a silly, man-hunting crowcL as forgoing to their school, 
 I never thought of it. I don't know much, but they 
 couldn't teach me nothing. I read, that's the way I 
 learn. See, here we are at Finnerty's. She's gone to 
 bed. I'll go in and see how you are iixed. " I say, " 
 she went on, "there's your trunk, lend a hand and 
 I'll help you in with it. " 
 
BABE MURP1IY TO THE RESCUE. 23 
 
 I found myself actually carrying my trunk with her. 
 It had been carelessly left outside. The lamp was lit 
 in my room, but turned down and smelling awful; I 
 turned it up and looked at the girl. Mercy, what a tall 
 creature she was, five foot seven, slim, long-armed, and 
 broad shouldered, too lean now, with a sort of coltishness 
 of gait and manner, but might, if she fattened, be a 
 magnificent looking woman. She hadn't stays on, I 
 could see, and her riding habit, green braided with gold 
 in a circusy sort of way, was worn and faded. But what 
 a charm her face had, a straight nose, a scornful red 
 mouth with an oddly short upper lip, that Fve read 
 in English novels was a sign of good blood, bright gray 
 eyes, looking almost black at night, dark hair, heavy 
 eyebrows, long lashes, and a rosy complexion, some 
 freckled, but pure and healthy looking. I did like her 
 looks as she stood there, towering a head and shoulders 
 above me. 
 
 " Well," she grinned, showing her pretty teeth, "I'm 
 all-fired tall, ain't I?" 
 
 "Tall for a woman, yes, but better than runty like 
 me." 
 
 "My father is six foot two, they call him the hand- 
 somest man in the Rockies. Land, I'd like to be shorter, 
 I'm so awkward, and was the^omicalest leggy girl, they 
 used to call me the sand crane, when my dresses were 
 short. Thank heaven I'm eighteen now and done grow- 
 ing. What a dear little soul you are, so sort of East- 
 erny and respectable, as if it came natural to you, and 
 you didn't have to fight to be it like me. Can I sit 
 down ?" 
 
24 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 " Of course you can, " I says, warming to her at once, 
 "I wasn't very mannerly not to ask you. " 
 
 Somehow those big gray eyes, the pretty mouth and 
 her sort of boyish way won me at once. She sprawled 
 herself into a chair and began whipping her skirt with 
 a ugly whip she carried. 
 
 " That's a quirt we call 'em, " she said, seeing me 
 looking at it, "if you rode a broncho you'd need one. 
 Say, what's your name ? " 
 
 "Lydia Ann Wilder." 
 
 "Just like yourself. Mine's a spud. Oh, you ain't 
 up to Western slang, a Murphy then. Really Murphy, 
 slang for potato. I'm of Irish distraction, as Mrs. 
 Finnerty says. They call me Babe around here. I was 
 brought up here and the name they gave me when I was 
 a toddler has stuck; I'm a rather big infant though. 
 When I was fourteen Pa had a streak of good luck, 
 sold a mine of his to a sucker from Boston and I was 
 sent to a convent in Denver. It was nice there really, 
 those prim little sisters, and then to be called Beatrice. 
 That's my name, but it don't hitch with Murphy some- 
 how. Two years of being civilized, then back here to 
 go into wildness again with a pain always in my heart, 
 that I couldn't be like other girls." She was talking 
 earnestly now, her sweet face grave and sad. 
 
 "You see, ten years ago Pa discovered the Maid of 
 Erin mine, but hadn't the rhino to work it, and Beach, 
 who was a shyster lawyer in Denver, living by people's 
 misfortunes, like the vultures on carrion, took a mortea^e 
 
 ■m* H ■ ft . 
 
 on it of &30,000, pretending lie was awful friendly to 
 Pa. Most of the money went down the shaft and down 
 
BABE MURPHY TO THE RESCUE. 25 
 
 Pa's throat, and one day the mortgage came due, and 
 though Pa moved heaven and earth, somehow Beach 
 and his capitalistic friends couldn't wait, and the mine 
 was sold for forty thousand, and a hundred thousand dol-' 
 lars worth of ore in sight, and Pa's partner, Dick Daggett, 
 who went to New York for money, telegraphing too 
 late he'd got it. So by some shyster tricks, Beach got 
 Pa out of the mine, and flung him a sop of $10,000. 
 Corporation against a corpse, I guess, for all the good 
 Pa is when he's full, and Pa took the ten thousand and 
 stayed here staking a claim up mountain, and swearing to 
 kill Beach. I would have flung the money in his face and 
 killed him instead of talking about it. " 
 
 "So would I," I cried, "anything but treachery from 
 a friend.'" 
 
 " Bless you for that," she says, coming over to me, 
 and actually hugging me, an entire stranger. " But the 
 backers of Beach got bit, too; he ousted them, and is 
 almost the only owner; case of dog eat dog, as most 
 mining deals are when a lawyer gets his clutches on 
 them." She looked up in my face with her bright eyes. 
 "I've been just dying to kiss your pretty, wrinkled 
 cheek, with that pink tint, and your dear little curls; 
 can I?" I smiling at her, she kissed me twice. "How 
 in the world did you ever blow in here?" she said, 
 soberly. I patted her hair softly, and told her about 
 myself and Southport, and my travels, and Mr. Beach. 
 
 "There isn't much fun in anybody's life," she sighed, 
 "and you and me, both being lone ones, ought to be 
 friends. I've had ups and downs, good clothes and 
 rags, some teaching, some worse than none, and live 
 
26 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 now, in my poverty, up above timber line. Figuratively 
 and literally I won't come down from my solitudes, and 
 you can bet Pa and I ain't none too friendly since he's 
 got stuck on Beach's wife." 
 
 "Land of mercy, tut, tut! " I said, aghast. "That 
 isn't pretty talk for you. You ought not to even know 
 of such things." 
 
 "Then I'd be deaf, dumb and blind," she answered, 
 wearily, "and what a sight you'll learn in this place. 
 The world about here is so grand and majestic, it dwarfs 
 human souls, and they don't care; but, Miss Wilder," 
 and there was real pathos in her face and voice now, 
 "you believe in me. Even when you know how I've 
 lived, and about Daggett's wife and Pa, don't you think 
 but I'm straight. All the miners will tell you so, and 
 I've kept myself so when there wasn't a soul to care 
 whether I was or not." 
 
 "I know that, my dear, if straight means good. 
 Your face tells me, and your mother, now, she looks 
 after you?" 
 
 "She died when I was born, that's the worst of it. 
 There hasn't been a good woman in my father's house 
 since she was carried out in her coffin. Oh, I could 
 make your heart ache, and your dear, old face blush if 
 I tell you half that I have seen. But it wouldn't be 
 square to Pa, and he's been pretty decent since I came 
 back from Denver, but, till I saw you and fell in love 
 with you, there wasn't a soul I had to care for but my 
 dog, Doc, he's a thoroughbred greyhound, and a dandy 
 to run. Doc Thorn gave him to me two years ago. 
 He was the mine doctor here, and made Pa send me to 
 
BABE MURPHY TO THE RESCUE. 27 
 
 school. He died, three months ago, of consumption; 
 come up here for it. And it does seem to me if a man 
 is ever real gentle and good, lung complaint carries him 
 off. He gave me books, and used to talk to me. 
 •Keep white, Babe,' he used to say, f it pays best/ I 
 was with him when he died," she choked a little now, 
 '•'and he said he honored me, that I made him think of 
 a lily growing in the mire. He had no need to ask me 
 to promise to be good, for I would always be; 'and be 
 proud, too/' he added, "devilish proud; hold your head 
 high, and, above all, don't let women down you as they 
 will, for you are going to be handsome, and women 
 haven't much charity for a good-looking, unprotected 
 girl/' You can bet the boys here are mighty nice to 
 me," she said, getting up and straightening herself. 
 ••You wonder I'm not afraid to ride alone nights? 
 Because every miner is my brother, to guard me and to 
 tell new men who I am; because in the heart of the 
 roughest man, unless he be a besotted brute, is a respect 
 and chivalry for a girl who is good, and means to be so. 
 Now, good night, you dear soul: you, with your little 
 womanly ways, that reticule, your knitting, that black 
 silk apron, try and like me a little, won't you? Let's 
 be friends.'*' 
 
 She held out a well-shaped hand, bronzed, and rough- 
 ened some in the palm, a strange hand for a woman, 
 and I took it in my small, wrinkled hands, and then and 
 there we began a friendship that only death will end. 
 
 I listened to the sound of her horse's hoofs dying 
 away in the darkness, for she was a mad, reckless rider, 
 and I sort of prayed she would get home all right, and 
 
88 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 blessed her bonnie face. When I was getting ready for 
 bed, I saw she'd left her whip, and picked it up. A 
 braided thong of leather, with an iron handle, a blow 
 from which would kill a man. Well, of all things for 
 a girl to carry, I thought, and laid it carefully aside, 
 moaning to ask her about it some day. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BABK MURPHT THINKS I'M " A GOOD SAM-SOMETHING." 
 
 They had decided to have a summer term, so the 
 next day a solemn-looking man with a chin beard that 
 made him look like a sedate goat, came and. accom- 
 panied me to the school house. Here this man, Eli 
 Ilartman by name, introduced me to about thirty boys 
 and girls, all mischievous and bright-eyed, and I digress 
 here to say that the genuine boy is the same in the 
 mountains of Colorado as on the Maine coast, he is just 
 boy. The school house had the regulation blackboards, 
 the desks, and the teacher's place on a raised platform ; 
 but for the mountains outside I might have imagined 
 myself in Southport. What a time I had with those 
 unruly souls, who had fun enough over my ways and 
 curls and difference from any other teacher. I was 
 pretty nigh beat out when I heard a horse outside, and 
 in trips my lady in her green habit, and walks up on 
 the platform. 
 
 "How are you getting on, Miss Wilder ?" she says, 
 with her pretty smile. 
 
 " Badly ; they are mischievous and don't mind me. 
 Some, I think, are deceiving me, for they say, the big- 
 gest of 'em, they don't know their letters ; several have 
 crawled out the door under the desks, one threw a spit- 
 ball, and I have quite a number of pictures of a 
 female with curls that, though badly drawn, force me to 
 believe are meant for myself." 
 
 29 
 
30 BABE Ml'/; PUT. 
 
 She listened, then turned suddenly to the giggling 
 school. "What do you think of your teacher ?" she 
 says. A chorus of ironical snorts for answer. "Now, 
 look here, boys," she said, earnestly, iS I won't speak to 
 the girls, for they don't need it, but, unless you want to 
 grow up like — like Chinamen (they, I found, were gen- 
 erally disliked in the camp), you've got to go to school, 
 and this time you have a real lady for a teacher. I 
 know when you think she is gentle and kind, and could 
 not strike you like a dog, you'll be square with her. 
 You know your fathers take care of your mothers, and 
 carry baby, and bring the wood and water as men 
 should, and here is a dear old lady who has no one to 
 do for her, and I put it to your honor to treat her well. 
 If one of you acts bad I'll settle with him," she finished, 
 sternly. 
 
 "You ain't our teacher," said one rebellious voice. 
 
 "Well, I'm going to run the school all the same, 
 Charley Dunn, and I'll get Jim to lick you for that if 
 you don't be good, so there." 
 
 Charley subsided, and discipline was easy after that. 
 She came in almost every day to see how I was getting 
 along, and every Saturday afternoon she and I took 
 long walks up in the mountains. Friday afternoons 
 she used to come to school and read the children a story, 
 and once Mr. Ilartman, very stiff and uneasy in his 
 Sunday clothes, appeared to object. "Dcpewted," he 
 said, " by a number 4*f prominent citizens," with the 
 usual meddlesomeness of the P. C. in all communities. 
 He said, "readm* story-books wan't in the direction of 
 edication, and he was depewted to interfere." 
 
TM "A GOOD SAM-SOMETHING." 31 
 
 " I'm getting your boy above the level of the saloon 
 and faro bank," says my girl, standing there in that old 
 hab-it (she never wore anything else, and looking very 
 pale and bright-eyed), " and I am giving your girl new 
 thoughts and brighter hopes to make her a better wife 
 and mother some day. If you are against that, write 
 your name to a protest then. Schools ought to be 
 something besides stuffing young heads with names and 
 dates and figures. Life means more than that. Honor 
 and virtue, fairness and truth ought to be taught 
 beside. Now just sit there and listen while I read this 
 story of Miss Alcott's, the truest child-lover I know, 
 and then ask those eager children if their minds have 
 not a higher ideal of what good children are and can 
 be. Ask them if they don't want to be manlier and 
 better because Jo's boys were, and the girls, because 
 Little Women were noble girls?" 
 
 So she went on and read, and I saw his eyes dim, 
 heard him cough once or twice, and noted he twisted his 
 work-hardened hands uneasily. When she finished and 
 all those eager young eyes were on him, those famished 
 little souls who might after these few years never know 
 the blessing of books again, or dreams of better things, 
 he rose stiffly and said, slowly: 
 
 " Babe, Miss Murphy, I mean, if you want a man to 
 swar by, mention Eli Hartman. Ef you let up on that 
 idee o' yourn of eddicatin' them young ones you ain't 
 no fren to the camp, and I'll see Uiem books is brought 
 here by wholesale by " 
 
 Much overcome, he boAved himself out, and our school 
 after that met only commendation. My holidays were 
 
32 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 happy ones with Babe, for I called her that too. We 
 used to start at daylight and go miles up some mount- 
 ain trail and spend the day together. What a com- 
 panion she was, so bright, so merry, boyish in her ways, 
 and protecting me like a man. She'd got me to ride 
 that broncho of hers if she led him, and she leading, I 
 riding, carrying the basket, was the way we came home 
 after our trips. Never in our intimacy did she speak 
 of her father or her home again, nor did I ask her, see- 
 ing it sort of spoiled her pleasure to think of the past. 
 The Beaches were in Silver City, and I had not seen him 
 since I came. 
 
 The last Saturday in July we were going home along 
 the Silver City road, in our usual fashion, and I was 
 none too comfortable on that animal, suffering mortal 
 terror, when he lopped his ears back, as he generally 
 did when any one passed, when I heard the rattle of 
 wheels and saw the cream-colored bronchos coming. I 
 made Babe draw the animal up to the side of the road 
 for the carriage to pass. Mr. Beach, as cold and im- 
 pressive as ever, was driving, and in the back seat, not 
 made uncomfortable by bundles I can tell you, was a 
 lady shading her face with a costly parasol of black 
 laca lined with scarlet. Beach reigned in his horses. 
 
 "Good evening, Miss Wilder, Miss Murphy, " with a 
 bow so stiff I fancied his neck must creak; te I have 
 heard favorable accounts of the school, very satisfactory 
 to me, indeed. Onl^ the reading story books, Miss 
 Wilder, I do not exactly approve of that. Do not fill 
 the minds of our miners' children with ideas beyond 
 their station. The future of your scholars is hard work 
 
TM "A GOOD SAM-SOyrKTUING." 33 
 
 and lives devoid of romance. Mrs. Beach, this is our 
 new teacher, she has, you see, accepted the customs of 
 our country and is becoming a horsewoman." 
 
 I looked at Mrs. Beach then. A slight lady-like fig- 
 ure, gowned in a costly black lace put on in willful dis- 
 regard of the dust and ruin of a journey, in defiance of 
 cost. I saw her face was rather thin, with handsome 
 features, a white skin, ghastly almost against her blue- 
 black hair, and that her eyes were large and brilliant, 
 but cold and unfeeling. Her eyebrows and lashes were 
 jet black also, and the only life in her face, strangely at 
 variance with her expression, were her pouting rosy 
 lips, rather full, but partly disguised now with a droop 
 at the corners. In fact, her downcast lashes and repell- 
 ent mouth seemed like a mask. With that impassive 
 face and listless manner, she seemed like a woman over 
 thirty-five instead of barely twenty-five. I noticed her 
 exquisitely fitting gloves, her diamond earrings, her 
 costly bonnet and toilet, and wondered how such a 
 woman endured life in Erin. She bowed distantly to 
 me, barely raising her eyes, but shot one glance of 
 hatred to Babe that gave her face a sudden and charm- 
 ing life. She made me think of a snake with her 
 bright flashes of glances. 
 
 "You will find it dull and dreary here, the people 
 commonplace; you will soon tire of Quixotic ideas of 
 elevating them, Miss ^Yilder," she drawled, but her 
 voice, with all its languor, had an irritated metallic 
 sound. 
 
 "Clara, that is hardly fair," corrected Mr. Beach, 
 and he did seem to take pleasure in giving his opinions 
 
34 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 to down everybody else's. "Do not prejudice the new 
 teacher. I am sure we enjoy life in our eyrie in the 
 hills among the clouds." 
 
 Her face did not relax from its coldness, she leaned 
 back with a slightly bored air, and Beach, with a chilly 
 good evening, drove on. 
 
 " What do you think of her ?" said Babe, abruptly. 
 She had not glanced either at Beach or his wife, 
 but stood looking the other way while they were 
 talking. 
 
 "Very ladylike," I ventured. 
 
 "So that's a lady," muttered Babe, "A living lie." 
 She raised her sad eyes and looked along the dusty 
 road where a cloud rising betokened some new comer, 
 "H'm I thought so." I did not think my dear girl 
 could look so ugly if I must say it. Her short lip 
 curled, her eyes grew lighter colored and her black 
 brows met in a disagreeable wrinkle. 
 
 "What is the matter, dear ?" I asked, "I never saw 
 you look that way before. It's like a sudden storm cloud 
 on a bright day." 
 
 She did not answer, but hung her head, her hands 
 loosely clasped — something pathetic and hopeless in her 
 manner. I saw close upon us a huge bay horse, marked 
 with a white strip down his nose, and three white feet. 
 His rider, a big, broad-shouldered man, was dressed in 
 corduroy, with a sombrero drawn down over his eyes. 
 When he saw us, he took off this hat, and I saw he'd a 
 ruddy complexion, curling bronze beard and hair, hue 
 features, and the gray eyes that looked at us with a sort 
 of mocking light were Babe's very own, but land, what 
 
 
I'M "A GOOD SAM-SOMETHING." 35 
 
 a handsome man lie was, the likeliest looking I ever saw 
 in that State of line-appearing men. 
 
 "Hullo, Babe," he said, in a pleasant, mellow voice, 
 "I did not expect to meet you/'' 
 
 "Hullo, Pa," she answered, without glancing at him, 
 " Here is our new teacher, Miss Wilder." 
 
 " Pleased to meet you," he said, politely, " I hope you 
 will tame my wild, big girl. Ta, ta, dear." He whipped 
 up his horse and went galloping on. " Has he been 
 away, Babe ?" I asked, as she started the broncho with a 
 jerk and walked sullenly along with that ugly expres- 
 sion still on her face. 
 
 " As long as the Beaches have, four weeks. What 
 do you think of him ? " 
 
 " The handsomest man I ever saw," I answered, and 
 he was. A fine physique, a marvelously beautiful face, 
 a winning voice and manner — every gift of nature, but 
 morally depraved. A gambler, drinking hard, but polite 
 even then to those outside of his intimates, unscrupulous, 
 false and wicked, and yet winning the friendship easily 
 of honest men. Fve seen lots like him since, and what 
 mischief such can make in a wicked world! 
 
 " Yes, he is handsome," muttered Babe, after a long 
 pause, "but I hate handsome men. That poor, frozen 
 old fool, he never will see." And after that speech 
 she wouldn't talk, leaving me in sulky silence. For 
 two weeks after that she never came near me, and one 
 Sunday afternoon, though she had forbidden me, with 
 dark insinuations as to what I might see, never to go 
 near her home, I boldly mustered up my courage and 
 went. It was a long, tiresome climb up a narrow trail 
 
36 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 on a mountain, but at last, ahead in a clearing, I saw a 
 log cabin, and near it a heap of that gray ore that marks 
 a mine. A tall, lank greyhound, that I knew to be 
 Doc, rose from the doorstep and came to meet me. 
 He is a dignified animal and never leaps on a person to 
 tear one's clothing or scare those not used to behavior 
 of the sort, so he merely licked my hand in a friendly 
 way as I good doggied him timorously. I knocked 
 and a hard-faced woman with bleached yellow hair 
 opened the door. 
 
 "I was looking for Miss Murphy, " I said, coolly, I'm 
 not afraid of women at all, and her brazen ways did not 
 intimidate me. 
 
 " Oh you're the school marm," she grins, impudent 
 enough, "Babe's been sick, come in. Not there — " as 
 I turned into a handsome room, its oiled floor covered 
 with fine bear and wolf skins set with costly furni- 
 ture, and fine paintings on the walls — "that's Con's 
 room, hers is t'other side. " I opened the other door, 
 and went into such a shabby place, with roughly plas- 
 tered walls, rickety furniture, one broken-down chair 
 and a dingy cot bed. On a nail on the wall hung the 
 faded green habit and some nondescript clothes, on a 
 table were some dusty books and across the window a 
 newspaper was pinned for a curtain. The place was hot, 
 and there were a lot of flies buzzing about, and dear me 
 what misery to be sick in such surroundings. Under 
 the dirty coverlid, tossing about with fevered cheeks 
 and bright, unnatural eyes, was my dear girl. 
 
 "Why did you come, Miss Wilder, to see me like 
 this?" she cried, bitterly. 
 
I'M "A GOOD SAM-SOMETHING." 37 
 
 " I could not live without you, you dear thing," I 
 says, and took her in my arms. How hot her poor head 
 was, and her beautiful hair all in a tangle. "Now let 
 me fix you a bit and beat up your pillow and get you 
 a clean gown and sheets." 
 
 "There ain't any more," she laughs, miserably, 
 "this is all the gown I've got — worn it two weeks. 
 Oh, I'm a savage. Go away, I tell you, or you'll hate 
 me." 
 
 I cast my eye around for cologne or something to 
 bathe her head with, but there was nothing, not even a 
 water-pitcher. 
 
 "I wash in the kitchen," she explained, reading my 
 thoughts. " Oh, I do wash once in a while. There 
 isn't anything here, so go away and leave me alone. 
 I've got mountain fever, and you'll catch it." 
 
 "Well, of all forlorn places and girls," I thought, 
 and went out to the woman who I saw was listening 
 outside. " Marm, could you get me a pitcher of water?" 
 I asked, politely enough. 
 
 "You can find a basin in the kitchen," the person 
 answers, and flounces her stiff petticoats away. 
 
 She did not upset me a mite, for I went to that 
 kitchen, the dirtiest place I ever saw, and found a filthy 
 tin basin that I carefully washed and filled with cool 
 water from a spring near the back door. Not a towel 
 could I find, and Babe only said " Pa kept his for him- 
 self, and must not get one," but I did all the same, 
 invading that fine room and finding plenty of good 
 damask towels, and then I washed her dirty face and 
 hands. 
 
38 BABE MURPIIY. 
 
 " How good the water feels," she said, gratefully, eye- 
 ing me as I pinned my dress skirt up. "Your petti- 
 coat looks like you, so neat and precise; must have 
 more than one, too, because that's tucked — your other 
 had edging on it. I haven't but one. I always think 
 when I do my washing of that Irishman, who had to 
 stay abed and have his one shirt washed, and his won- 
 derfully philosophical reply when his wife told him the 
 goat had eaten that one, 'Them as have must lose/ 
 Condensed sunniness and unthrift of our race! I 
 washed in the spring till I was too sick to crawl out; 
 face hasn't been clean for a week. They'd let me rot 
 for care. Say, for Heaven's sake, don't try to comb 
 out my hair; you never can." 
 
 I did not mind her talk. I said, "I won't hurt 
 you, dear," and discovered a broken-toothed comb 
 and went gently to work smoothing that beautiful, 
 neglected hair, and, when it was all braided nice, 
 she leaned back with a happy sigh and took my hand 
 and kissed it. 
 
 "La, don't do that," I says, "and now can't you eat 
 a bite, dear." 
 
 "How good you are, Miss Wilder. I do believe you 
 like me," she said, looking at me lovingly. "No, no, 
 if you saw Em's cooking you couldn't eat, either. Pa 
 gets his meals at the gambler's club in town, or has 
 them sent up. I live anyhow on what I can get for 
 myself, so as I can't eat now, don't you bother youself, 
 and Em's cooking is rank poison.'" 
 
 "Is Em your hired girl?" I asked, and Babe burst 
 into a fit of wild laughter. 
 
I'M "A GOOD BAM SOMETHING:' 39 
 
 " She's Pa's partner's wife. She is always on the 
 brink of becoming a millionairess, and so she don't 
 work for anyone. She used to be a dance-house girl 
 in Leadville. Her husband is a decent fellow, though 
 how he came to marry her is his own affair, but he 
 treats her well, sticks to his work and expects to win 
 some day. There, don't dig up any more skeletons, 
 for I'll tell you more than I want to. Just go along 
 home, you good, Sam — something — who was that fel- 
 low, anyway?" 
 
 "If you mean Samaritan, my dear," I said, "it 
 wasn't Sam at all, and you clearly never went to Sun- 
 day-school." I fixed her comfortable and went out 
 then, bat not home, at all — only down to Hartman's, a 
 mile away. When I told him about her, he hitched up 
 his team and we went back for her. She tried to object, 
 when I said I had come for her, but she was fairly 
 trembling with delight. I got that green habit on her 
 — all the whole gown she had — and Hartman helped her 
 in the wagon, where she could lie at full length, her 
 head in my lap. Mrs. Finnerty was mightily pleased 
 to have her with us. 
 
 "I'd lay down my life for Babe Murphy," she says to 
 me, when I went out in the kitchen to make a cup of 
 tea, Mrs. Finnerty having some insane idea it must boil 
 half an hour, " didn't she, when my man was killed in 
 the Maid of Erin, go to that shaft right after the blast 
 an' tell them min if they wouldn't go down to see if 
 Mick was alive she would herself ! They wasn't sure 
 the blast was all off or what was wrong, but they wint 
 and brought him out dead, God rist his sowl." 
 
40 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 " Don't you worry about asking Pa/' said Babe, 
 when I brought her the tea, after fixing her in my bed. 
 "He don't care where I am/' 
 
 "Not whether you are home nights or not? " I asked, 
 rather shocked. 
 
 " Never troubles his head about me." 
 
 " The poor, neglected child, with that hariot living 
 there," said Mrs. Finnerty, but Babe silenced her with 
 an angry look. They need not have been so careful; 
 I knew what Mrs. Daggett was at a glance, and I would 
 like, before I took Babe away, to have given that Em my 
 opinion of her and her kind, but she kept out of the way. 
 
 That evening, when Babe was asleep, feeling uneasy 
 for fear Mr. Murphy might be worried — land! wasn't 
 the man her father, and didn't he have any affections at 
 all? — I went out along the road where I often saw him 
 ride since he came back. I didn't see anything of 
 him, and was returning along a shady path in the trees 
 when, just ahead, I saw a tall man walking with a 
 woman. As far as I could make out, he had his arm 
 around her; the stars were all the light there was, but I 
 can see pretty well. Then I heard her laugh, such a 
 low, sweet laugh, full of joy and passion, of clear hap- 
 piness, that made it very pleasant to hearken to. 
 
 " Oh, you wicked Con," she says. "Now, I must go 
 no further. Bid mo good night." Bid or kiss, I could 
 not make out, for belief in the goodness of humankind 
 I will say bid, though I think the other word most 
 likely. 
 
 Good land! they wheeled around suddenly, and there 
 I was, face to face with Con Murphy and Mrs. Beach. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 MR. BEACH AIRS HIS SENTIMENTS FREELY. 
 
 Trust a woman for being cool, and she was. She 
 drew away from him not a mite flustered, and before I 
 could prevent, was actually shaking my hand, and I'd as 
 soon touched a striped adder. I may be over liberal for 
 a New England woman, but a wife who is galivanting 
 with other men and living meantime secure in the trust 
 and affection of her husband and on his money, strikes 
 me as the meanest creature that cumbers the earth. 
 Be done with one man first, I always say. 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Wilder," Mrs. Beach said, as 
 polite and easy; "you startled me some, I admit. Why 
 do you never come up to my house. Mr. Beach speaks 
 of you so often, we have made our plans a number of 
 times to visit that school you manage so well, but some- 
 thing has always prevented our going." 
 
 I could not get my hand away from her cool, soft 
 fingers and I was fairly dazed at the change in her, and 
 how chatty and pleasant she had become, but I will say 
 for Murphy that he did look sheepish. 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," I answered, stiffly, "but I must 
 go home now," and if a person can believe me, I actually 
 felt just because I had seen those two that I was being 
 drawn into their wickedness, and, true enough, after- 
 wards by some trick of fate and my own weak-minded- 
 ness, I did lend them the favor of countenance, me a 
 woman in whose life there had never been a breath of 
 
 41 
 
42 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 scandal. "I came out," I continued, "to find Mr. 
 Murphy and ask him to let that forsaken child of his 
 stop with me till she is well, for she would have died for 
 lack of care at her home." 
 
 "Is Babe sick?" said Mrs. Beach, kindly, "now 
 that's too bad. Of course she will stop with you if you 
 want her, and how sweet and good of you, Miss Wilder." 
 
 "I was asking her Pa," I said, coolly, "not you, 
 ma'am." 
 
 "What I say goes," she laughed in that soft, pleasant 
 way, " don't it^ Con. That pattern father never knows 
 whether she is dead or alive. The result of an early 
 marriage. He was only nineteen when he ran away 
 from college with the pretty daughter of the janitor. 
 Early marriages are deplorable, don't you think so?" 
 She laughed wickedly, " Of course you do. Con, Babe 
 must have some money," with a pretty little air of 
 anxiety, " Mrs. Finnerty must be paid for her board." 
 
 "She is no burden to me, and I never thought of 
 money," I snapped. 
 
 At last Mrs. Beach had let go my hand and taken 
 Murphy's arm. I can't swear it, but I verily believe 
 she gave him the roll of bills he handed me. They were 
 done up neat as a woman carries money, while a man 
 generally rumples it up in a wad like it had been 
 chewed. 
 
 " Take this, Miss Wilder," he said, seriously, " and do 
 the best you can for my poor girl, and I am sure the 
 Lord will bless you." 
 
 "I wouldn't take your money at all," I answered 
 stiffly, " if it were not that that poor child hasn't ;i 
 
AIRS HIS SENTIMENTS FREEL 7. 43 
 
 decent stitch to her back, and as for that blessing it 
 don't hardly sound as if you meant it. Fm not sure 
 I'm right in taking the money, but I do want her to feel 
 easy in her mind, and she won't if she thinks she's cost- 
 ing me anything. I advise you, Mr. Murphy, to ask the 
 Lord to soften your heart to your own flesh and blood, 
 a blessing you need badly." With that parting shot, I 
 departed, clutching the bills for fear some tramp might 
 snatch 'em from me down some side trail. After me, 
 in the starlight, floated the sweet, musical laugh and his 
 deeper tones. 
 
 Babe was feverish and fretful, Mrs. Finnertysaid, sol 
 hurried in, fixed her bed comfortable and beat her 
 pillows up. She raised her long lashes and looked at 
 me gratefully. 
 
 " Now, dear, I know you are fretting about stopping 
 here, so I went out and asked your father — " 
 
 " As if he cared," she interrupted, wearily. 
 
 " And asked him for money, so you could stop a long 
 time and feel independent a-doing it." 
 
 "Which you didn't get," she sneered. 
 
 "Don't jump at conclusions, Miss Impatience," I 
 continued. 1 turned up the lamp, and, sitting on the 
 bed, laid the bills out in my lap, smoothing each one, for 
 I had crumpled them small in my hand. Two twenties 
 and two five-dollar bills. " Fifty dollars, Babe." 
 
 She sat up in bed, looking at the money eagerly, 
 then she gave me a sharp, quick glance. 
 
 " Where did you see Pa ?" 
 
 "Out doors, a quarter of a mile or so away from 
 here." 
 
44 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 < * 
 
 " What was he doing ? " 
 
 "Sorter of meandering along," I answered, evasively. 
 
 "H'm, don't deceive me, you sly old thing. Wasn't 
 Mrs. Beach with him, and didn't she give you the 
 money. If she did, Lydia Ann Wilder, I'll get out of this 
 bed, go straight to her house and throw it in her face." 
 
 "I've got your clothes so you can't, Miss, and she 
 did not give me the money, your father did." That 
 might not have been exactly what I thought, but she 
 should never know otherwise. "But I will admit she 
 was with him, and I should like to know if she thinks 
 it proper a galivating about, she a married woman, 
 with a widower at this time of night." 
 
 "I'm not sure of that money," persisted Babe, "I 
 can't see where Pa got it." 
 
 " Maybe won a jack pot," I suggested. At that Babe 
 screeched with laughter. She had taught me to play 
 poker, we using pebbles for chips, and not betting 
 money, and she used, to tease me about saying I had 
 two pairs, and betting five pebbles one time I had four 
 of those contrary-looking queens. 
 
 " He never wins, but I'll believe you and let it go." 
 
 "You had better," I said, composedly, "for out of 
 that money comes some decent clothes for you, made 
 by me, for I'm a good seamstress, and some under- 
 clothes, for I tell you, my dear, the first attribute of a 
 lady is attention to the niceties of her wardrobe." 
 
 " What can you do if you have neither clothes nor 
 money to buy them ?" 
 
 " That shan't happen again," and then I went on dis- 
 coursing of what I should make. 
 
**** AIRS HIS SENTIMENTS FREELY. 45 
 
 t( Oh, put lace on my petticoats, Miss Wilder," said 
 Babe, with a bright, eager look, sort of catching her 
 breath, a childish way she had when anything pleased 
 her, " if you knew how I have envied Mrs. Beech, for 
 hers are so dainty and fine. I would be so proud. Oh, 
 I just love good clothes." 
 
 "The fault of our sex, Miss Vanity," I laughed, but 
 I own the same weakness, and that poor girl had never 
 anything nice in her life. 
 
 I did not tell her about just how I saw Mrs. Beech 
 and her father walking that night for a long time after- 
 wards, though I won't deny I was dying to, and to say 
 what I thought of them. Babe got well fast, and the 
 poor dear tried to help me sew, very patient and clumsy, 
 and me giving her the overcasting and sewing on but- 
 tons. I can see her yet, working so hard, her pretty 
 face flushed and her eyes bent on the work. But one 
 day Mrs. Beech herself made me a call, and of course I 
 had to talk about it to some one. 
 
 I heard a gentle knock just after reading class on 
 Thursday afternoon, and in came the superintend- 
 ent's wife, in the daintiest of cream-colored muslins 
 trimmed with fine lace and made up in the latest style. 
 Her bonnet was to match, and costly, I warrant, as all 
 those fairy-like things are, and she had a cream lace 
 parasol, and tan gloves, and brought a perfume of vio- 
 lets that lingered long after she was gone. How smil- 
 ing and pleasant she was, so interested, so flattering, 
 that I began to thaw and be polite, and actually prom- 
 ised to go and see her. Think of that, after what I had 
 seen. Is it in the air here, I thought, with a kind of 
 
46 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 inward groan. Does such grandeur of nature, of mount- 
 ain and clouds, make human beings lenient to sin, 
 being as we are such minute objects in the face of such 
 massive and majestic scenery. I heard, as she sat there 
 chatting, my eyes seldom lifted from her dainty French 
 heeled boots, for I felt the guilty one and could not 
 look her in the face — the sound of a horse's hoofs com- 
 ing along the sun-baked road. Past the window trotted 
 that big bay with the white face, and his rider, the 
 handsomest man in the Rockies, lifted his sombrero as 
 he looked in. A slight rose tint crossed the pale face 
 of my visitor, and with a fluttering of skirts she arose, 
 picked up her parasol, pressed my hand in her delicate 
 glove and tripped out right after him. I could only 
 look after her in silent wonder and keep up some con- 
 siderable thinking. When I went home that evening, 
 I was so gloomy and thoughtful that Babe pulled me 
 down on the sofa beside her to pet me. "Now, what 
 troubles you?" she asked. She has a way of taking 
 my face in her two hands, kissing my cheeks till they 
 burn, twisting my curls to suit her fancy, then holding 
 me off to admire her work and calling me an old-fash- 
 ioned darling. Somehow I up and told her about my 
 visit, and Mrs. Beach's behavior that night I met 
 her. 
 
 "She is so dreadful polite I can't say a word," I 
 went on, "and despite myself I feel that I am being 
 dragged into countenancing their wicked, flirtatious 
 ways. Then again, sometimes, I find myself excusing 
 her for being tired of Beach, he is such a frozen, still' 
 creature; but that is downright evil." 
 
AIRS HIS SENTIMENTS FREEL Y. 47 
 
 "You dear sinner. You will get as helpless as I am, 
 but we will do our best though, as they say, they are a 
 hard pair to draw to/' And so indeed I found them. 
 
 Well, Babe improved in health and clothes too, and I 
 did take real comfort in making her pretty things, she 
 was so pleased. I made her two cambric gowns, a pink 
 and a blue one, and in these, with a wide hat lined with 
 black velvet and trimmed with roses, she was a very pic- 
 ture. She stayed with me until she was quite well, and 
 then insisted on going home. I let her go this time, 
 but I planned a day when I would try to get her to live 
 with me, but as her father might be mad with me I could 
 not ask him then. The afternoon she went, up drove 
 Mr. Beach to my door, for me to go to his house to 
 dinner. There was no evading it, so while he waited in 
 solemn state, I hurried on my best black silk and fixed 
 myself in my Sunday style. He was fond of driving if 
 he liked anything, so on this occasion came himself 
 instead of sending the coachman, so he ex]olained as 
 we went along, I lolling in the back seat always think- 
 ing to my inner consciousness that I must look like 
 Mrs. Wilder " as if one's under petticoat was a back- 
 board." He was very kind in his impressive way, ask- 
 ing me if my salary was sufficient, if I was suited, and 
 saying he was really proud to have introduced me to 
 Erin. 
 
 He turned around, as the horses painfully climbed the 
 steep road that led to his home, to say. 
 
 "Mrs. Beach has taken quite a fancy to you, Miss 
 Wilder. She has indeed," he repeated, slowly, as if 
 the condescension might be too much for me to grasp, 
 
48 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "You see she is very undemonstrative, makes no ac- 
 quaintances here at all, nor do I wish her to. The 
 people here are not of her station in life, though we 
 are Americans, I fancy, like the rest of the world, we 
 are obliged to recognize distinctions — castes. She has 
 been highly educated, carefully guarded always. Her 
 father died when she was quite young, but her mother 
 was both parents in one. Truly a most remarkable 
 woman, (and I thought to myself, you are just the 
 man to eulogize your mother-in-law) Clara is young, 
 only twenty when we were married five } T ears ago, but 
 always discreet and decorous. As her mother said, she 
 but changed a mother's care for a husband's protection 
 and affection. She is absolutely ignorant of the world's 
 wickedness. When you see us, our happy home life, 
 her innocent dependence on my judgment, her stately 
 dignity and reserve, the greatest charm a lady can have, 
 her pleasures ordered as I direct, her entire reliance on 
 my wiser and riper opinions, you will admit my choice 
 was a fitting one. And that, though I am nearly twice 
 her age, our union is a very suitable one." 
 
 "It is, I am sure," I had to say, out of politeness, but 
 somehow that sweet, mocking laugh kept ringing in my 
 ears, and that night under the pines. A great pity 
 came into my heart for that blind, trusting man, into 
 whose cold face, as he talked of her, came a sort of 
 light, for he loved her. 
 
 "She did object, I may say, to coming here," he 
 explained, though goodness knows why he took me into 
 his confidence. "You see, her mother and I thought it 
 wiser not to tell her her home would be in the mount- 
 
AIRS HIS SENTIMKX TS FREEL 7. 49 
 
 ains; we let her surmise she would live in New York 
 City. She was disappointed at first, and unhappy here, 
 but after a few months grew more contented, and now 
 hardly wishes to go away, even to visit her mother." (I 
 wondered, in my wicked way, if Con made the differ- 
 ence, if she grew more contented after she knew him. 
 I'll ask Babe how long that flirtation has been going on, 
 I mentally resolved.) 
 
 He turned the horses into a pleasant avenue under the 
 mountain pines, up to a clearing where a picturesque 
 cottage, gay with bright paint and vines, stood. 
 Around it were flower beds and a neat lawn, and a rust- 
 ling, noisy brook had been trained from its course to 
 run through the grounds. It always seemed to me if I 
 built a home it should be near a stream of running 
 water, the most peaceful and content-giving sound on 
 earth. The house had two stories, a wide verandah all 
 around it, and its handsome, plate-glass windows were 
 hung with costly lace, and though it was hidden away 
 up in the Rockies, the furnishing was the finest I ever 
 saw. 
 
 Mrs. Beach was sitting on the porch, some scarlet 
 wool in her lap, her ivory needles moving languidly in 
 her white hands. She rose to meet me with polite but 
 distant welcome, made me remove my bonnet, while 
 Beach brought me a chair. I noticed her rich gown, of 
 some soft, silky material, a pale rose tint, trimmed with 
 the rich lace she seemed to care most about, using it 
 with almost prodigality, when it comes so high by the 
 yard. She sparkled with diamonds, as usual, and they 
 seemed, somehow, to suit her bright, flashing glances, 
 
BABE yrCEPIlY. 
 
 :old and brilliant as herself. Dear me. I thonght, 
 looking about, why on earth can't you be contented and 
 behave? Hare you not all heart could wish for? 
 
 " That is 1 Beach, sitting stiffly down in a 
 
 porch chair, and regarding his wife with that sort of 
 light in his cold face, "the most exquisite feminin 
 marks her a. A bit of woman's pretty work 
 
 dainty presence, the most delightful part of a m. 
 home life, a perfect wife. 
 
 She kx::: r lowly, her eyes on her work, her long 
 lashes on her pale cheeks. 
 
 •There are literary women," continued Mr. Beach, 
 pompously leaning back in hi3 chair and putting his 
 thin forefinge: . :her, " dear me, am I treading on 
 r: : •.::: Miss Wildea 
 
 ill, unless supervising very doubtful school 
 compos ::iay be literary, sir." 
 
 - portion of your duties, eh? Well, literary women, 
 I .we been led to believe, have not that regard for per- 
 sonal : :hat marks a true woman — th 
 
 e vanities of dress and jewelry that we may smile 
 about, as men do, but, nevertheless, admire and like to 
 see: At least, barring this, women who presume on 
 intellect are apt to be argumentative. Xow I hold, for 
 material happiness, a wife should have no opinion but 
 her husband's 
 
 • • For peace in the hous^ . */* I a ys. 
 
 •I beg jour pardon; oh, I understand, you mean 
 for amicable understanding; cer: riainly. 
 
 man" sort of pause, as if he were condemn- 
 
 ing our race forever and ever, amen, u iildren 
 
AIBS 1TI3 SENTIMEJS TS FEEEL 7 51 
 
 used to say, "can not reason. That is a very trite argu- 
 ment, I know, but her affections, her little loves and 
 hates, dislikes, I mean, are sure to control her. She is 
 a creature of emotion, of dependence, to be guarded and 
 cared for always." 
 
 "Yet," I snapped, "widows and orphans only dread 
 men — lawyers, I mean, for they are always worsted 
 by men who take advantage of women's ignorance of 
 life and rights. As for me, the world would be a para- 
 dise if it were not for men. You say they are to guard 
 and protect us women, but what am I scared of, what 
 keeps me indoors, in beaten paths, from seeing the 
 world as men see it, without dread or fear? Why, just 
 men, tramps and others like them! But," I went on, 
 wickedly, seeing how terrible shocked he looked, ' ' Wo- 
 men's voting may change things, perhaps make discord 
 if a wife is a Democrat and her husband on the other 
 side." 
 
 "Do not, I implore you, refer to woman suffrage 
 before Clara," said Beach, earnestly, "not that the 
 persons advocating it are not — he hesitated for a word 
 not to offend her delicate sensibilities — not worthy and 
 respectable, but they are persons one would not wish 
 his wife to know." 
 
 "They are very tiresome," said Mrs. Beach, still 
 downcast, and dear me, what an awful botch she 
 made of this knitting; a child ten years old could have 
 done better. 
 
 " As a study in humanity, they interest a man," he 
 explained, "but a woman should not vex her pretty 
 head with ideas outside her station. No man wishes to 
 
52 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 be bothered at home with business cares, nor to talk 
 over the affairs of the nation (pompously, as if it was a 
 property of his own), along with domestic happenings 
 and the fashions. (I kept feeling as if some one was 
 sticking pins in me, and said, then and there, I believe 
 Fd go galivanting, too, just to feel like a live woman 
 once in a while.) It interests and pleases a man to 
 find a new and serene life at home, to chat with his 
 wife on the little happenings in her day, the calls, the 
 troubles in domestic affairs, the last book she has read, 
 her pretty ideas about it. The atmosphere of purity 
 and unworldliness is a rest to him, and he smokes his 
 after-dinner cigar in perfect freedom from thought and 
 anxiety, listening to her cheerful conversation. I never 
 see a lady with her dainty work, her gentle ways, her 
 delicate hands, but I think how much devolves upon 
 men to guard and protect her. Really, Miss Wilder, so 
 thoroughly a womanly person as yourself is greatly to 
 be praised for taking an interest in so singular a young 
 girl as Miss Murphy. She is totally unrestrained and 
 untaught." 
 
 "She has the making of a noble woman in her," I 
 said, "and your idea of bringing a woman up to be a 
 helpless doll is a bad one for her future, if she must 
 ever battle with the world It ends in the lunatic 
 asylum or poorhouse." 
 
 "I differ with you in regard to Miss Murphy," he 
 said, with that aggravating arrogance there was no 
 gainsaying, and entirely ignoring my last remark, "but 
 I honor your charity. Permit me to make myself pre- 
 sentable for dinner." 
 
AIRS HIS SENTIMENTS FllEEI Y. 53 
 
 Though there was not a speck of dust on him, he 
 creaked stiffly into the house. When he was gone, 
 Mrs. Beach, with a sigh of impatience, dropped her 
 needles, and, by a series of quick jerks, unraveled all 
 she had knitted. She gathered up the crumpled worst- 
 ed and flung it into the brook below the porch, where 
 it sailed merrily away on the swift current. 
 
 "You were mentally making fun of it," she said, 
 with that mocking look. " I hate fancy work, but it 
 serves to pull wool over a fool's eyes. He will never 
 know whether I finish anything or not, as long as I am 
 feminine." 
 
 When he returned she laid her work down, and with 
 her chilly smile invited me into a daintily served din- 
 ner, where I ate off the most elegant china and silver I 
 ever saw. They had champagne, and Mr. Beach had 
 his wife and me served with the tinniest glasses of it. 
 
 "A woman's eating is almost a poem," he smiled, 
 blandly. "They never have gross appetites like men. 
 (Dear me, I was hungry, but I dare not eat after that, 
 but remembered Mrs. Finnerty had some cold beans in 
 the pantry, and made my plans accordingly for a raid 
 when I got home.) Merely a sup of wine satisfies 
 Clara, and I have to insist on her taking that." 
 
 Later, he assured me that Clara and he had had an 
 argument over riding, but he had been compelled to 
 refuse her wish for a saddle horse. Ladies did ride with 
 perfect propriety, it was quite a fashion in England, but 
 Clara was too timid and delicate, and he could not spare 
 the time to be her cavalier. All through his talk she 
 sat in her quiet, downcast way, never opposing him by 
 
54 BABM MURPHY. 
 
 look or word. When he discoursed on the porch, smok- 
 ing his cigar, she listened attentively, her ringed hands 
 in her lap, her long lashes veiling those brilliant eyes. 
 But he tired me to death, froze every healthy idea I 
 had, and seemed, in his placid way, to grind down every 
 hope I ever had, to condense into a conversation my 
 lifelong bitterness, beginning when my mother told me 
 a hot July day, it wasn't proper for little girls to go in 
 swimming, and the boys went and gloated over it to 
 me. But that is very long ago, and now little girls can 
 go on the beach, in the waves, and big girls, too, in 
 shocking costumes, and that dreary "not ladylike" 
 does not come ivp like Banquo's ghost to spoil every 
 pleasure in a female's life. 
 
 I did pity that husband though, for his face changed 
 when he looked at his wife, he loved her, if he did stifle 
 her, and I kept wondering if a tragedy would ever hap- 
 pen in the purple shadows of those towering, gloomy 
 mountains, and if, under that icy exterior that Mrs. 
 Beach had assumed, there were not hidden fires that 
 some day would burst forth with terrible force. 
 
 She made some request to be allowed to drive down 
 with me. "You were speaking of a headache, Clara/' 
 he said, solemnly, "when I asked you to drive this after- 
 noon/' and she replied, " Yes, Henry," and said no 
 more. 
 
 The coachman, Lewis Jones, a good-looking mulatto, 
 drove me home, and when we turned down a quiet, shady 
 lane, I saw, waiting for us at a side trail, that white- 
 faced horse. I saw his rider. Con Murphy, take a letter 
 from the coachman, and give one in return that the 
 
AIRS BIS SENTIMENTS FEE EL Y. 55 
 
 negro buttoned carefully in his inside pocket. I 
 thought as we drove on, Murphy not appearing to see 
 me, of the dangerous path those two were treading, and 
 the constant menace that servant's knowledge was, the 
 cost and insecurity of it. I began to feel a curious pre- 
 sentiment that never left me until the end. Supersti- 
 tion is heightened by a weird, mountain-walled country 
 with all its strange stories of the past, and its terrible 
 convulsions of nature, and I dreaded more and more 
 the time to come. 
 
 I saw her standing with her self-repressed look by 
 the side of that unconscious, absorbed and arrogant 
 man, in the blare of light streaming from the open 
 door of their pretty home. It seemed so fair and serene 
 a picture, but in contrast I remembered a shady path 
 under the stars, a woman's sweet, mocking laughter, a 
 voice that said, " Oh, you wicked Con/' and I groaned 
 as I watched the carriage go away from my door, "Ver- 
 ily, I have fallen into strange places." Then I went in, 
 and satisfied my material appetite, their troubles were 
 none of my making or helping, and despite Mr. Beach's 
 remark, my eating was not a poem. 
 
CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 BABE MURPHY HOLDS HER OWN. 
 
 After that, circumstances forced me to go to the 
 Beaches often. It was sort of pathetic how Beach 
 wanted me to come because I was quiet and ladylike and 
 he hoped Clara would be amused by my visit. 
 
 ' ' But she is satisfied with so little and we are so con- 
 tented/' he would add, with that brighter gleam in his 
 cold eyes. 
 
 One day she asked me to post a letter to Murphy who 
 had gone to Denver, when I refused with the scorn of 
 an honest woman, she only laughed. 
 
 "You would find me a good friend if you helped me, 
 Miss Wilder, if you did not need favors I could aid that 
 wild protege of yours. Don't make me an enemy/' 
 
 " She wouldn't take your help." 
 
 " But all the same you know those new gowns of hers 
 were paid for with my money. Con never has a cent. 
 Don't look so outraged, you knew it that night, but I'll try 
 to believe she does not. She is a good, consistent hater." 
 
 " So am I," I said, " and I am not a mite afraid of 
 you. Nor do I respect your opinion, you deceiving a 
 good husband, and though I don't know whether you 
 are indulging in a silly school-girl flirtation or some- 
 thing worse, I have my thoughts of your conduct, not 
 flattering at all to you ma'am." 
 
 "It's the school-girl kind yet," she said slowly, not a 
 bit mad with me, "you strait-laced old Puritan are 
 
 56 
 
HOLDS HER OWN. 57 
 
 all the time wondering how I endure Beach, you are 
 chilled and I, seeing him every day, have frozen to death 
 long ago. You have a sneaking desire to excuse me a 
 little when you wrestle with that elastic conscience of 
 yours." 
 
 " You may be a smart woman, with impish ways of 
 knowing thoughts," I said, " but sometimes after these 
 long cold winters, where freezing to death is common, 
 there comes a moving mountain, an avalanche that 
 carries all away with it." 
 
 " Sinners like me ? " 
 
 " You are like to be," I answered, thinking of my 
 presentiment, "and you had better look to your ways." 
 
 " You are a good soul, Wilder," she laughed, "keep 
 to your narrow little path, but don't get mad and not 
 come here, you are the only chance of salvation I have." 
 
 " But I feel like an accessory to your wickedness," J 
 says. 
 
 " What are you going to do about it ? " she mocked 
 at me, laughing merrily for her, and then Beach came 
 out, we were sitting on the porch, and she froze up 
 again. 
 
 " I like to see you smiling and happy, dear," he 
 beamed on her, "our little friend must come often, she 
 cheers you so." 
 
 When the carriage whirled me home that evening, 
 Jones carrying a letter to post to Murphy, I clenched 
 my small fist in silent despair. "Oh, you fool man," 
 I said, "Why don't you see? Is it the way you are to 
 be punished for self righteousness and conceit ? Just 
 because she is your wife she can't be a mortal woman. 
 
58 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 Drat you there, I groaned, just go your senseless way, I 
 won't bother my head any more." 
 
 Con Murphy got back a week later and brought four 
 Englishmen with him, who were going to put some 
 money in that hole in the ground he called his mine, 
 the Englishman being a natural prey, for his thick- 
 headedness, for any miner that has the chance to work 
 him. Mrs. Beach after my talk, and I don't say it 
 with self conceit, had what she called a conscience 
 spell and was huffy with Murphy, acting like a respecta- 
 ble married woman. 
 
 " You had better keep mad all the time/' I said to 
 her one evening when she drove down to see me, " It 
 will save your soul.''' 
 
 "Don't flatter yourself it is your talk," she says; " I 
 am angry that he has got that crowd of men up there 
 and he is drinking all the time. He don't need their 
 money, he knows he can get plenty for all he needs 
 from me." 
 
 " He may dislike being fed by Beach," I said, as ugly 
 as I could. 
 
 "Not he, and I charge it to housekeeping ex- 
 penses," she laughed. "It costs us so much to live. 
 Con hasn't a scruple, I would not care about him if he 
 had. Say (hesitating) would you mind asking Babe, 
 for yourself you know, and you really ought for her 
 comfort, if there are any women up there — Mrs. Dag- 
 gett's friends you know?" 
 
 It was jealousy, now I saw plain enough. I heard in 
 the village Con was on a big spree, and he and his 
 friends rode so recklessly it wasn't safe to be out on the 
 
HOLDS II ER OWN. 59 
 
 roads at night, for one would be run down. Most men 
 when they drink must abuse some animal, if they ain't 
 married to a broken-spirited creature to aggravate 
 instead. 
 
 ie Do your own spying, ma'am," I snapped, "but the 
 Lord pity that poor child up there." 
 
 As usual, she made me go home to dinner with her, 
 and I will say right here I did like Clara Beach. I can't 
 explain it and never shall, but I did. That night 
 when the carriage came to take me home, she left her 
 husband and went down the steps with me. 
 
 "You said c the Lord pity Babe/ this afternoon, 
 Wilder, you may well say it, fair and square that is a 
 dreadful place for her, but (maliciously), she is used to 
 it. I was asking Miss Wilder for a pattern, Henry, a 
 table scarf," she said, coolly, " she has so much taste." 
 He smiled very condescendingly on us both, as if, in our 
 feeble feminine way, we amused him. 
 
 On the road I had a mean kind of a thought that it 
 was really fair sport to hoodwink that aggravating man, 
 but I was worried about my dear girl, and when we 
 reached the trail that led to her home, 1 told Jones to 
 let me out. He kind of grinned, as I saw plain in the 
 moonlight, when he stopped his horses, and I drew my- 
 self up and looked at him. 
 
 "Jones, none of that suspicioning," I said, sternly, 
 "I'm a decent woman, as decent as Beach. I can't be 
 bought to no messaging ways. If you sell your chances 
 of salvation, I don't need to, and I am going to look 
 after Murphy's daughter, that I have not seen for three 
 days, I ain't right in my mind about her." 
 
60 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 " Deed, Miss, I'se sorry I grinned, guess I was tinkin' 
 of su nith in' pleasant, thought you was gittin' terrible 
 mysterious all of a sudden. Babe's a good girl, and 
 Hart man will tell yon there's lots of times when she's 
 run down to his house in her nightgown when there 
 was a row up there, don't take but a bottle to make a 
 fool of Con Murphy, and about three to make him fight- 
 ing ugly." 
 
 I picked up a stout club and went along the trail, I 
 was afraid, of mountain lions and. all sorts of creatures. 
 It was very dark and. still under the trees, and Hart- 
 man's house, when I passed, was shut up and everybody 
 gone to bed. So T gave up the idea of asking him to 
 go along. At the cabin Babe's room was dark, but her 
 father's brilliantly lighted and the door stood open. I 
 did not see the dog anywhere, as I crept nearer the house, 
 and surmised she was out on one of those daring gal- 
 lops of hers. At a card table in Con's 100m was Dick 
 Daggett, a heavy-set, sullen-looking man, playing cards 
 with two of the Englishmen. The side- board was 
 covered with bottles, lots of empty ones on the floor, 
 and by the stacks of chips on the tables, were glasses 
 of whisky, I surmised. -The guests at the game were sort 
 of red-faced and heavy-eyed, but Daggett was cool and 
 alert, and I saw his wife making signs to him, about the 
 hands held I suppose, as she fixed a lunch on a side 
 table. In a big chair that was covered by a grizzly 
 bear skin lay Con Murphy, asleep. "What a handsome 
 man he was, even when he wasn't sober, as graceful as 
 could be in position, his long lashes on his pale cheeks, 
 for liquor never made him red, only ghastly, and one 
 
HOLDS HER OWN. 61 
 
 slender hand lying careless on the arm of \\\q chair. 
 Hard work did not hurt those hands much, nor dim the 
 diamond on his little finger, that brazen Clara Beach 
 told me she gave him, and that he flaunted it in Beach's 
 face, and that poor soul never knew he had given it to 
 his wife. 
 
 "1 tell you, Marsh," said a voice, so close to the 
 bushes where I was that I was sure I would be seen, "she 
 was the finest looking specimen of womankind I have 
 seen in the West. About eight I noticed the door across 
 the hall open and a woman in a riding habit come out. 
 She went along in the shadow, a fine greyhound follow- 
 ing her, and a moment after I heard her ride away. I 
 quit the game a half hour ago, been waiting for her to 
 come back. I asked Murphy if he had any lodgers 
 here and he only glared at me, and Daggett said — a cur, 
 that fellow — none that you'll know — so I mean to solve 
 the mystery myself." 
 
 I was glad for once that I was small, and crouched 
 lower in the bushes, the smoke of their cigars floated 
 right in my face, they were so near. A moment later I 
 heard a rustling beside me, and the greyhound put his 
 cold nose against my cheek. I was glad he was not the 
 barking kind, I tell you. I patted him softly, and above 
 the beating of my heart I heard the sound of a horse's 
 hoofs. They stopped in the woods, and there was the 
 clink of straps being unbuckled, something, a saddle, 
 flung in the bushes, and then, looking unreally tall and 
 strange in the moonlight, my dear girl passed close be- 
 side me. Don't misjudge me that I did not warn her. 
 I was in a strange country among people who had queer 
 
62 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 ideas of morals, a good many of them, and I wanted to 
 see what maimer of a girl Babe was. I loved her dearly, 
 but her life had not been the kind to make a woman 
 true and good, and I did want the last lingering doubt 
 I had of her, not her present, but her past, to be dis- 
 pelled. I would not raise my hand to save her from 
 herself, but I knew from Daggett's honest, ugly face he 
 would protect her, if she needed it. 
 
 "I have been waiting for you," said the man, his 
 friend called Preston, stepping up beside her; "I saw 
 you go out." She did not speak to him, but stood up 
 very straight and proud, looking at him with her bright, 
 fearless eyes. He had been drinking some, for his 
 speech was thick, and I lay his rudeness to the liquor. 
 "I asked Murphy who you were," he went on, famil- 
 iarly, "but he wasn't inclined to answer. A pretty girl 
 like you ought to have a cavalier. Are you not afraid 
 to ride alone so late ?" 
 
 "Our miners are gentlemen," she said, scornfully, 
 "only from men of your stamp do I fear insult." In 
 the quiet hand that held the folds of her skirt, she held 
 that ugly whip, and I watched it with a strange fasci- 
 nation. Her dog sprang up and stood beside her, and 
 if those two men had been sober, they must have seen, 
 that in all England, there was not a truer, sweeter 
 woman than that poor girl, brought up, or not brought 
 up but growing wild, in a lawless mining camp. 
 
 "That is idle talk from a woman living here," said 
 Preston, " can't one see what Daggett's wife is. Pshaw, 
 we know the world, and, my dear girl, I am ever so 
 much richer than that fool with his mine that never 
 will pay a dollar." 
 
EOJ.BS ITER OWN. 63 
 
 "Kindly allow me to pass/" she said, coolly, not a 
 tremor in her voice, her very courage a challenge. 
 
 "After that speech, indeed not. Oh, come now, what 
 do you gain with that drunken fool? You are too 
 handsome a girl to be shut up in this mining camp. 
 Don't fancy we are so green, as you Americans say, 
 that we don't know what kind of a place this is, and 
 the sort of people that are trying to rob us. Only 
 where have you been all the time, why were you not 
 in the other night ?" 
 
 "It was jolly fun, don't you know," said the other 
 man. 
 
 She was too proud to say Con Murphy was her father, 
 the man so lost to all honor that he could not protect 
 her. " Please let me pass ? " she said, quietly. 
 
 "By — no," said Preston, "your talk don't deceive 
 me at all, you might as well listen to reason." He put 
 out his arm to bar her way. I saw her hand tremble a 
 moment in the folds of her skirt, she stepped back, and 
 then I heard something swish in the air, followed by an 
 ugly thud, and she had struck him fair in the face with 
 that whip handle. Then, womanlike, she caught up 
 her skirts and ran to the house. Both the men followed, 
 and the language of one of them was not pleasaut 
 to hear. 
 
 "What kind of a she-devil have you got here?" said 
 Preston, bursting into the room, that livid mark across 
 his face. "By — Murphy, you'll answer to me for this." 
 
 Con opened his handsome eyes. "Some of Babe's 
 work, "he muttered, "why can't she keep out of the 
 way. I say it's too bad and she'll apologize." He 
 staggered to his feet and crossed the hall. 
 
64 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "Con, let her alone," called Dick, anxiously. He had 
 a good hand in the game and did not want to lose a 
 bet. 
 
 "I say she'll apologize to my fren'," persisted Con, 
 shaking her door, and she suddenly flung it open and 
 passed him. 
 
 "Dick, I appeal to your protection," she said, piteous- 
 ly; and how white she was now, her pretty eyes so 
 frightened and bright, her hair, loosened by her ride, 
 falling about her shoulders, "when my father is so 
 lost to decency he forces me into the presence of his 
 friends. " The strangers looked at her in a sort of con- 
 fused surprise, the two players with a quiet amusement. 
 "Don't make a scene, Babe?" pleaded Dick, intent on 
 the game. 
 
 "Why don't you stay in your room?" growled Con. 
 "There is no safety there now," she cried, miserably, 
 "nor anywhere with you, father, when your compan- 
 ions are men like these." 
 
 "Well, go somewhere else/' he muttered. 
 "That she will," said I, for I was waiting by the front 
 door for her, "after this her father has no claim upon 
 her. Come my dear," I went on, taking her hand, "I 
 can offer you protection and a safe refuge, and I would 
 like these strangers to know that you are a true, good 
 girl, which they must have seen if they were not bliuded 
 by liquor, and if they are not sorry, the two that 
 insulted you, men must have deteriorated sadly, and 
 the English gentleman must exist only in novels." 
 
 "Why don't you go, Babe?" said Dick, quickly, for 
 Murphy had taken a glass of brandy and was turning 
 
HOLDS HER OWN. 65 
 
 with blazing eyes and angry lips to say something to her. 
 
 "I will, Dick," she said, firmly, "and so help me 
 Heaven, I will never set foot in my father's house 
 again." 
 
 "Your daughter, Murphy?" said Marsh, as we went 
 away, "why in — did you not tell us?" 
 
 "Let the subject drop," put in Dick, hastily, eager 
 for his game, "Let Con alone when he's drunk if you 
 don't want a fight. She's a good girl, I'll stake my life 
 on it, and this ain't no place for her, I'm glad she's out 
 of it." 
 
 "I say, Miss Murphy," called Preston, hurrying after 
 her, "I'm sorry — I didn't know, 'pon honor." 
 
 "Have you got any honor? "she said, quietly. "Miss 
 Wilder asked me once why I carried a whip like that; 
 she has had an illustration. This is not the first time 
 I have had to resent the cowardice of men. I hope it 
 will be a lesson to you." 
 
 She hurried me off before he could reply, and we 
 three, she, the dog and I, went down the mountain 
 path together, and from that time till a husband 
 claimed her, and took her to his home and love, my 
 dear girl found shelter, and I may say happiness, under 
 my poor roof. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WE MAKE A DISCOVERY IN THE WOOD. 
 
 I soon made Babe think that it cost less to keep two 
 than one, and after a few days I found a neat cottage 
 on the Silver City load, that I hired, all furnished, from 
 a man and his wife, who were going East for a year. 
 With much regret I left Mrs. Finnerty, w r ho, if she did 
 boil the tea and talk of " him, " was a worthy woman. 
 The school was not too far away for a pleasant walk, 
 and we were nicely situated. Babe tried hard to learn 
 to cook, and kept the house neat, and we were thorough- 
 ly happy. Not for a fortnight did I see Mr. Murphy, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Beach had gone to Silver City, so we 
 had no troubles at all. Some time during the first of 
 September an event happened that had a curious effect 
 on our lives' story. One Saturday morning we started 
 to have a real long, pleasant day in the woods. We 
 packed a big basket of good things, tying it on the 
 broncho's back, for Hartman had brought him to Babe, 
 expressing much joy that she was living with me and 
 was out of the " godless place." 
 
 We went on the road towards Silver City for some 
 miles, and then turned to the left, up a trail that led 
 to an abandoned mine. All the way Babe told me his- 
 tories of the place — of that spot where a snowslide had 
 carried away a cabin; of a horse that fell over that prec- 
 ipice, and was not killed, or a mule, I believe, and she 
 
 GO 
 
DISCOVERY IN THE WOOD. 67 
 
 asked me that question, did I ever see a dead one, and 
 I had not, and none alive till I came out West and 
 passed through Missouri; of a heap of gray ore that 
 meant a mine that failed, or one too high up to work at 
 a profit. Finally we reached a grove of aspens by a 
 brook, that cascaded over rocks foaming and frothing, 
 and here we sat down and tied the animal so he could 
 eat while we did, and laid out our lunch. From 
 our place we could look down on the road and see 
 the passers and the trains of pack-laden mules and 
 burros or heavy freight wagons from the city. With 
 a guilty look, Babe produced a bottle of beer out of 
 the basket and set it to cool in the stream. It was 
 mighty refreshing, and I took my share if I did come 
 from Maine. Then lying at my feet, the dog on her 
 gown, that green habit, she told me stories of the 
 mountains, that gave them new and awful meaning in 
 my eyes; of lost men and lost mines; of a cannibal 
 who wandered in hidden paths with five companions, 
 and hungry and feeble they laid helpless, and he mur- 
 dered them and ate of their flesh, and robbed the dead 
 and made his way to a town at last, where he spent 
 their money, but like all murderers he was caught by 
 some silly device of his own, that marks most crimi- 
 nals, exhibiting a watch that was identified, and all the 
 horrible story and horrible dead were brought to light; 
 of the story of an abused child in a sequestered town, 
 and how the populace rose and lynched the man and 
 woman brutally and without mercy; of old time wars 
 with Indians; of miners' quarrels, and mines bought 
 with blood; of great snow slides moving softly from the 
 
68 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 mountain tops, unheralded by sound, and carrying 
 death and destruction in their awful swath. 
 
 "Is it a wonder we who are brought up in the 
 shadow of the mountains hold human life so idle and 
 worthless a thing?" said Babe. " Their histories are 
 written in blood, and the steps to our wealth and com- 
 fort are along the brink of terrible peril. Every 
 golden secret guarded by those mighty walls must be 
 wrested with our best years, and guarded then with 
 tireless patience, defended with our lives. Murder and 
 greed and oppression are the stories of our mines." 
 
 She laid back against my knee, loosening her heavy 
 hair that won't stay done up, and I smoothed it softly 
 till she fell asleep. I waved a pine branch to and fro to 
 keep the flies away, and looking down on her fair, sweet 
 face, I realized how dear she was to me, and that had 
 she been my own child I could not have loved her more. 
 I had a book in my lap, but did not read much, 
 glancing often at the road or far across the canon below 
 that, or the afternoon shadows on the mountains. I 
 saw the stage whirl along, some wagons, a horseman 
 now and then. After awhile, I noted the cream-col- 
 ored bronchos, and saw Beach driving, and his wife in 
 her costly gown, shading her impassive face with her 
 sunshade, and I fell to thinking of them, and what love 
 was and meant. I know full well there is such a 
 thing, but oh, how it dies as time goes on in married 
 life, and troubles come. Those two had none of it to 
 begin with, I will not say he had natural love. Love 
 must lie in equality, belief in one another. It is the 
 one bit of heaven, on earth, and so rare and priceless I 
 
DISCOVERY IN TIIE WOOD. 69 
 
 wonder wives and husbands do not strive to keep it in 
 their homes, and whose fault is it, when domestic bick- 
 ering drives it away never to return until a death-bed 
 calls, and it appears for a brief glimpse beside the pale 
 spectre that must come for us all. 
 
 When Babe awoke, the sun was setting, and soon the 
 purple curtain of night would fall, after the glory and 
 light. We started homewards, but as the air was so 
 beautiful, Babe insisted on going a little further along 
 the road. What a tireless creature she was, and as I 
 was riding the broncho, I had to submit. She leads 
 him, for I am timid, and strangely enough, she led me 
 along to her fate. 
 
 The first thing that attracted our attention, as we 
 went on turning a corner in the road, was the dog 
 snuffing at something in the dust. Babe let go the 
 bridle, and stooped down where the dog was. She 
 looked white and scared when she came back to me. 
 
 "There's a dark spot in the dust that looks like 
 blood," she said, and I felt a chill creep over me — that 
 speech right in the shadow of those grim, dark mount- 
 ains. 
 
 "Lawful sakes, let's get back," I cried, "not a step 
 further will I go." 
 
 "Some one may need our help," she said, solemnly. 
 "Come." Of course I followed, like a scared hen 
 squawking at every sound. 
 
 " Here is a broken whip," she called, picking up 
 something at her feet. It looked sort of pathetic, that 
 broken whalebone with the gold handle, it was a costly 
 thing, too, not like our mountain folks use. "Faugh, 
 
70 TIABE MURPIir. 
 
 it's wet/' I said, and what a sick feeling I had, for my 
 hand was all blood. I nearly fainted. 
 
 "Some one has been dragged along the dust," said 
 Babe, stooping down. "My God, can it be murder! 
 There is blood all the way. Follow me." She caught 
 up her habit and ran like a deer, the dog galloping 
 after her. 
 
 " Don't leave me," I screeched, and followed, scold- 
 ing all the way, terrified at the horse, and not daring 
 to get him out of a walk. When I caught up with her, 
 she w r as standing looking into the bushes at the side of 
 the road, where, a long ways below, the river roared, 
 and below the trees was a straight rocky wall, a hun- 
 dred feet high. 
 
 "The marks end here," she said, "but the horse 
 went back toward the city, see the hoof tracks, unshod 
 too. Go find him, Doc," she went on, pushing the dog 
 into the brush. I got off the horse, trembling in every 
 limb, and peered cautiously into the trees. Suddenly 
 the gruesome quiet was broken by a howl from the dog. 
 Oh, what a sound it was, echoing up the canon and 
 along the towering mountain heights. No other sound 
 so weird to me, for I hold a dog can see spirits, and I 
 never hear them howl that long, mournful way, but I 
 think of the night my father died, when the old hound 
 he loved gave, at midnight, a bitter, wailing cry, and 
 then we, who thought the sick man sleeping peacefully, 
 found him with meaningless wide eyes — dead. That 
 fearless girl plunged into the bushes following the cry, 
 and I hitched the animal and waited at (he brink of the 
 precipice. "Come," she called, and I went to her. 
 
DISCO VER Y IN THE WOOD. 71 
 
 There, in a clump of firs, along a heap of drift scattered 
 from a snow slide years before, lay a man, face down- 
 ward, as if flung in headlong flight, over the rocks. 
 Under the hidden face oozed a dark sluggish stream 
 that filled me with sickening horror. 
 
 " Don't faint," said Babe's voice, quick and stern, 
 " Ann, do you hear, we need our senses. See how he 
 lies, head down and bleeding so." She went on her 
 knees and lifted the big fellow into her lap, holding his 
 head on her arm. "He would have bled to death soon 
 that way, oh it is terrible." When I looked at him, 
 helping her to get him easier fixed, I saw his clothing, 
 corduroy, was rich and fine, but he'd long boots, and a 
 wide sombrero hat, stained with blood, lay beside him. 
 
 " A cowboy, " I says. 
 
 ' ' No, no, see how fine his clothing is, the gold whip 
 belonged to him and his flannel shirt is city made, he is 
 probably an amateur one and can't ride, for his horse 
 must have thrown and dragged him." 
 
 She wassoppingthe blood in that great, gaping wound 
 on his forehead. What a sight his head was, all grimed 
 with blood and dirt. " Give me your handkerchief, 
 Ann, mine is all wet already, and run, get some water 
 from the spring along the road. Bring it in the pickle 
 bottle and our cups full and your bay rum, he can smell 
 of that, he isn't dead, for his heart beats." 
 
 I felt the faint flickering of the heart, and, close as I 
 was, I could not make out whether he was old or young, 
 hardly whether black or white. I hurried back with 
 the water, and we tore our table cloth up and washed his 
 poor face and matted hair. He was bronzed, almost as 
 
72 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 dark as an Indian, had a large nose and a sort of square 
 chin, a sickly-looking mustache, lighter than his skin, 
 and fair, curly hair. His eyelashes were long and curly 
 too, and lay on his cheek that took on a queer putty color 
 under the brown from loss of blood. A fine, gold 
 watch, sadly broken, hung from his belt, and I put it 
 carefully back in his pocket. 
 
 "How that wound bleeds," she says; "what can we 
 do ?" 
 
 Now I own I know very little of surgery but remem- 
 bered in some blind way that my mother put salt on a 
 wound of hers made with broken glass once and that 
 stopped the flow of blood. 
 
 "Cobwebs are good," I hesitated, "but no sensible 
 spider would build here, I wonder if salt would do any 
 harm?" I had the basket with me and I took a pinch 
 out in my hand laying it lightly on the edge of the 
 wound. 
 
 "What in h — 1 are you doing to me ?" calls our dead 
 man, opening a pair of bright, brown eyes and making 
 me jump more than a foot clear off the ground. Then 
 he falls back in a dead faint. 
 
 "Oh, you hurt him!" cried Babe. 
 
 "You are dreadful fearful about a strange cowboy," 
 I said, scornfully, scared, I'll own, of my doing, "it was 
 the smart brought him to life." 
 
 If he had been old and ugly Babe would have taken 
 just as good care of him, but would she have held him as 
 gently on her young arm and looked at him with such 
 tender pity? Il'm, I do not know, ami after events 
 proved she was rather pleased ho was not old and ugly. 
 
DISCOVERY IN TUE WOOD. 73 
 
 She kept wetting his face, and the blood stopped flow- 
 ing so fast, and then I held bay rum to his nose (I always 
 carry it on our picnics for headache, for I am subject to 
 them, I mean headaches, though the picnics are common 
 enough), and after considerable of a spell he opens his 
 eyes, shivers a little and looks straight into Babe's sweet 
 face. I am glad to say, even in that dim light, she had 
 the manners to blush. 
 
 "Guess I had a fall," he says, coolly, not seeming to 
 hurry any, for she could not get her arm from under 
 his head, and if she had let him go he would have rolled 
 
 on the rocks, "that bucking broncho threw me, 
 
 caught my foot in the stirrup — cursed bad saddle." 
 
 "You should not have tried to ride," she said, gravely; 
 "these mountain roads are very dangerous." 
 
 " If you think I can't ride you are off, Miss, been a 
 cowboy two years in Wyoming. Thank you for finding 
 me, rode horses before you were born. Lord, how my 
 head hurts, that Colorado whisky — never could drink 
 the stuff, anyway. Phew! what's on my face, blood?" 
 
 " Your head is hurt." 
 
 " I know it (feeling the wound with a big brown 
 hand), a nasty one. Here take that rag, and you and 
 the old lady tie it hard around my head." 
 
 Babe and I made a bandage of the table cloth, and 
 followed his directions. " Hard, I tell you, can't you? " 
 he ordered, and we tried our best, but suddenly the 
 cloth broke, being an old ragged one we only took for 
 picnics, and I fell backwards. 
 
 "H — ," says that awful young man, "and I'll bleed 
 to death!" 
 
74 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 " Wait," said Babe. She stooped her head, tore a 
 place in her habit with her pretty teeth, and from that 
 slit pulled a long breadth. "This will do." It did, and 
 we fixed a tight bandage on the stranger's forehead. 
 
 "Awfully sorry, you had to tear your gown/' he says, 
 looking straight in her face with his handsome eyes. 
 "Am I terribly heavy?" 
 
 "You must try to get up," she replied, blushing furi- 
 ously. "This is a bad place, and you might fall. Ann, 
 give him your hand, to steady him." 
 
 I pulled, and he honestly tried; but he was dreadfully 
 weak. 
 
 "Got any brandy?" he panted. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Might know women wouldn't have it. Whew, I 
 can't see when I raise my head, black things across my 
 eyes. Everything is whirling around. Give me that 
 bay rum; it's got rum in it." 
 
 " Sakes alive! no," I says. "Here, drink the water, 
 it only tastes a little pickley, the bottle's clean." 
 
 " It's a bottle anyway," he grins, showing strong 
 white teeth, and then lurches up into a sitting position. 
 I pulled him, and Babe lifted his shoulders, and we got 
 him on his feet. A big, broad-shouldered young fellow, 
 seeming, in his helpless state, terrible tall and un- 
 wieldy. 
 
 " You are an awfully tall girl," he said, dazedly, to 
 Babe. "Wonder if I ain't dreaming you, saw all sorts 
 of devils when I was laying down there, kept coming to 
 and getting looney again, bet a dollar that brute kicked 
 me in the head. Give me your shoulder now, and don't 
 yell if I grip hard; steady and slow now." 
 
DISCOVERT IN THE WOOD. 75 
 
 Leaning on Babe, me dragging liim, we got him into 
 the road, and to the horse. Land! what a time we had 
 getting him on the animal! How he ordered us about 
 like a prince, swore and struggled manfully with his 
 weakness! Then Babe led the broncho, and I followed 
 behind with the dog. Not a soul did we meet to help 
 us, and at last, as we neared our cottage, the stranger 
 said, hoarsely: 
 
 "Can't hang on much longer; get me in somewhere; 
 got to flop!" 
 
 I ran ahead, opened our door, and lit the lamp, 
 and then Babe and I got him in, and on her bed. 
 Luckily we had brandy; I got him some, he came to 
 himself a moment. 
 
 "Plucky girl," he muttered, "can't move, awful 
 queer! Get a doctor!" 
 
 " Look after him! " called Babe, and, tired as she was, 
 ran out. The broncho had taken advantage of our 
 trouble, and departed. So she had to go on foot all the 
 way to town. She seemed gone a long time, especially 
 so as the young man had grown very white and still, 
 and I feared he was dying, his breathing was so faint. 
 At last there came the rattle of carriage wheels, and I 
 heard a slow and pompous voice I thought I knew, 
 saying: 
 
 "Eeally, doctor, that was most thoughtful of Miss 
 Murphy, a singular occurrence, Clara will be so grateful, 
 her affections are so strong." 
 
 Then into my house, followed by Doctor Hooper, the 
 pleasant old j)hysician, who had tended Babe in her ill- 
 ness, stalked Mr. Beach. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A VISIT FROM MRS. BEACH AND TOM. 
 
 Doctor Hooper hurried in and went to the bed. He 
 removed our bandage, sponged the wound which I helped 
 him sew up. " It is lucky he is a man/' he said, "it 
 will make a scar, must have lost a good deal of blood too, 
 seems a healthy young fellow, so he will come out all 
 right; can move him in the morning." 
 
 "He is Mrs. Beach's cousin," Mr. Beach explained 
 when the doctor was mixing some medicine, "an odd 
 happening. We have been expecting a visit from him 
 for some time. He has never been here before. When 
 Miss Murphy ran into the Doctor's office and told of 
 the accident I was there and thought at once the 
 stranger, from her description, might be Mr. Thomas — 
 Thomas Ballinger. His mother is a sister of Clara's 
 mother and a very fine lady too, but Thomas has been 
 what I may say rather wild. On that account has been 
 temporarily banished to a ranch in Wyoming the past 
 two years. He will be very wealthy some day, and there- 
 fore his mother wished him to change his habits before 
 assuming a responsible position. He was some trouble 
 to her while he was at College, Yale, I think, and after- 
 wards in Boston. The property in the family is the 
 result of a second marriage. Mr. Thomas' father was a 
 dissipated person, careless in money matters and left 
 his family in poor circumstances, but a few years after 
 his death Mrs. Ballinger married Aniory Howard, of 
 
 76 
 
VISIT FROM MRS. BEACH AND TOM. 77 
 
 Boston, one of the Beacon Street aristocracy, and he 
 willed her at his death an immense fortune, without 
 reservations or commands, entirely hers to bequeath as 
 she saw fit." I wondered why he was telling me all 
 this, but had a glimmering idea when he said, " So if 
 Thomas displeases her she can leave him nothing and 
 force him to a life of hard work and poverty of which 
 he knows nothing. You must allow me, Miss Wilder 
 to remunerate you and Miss Murphy for the trouble you 
 have taken for Clara's cousin." 
 
 "Wouldn't take a cent," I snapped, "do as much 
 for an Indian." 
 
 That offended him greatly, and away he stalked, leav- 
 ing Jones to assist the Doctor, and a nice time they had 
 with the young man who was out of his head, raving 
 all night, driving cattle and riding bronchos, swear- 
 ing at men and ordering imaginary people about. Babe, 
 who would not ride home in Beach's carriage went to 
 bed after her walk and was sound asleep when they took 
 the young man away. We talked of him and the acci- 
 dent the next day when we were setting the house to 
 rights and looked over Babe's habit that was utterly 
 ruined with the tear and the blood-stains. 
 
 " You shall have another, dear, that was badly worn 
 anyway." 
 
 " You must not waste your money on me," she said, 
 soberly. " I wore that so long it got to be an old 
 friend." 
 
 "H'm," I says, and wrote to Denver for material, and 
 in two weeks she had another one, a rich myrtle green 
 made plain, but fitting like a glove. I can dress-make 
 
78 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 when I set my mind to it, and I am satisfied when she is 
 j)leased, she is the most grateful creature. How pretty 
 she did look in it, and had just put it on and was prom- 
 enading up and down the porch to show me the style 
 and becomingness of my work when I saw the cream- 
 colored bronchos coming, with Jones driving, and in the 
 back seat was Mrs. Beach and her cousin. Mr. Bal- 
 linger looked very pale and thin, but neat and well 
 dressed, in his store clothes, as Babe says. 
 
 " Don't run away, Babe," Mrs. Beach called, "my 
 husband is not with me and Tom has come, on his first 
 day out, to thank you for saving his life." 
 
 " I am sure it was nothing," said Babe, stiffly, but she 
 could not escape, as they were already at the steps and 
 Ballinger had alighted and was holding out his hand. 
 
 "I value my life more than you do then," he laughs, 
 " can't take off my hat or the bandages will come off. 
 The hat covers the rags. Otherwise I am recovered, 
 but for you the vultures would be picking my bones 
 down that canon now." 
 
 "Some one else would have found you," she an- 
 swered, coldly. 
 
 " You don't ask me in, impolite Miss Wilder," said 
 Mrs. Beach, tripping up the steps, "but I am going to 
 come, if Babe don't like me, she can at least let me 
 thank her for saving my favorite cousin's life." 
 
 "I never could see why women quarrel so," said Bal- 
 linger; "men don't, nor they with men." 
 
 "You are the rudest boy," laughed Mrs. Beach; 
 "ranch manners, I suppose." 
 
 I brought out chairs, as there was nothing else to do, 
 and they sat down, Babe with an undecided air. 
 
VISIT FROM MRS. BEACH AND TOM. 79 
 
 "You were awfully brave/'' said Mr. Ballinger ad- 
 miringly, "and how strong for a girl, you just about 
 carried me up to that horse. You looked awfully tall 
 too, in that uncertain light. Say, that isn't the gown 
 you had on then, the other had gilt braid on it, this is 
 ever so much nicer looking." 
 
 ".How could you tell what she had on, Tom, when 
 you were out of your head?" Mrs. Beach asked, inno- 
 cently. 
 
 He blushed, actually he did, for he was a decent 
 young fellow as I ever knew, and Babe flushed a royal 
 red, while Mrs. Beach looked at them with that wicked 
 little smile of hers. 
 
 " I infer you were near that habit, Tom." 
 
 "The braid er — scratched my face," he stammered, 
 and Babe tried to look as if she did not hear him, but 
 failed lamentably, "I did not mean that," he went on, 
 uncomfortably, "I always make a mess of a thing. I 
 am sure I was out of my head most of the time, but I 
 do know Miss Murphy saved my life, and was awfully 
 • good to me and I shall always be grateful. By Jove 
 now, that gown was spoiled, and you tore out a big 
 piece to tie up my head." 
 
 "You certainly dreamed that," said Babe, coolly. 
 
 "Don't worry, Babe," said Mrs. Beach with a slight 
 sneer, " Unlike Mr. Beach, he will not offer you pay. 
 Tom is not quite all cowboy." 
 
 "Thanks, Clara," he said, merrily, "but this habit is 
 ever so much nicer, the new one. Don't you think so 
 Miss Wilder?" 
 
 "She ought to ; she made it,"laughedBabe, and then 
 
80 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 the conversation became general. I never saw Mrs. 
 Beach kinder and more agreeable. I liked Ballinger, 
 too, he was bright, frank almost to rudeness, had been 
 a spoiled child, I inferred, but was redeemed from being 
 a cub by his manliness and love of fun. He was very 
 fond of Clara, respected Mr. Beach, winced at her lit- 
 tle sneers about him, and spoke well of everybody. He 
 seemed to have taken a great liking to Babe, for he rode 
 over almost every day after that, bringing her flowers 
 and books and getting her to ride with him, on the 
 pretense he did not know the roads about Erin. Mrs. 
 Beach did not come again for some time, and the calls 
 were more delightful without her and the constraint her 
 presence always put on Babe. How changed my dear 
 girl became, so merry and happy, so rosy and bright- 
 eyed, and so particular about her clothes and ribbons. 
 I had my own ideas, maybe I was wrong, but her joy 
 was mine, and I would not be the croaker to cast the 
 first shadow over her sunshine. The little boyishness 
 of her manner pleased Ballinger, and they had a great 
 deal of fun teaching the dog tricks, and teasing me and 
 racing their horses up and down the road, Babe always 
 winning, for that hateful broncho of hers seemed pos- 
 sessed of the speed of the evil one when he wanted to 
 go, and just skimmed along, his teeth showing, his 
 ears pinned back, as ugly an animal as one would wish 
 not to see, but dear me, when I get on his back he acts 
 as if he could hardly drag one foot after another, and I 
 think he is tired, and make Babe help me off. 
 
 " I never saw a girl like you," Ballinger said one day, 
 when he stopped to tea, and ate of a fine cake Babe had 
 
VISIT FROM MRS. BEACH AND TOM. 81 
 
 made (the better because she thought he would eat it 
 no doubt) " you are full of surprises. I would not have 
 missed that fall of mine for the world, though I did 
 feel like going way to Silver City to thrash the man 
 that let me the ugliest brute I ever rode on. He actu- 
 ally sent me a bill the other day, I'll make him eat it, 
 by Jove. Say I guess I swore at you, Miss Wilder, didn't 
 I? But what in thunder made you put salt on me, to 
 keep me from flying away like I used to try to catch 
 birds taught by a sinful old grandmother they could be 
 snared that way?" 
 
 "You are not very grateful/' I laughed, "and you 
 never quit your bad language all the way home, but 
 Babe got the worst of it, for she led the horse." 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and Babe and I were both 
 at home, sort of expecting some one, so when we heard 
 a horse coming we thought it was our young man, but in 
 this we were disappointed. The horse was a big bay with 
 a white strip down his nose and three white feet, and 
 his rider was Con Murphy, looking pale and dejected, 
 his eyes bloodshot and his clothing neglected. Even 
 the horse ambled slowly along as is if he too had been 
 dissipating and was worn out. He rode up to the 
 porch, threw his rein over a stump, patted the grey- 
 hound, who went to meet him, and came up the 
 steps. 
 
 "Is Babe in, Miss Wilder?" he said, meekly. She 
 ran into the house when she saw him coming. 
 
 I took off my glasses, I had been reading, wiped 
 them slowly, and looked at him severely. "She is, but 
 does not want to see you, Mr. Murphy." 
 
82 BABE MTJRPHY. 
 
 " I will not trouble her," he went on, mournfully, and 
 sat down with a sigh, looking so lonesome and sad 
 my heart softened to him. I would like to know why 
 good looks affect us so, if he had been a homely man I 
 should have told him to go long about his business. 
 The same way with Ballinger, who is big and manly, 
 though not so fine looking, and I know should not come 
 to our house, but I have not the strength of mind to 
 tell him so. 
 
 "Fil go see Babe," I says, and actually went in and 
 coaxed her out. 
 
 "Did you want to see me, father?" she said, quietly 
 going up to him. 
 
 "Sit down," he muttered, pushing a chair beside 
 his; " I haven't been square with yon, Babe, I know it, 
 wasn't fit to have you with me, want you to stay here 
 with that good soul. I'll help you out when I can. 
 The mine sale fell througb, they were on, at the start, 
 but Dick and I cleaned them out at poker the other 
 night and they are gone. No good, any of them, the 
 one you struck apologized, only one of them worth any 
 thing, he not much. I was going to shoot him, but 
 Dick said it was my fault. I did not tell who you 
 were, and I was too drunk to know anything about it. 
 You can live here, never up there again. See I'm flush, 
 there's a hundred dollars (dividing a roll of bills) be 
 a good girl, dear, and forgive me." 
 
 She took the money with trembling hands, her beau- 
 tiful eyes wet with tears. "Father, I'm sorry if I was 
 mean. I want to be friends with you, and if it's my 
 duty to go back " 
 
 "It's not," he said, promptly, "and don't cry, it isn't 
 
VISIT FROM MRS. BEACH AND TOM. 83 
 
 your style nor becoming to yon, and by you're a 
 
 mighty handsome girl. Of course I don't want yon, 
 told you so, and pay the old lady with the money. I 
 am a poor devil, anyhow, don't care what becomes of 
 me, like to think you are straight. I suppose you think 
 that this penitence is a sobering-up fit after a spree, it 
 partly is, but Fve got a terrible fit of the blues." 
 
 "Is there anything I can do to help you, father?" 
 
 "No, nor any other woman," he muttered, with an 
 oath; " I hate the whole race of you." 
 
 She went to him and kissed his forehead, lightly lay- 
 ing her cheek close to his. "Don't, Babe," he said, 
 fretfully, but as she drew back, hurt and grieved, he 
 reached out and drew her to him, "you poor child, 
 don't be angry, I'm not fit to kiss you. I am lying, and 
 you know it. You guess well enough. I am not given 
 to remorse, and you know you were always a small fac- 
 tor in my life. It's another woman. Sit down," he 
 finished, angrily, as Babe, with white face and blazing 
 eyes, sought to escape from him, " you shall stay here, 
 curse you, when she comes." 
 
 I followed the direction of Babe's eyes, and saw Mrs. 
 Beach and her cousin coming in the carriage, Jones 
 driving, as usual. 
 
 "Father," cried the girl with white lips, "it is not 
 right to have that woman come to Miss Wilder's house, 
 and meet you." 
 
 " She don't know I'm here," he answered, with a 
 bitter laugh, and, as the carriage drew nearer, went 
 down to meet it. "I have not seen you for a long 
 
84 BABE MURPEY. 
 
 time, Mrs. Beach," he said, holding his sombrero in his 
 left hand, and extending his right, fixing his fierce eyes 
 on her. She gave him a quick, scared look, and put, 
 reluctantly, her delicate glove in his big hand. He 
 would not notice Ballinger, who glared at him from the 
 other side, but went on swiftly, "1 feared you might 
 have left town, had thought of asking Mr. Beach if you 
 were at home and calling on you." 
 
 "I did not think of getting out," she said, nervously, 
 as lie kept hold of her hand with brutal force. 
 
 " I think you will change your mind," he muttered 
 with a fierce look. 
 
 "1 hope you will introduce me to the gentleman who 
 seems so desirous of forcing you to alight," burst out 
 Ballinger, turning an angry red under his bronze. 
 
 " Certainly," stammer<<l Mi h, not her cool self 
 
 at all, "this is my cousin Tom, Mr. Murphy, Babe's 
 father, Tom." Very miserable and pale, she got stiffly 
 out of the carriage, and Con, with exaggerated polite- 
 ness, still retained her hand until he got her a chair on 
 the porch. Then he sat down at her feet, looking into 
 her face with his eager, angry eyes. 
 
 I half pitied Mrs. Beach then, for the avalanche 
 seemed very real and near. She had more on her hands 
 khan she dreamed of, and whatever she had meant by 
 her idle flirtation, Con Murphy was terribly in earnest. 
 

 
 
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86 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 " I did not know you were sober enough to miss me, n 
 she sneered. 
 
 "Who drove me to drink but yourself. Think of 
 the five years you have tormented me with your capri- 
 ces, bewitched, fooled me until that flirtation I began 
 with you, seeing you were reckless and unhappy, and 
 meaning to hit Beach, to strike him to his heart through 
 you, has turned against me. I can't live without you, 
 I love you. I am so bound by you I'd commit murder 
 if you told me to. No thought of revenge now to Beach 
 who wronged me, but only of my love for you. Let 
 him go, I am sick of my past - folly, Clara, I wish to 
 God you were not his wife, that we were free of that 
 revenge business — you with your hatred of him, me with 
 my past wrongs, and that you and I could marry like 
 honest folks." 
 
 "These conscience spells are natural to you, Con," 
 she said with a little yawn behind her fan, " but honest 
 poverty don't suit me or you either. It was your own 
 drunken conduct disgusted me. I can not be disgusted 
 much longer, 1 tell you, frankly, without letting you 
 go once and forever." 
 
 "Which you shall never do and live, " he muttered. 
 
 " Don't try to scare me, it is too silly from you. But 
 I tell you, Con, I live in terrible dread of Beach, I do 
 believe if he knew, he would kill me, and I am afraid 
 to die. The world is so pleasant since I knew you. 
 Now be nice, you look so unshaven and neglected, go 
 fix up and look like yourself, you handsome thing. I 
 am sur?T have a right to ])Q angry at the way you 
 
MRS. BEACH IS A CONUNDRUM. 87 
 
 treated Babe, the whole town is talking of it, and if 
 Beach thought I ever even looked at you he would take 
 me to my awful mother. I am not ready to let go yet, 
 what time may bring I don't know, but now I cling to 
 good clothes and the luxury of my life. Let us wait 
 for fate and be as careful as we have been." 
 
 " And I am to dangle along like a charrn on your 
 watch chain in the haze of a school-girl mystery with 
 its hidden notes and meetings by moonlight. I've a 
 mind to quit you and go away." 
 
 " You can't," with that mocking laugh, " now I am 
 going and no more dragging, please. If you act rough 
 and rude, take the consequences — my dislike. I have 
 had too much driving in my life, I want to be coaxed. 
 Be yourself, Con, my jolly friend and companion, and 
 some day we'll fly out of our troubles, when the mine 
 pays you or I fall heir to a million or become a widow." 
 
 She let her little hand lay in his a moment, looking 
 into his happy eyes. How easy it was for her to sway 
 him and bend him to her will now. He smiled at her, 
 breathing a bit faster, then took his sombrero, hurried 
 down to his horse, and galloped away without looking 
 back. She sighed and glanced at me. 
 
 " It's a strange world, Wilder; I have been playing 
 with fire, and I know, sooner or later, I shall be con- 
 sumed. I hold him in check now, but for how long? 
 I live in dread; the slam of a door makes me sick with 
 fear. Sometimes I say, let the worst come, if I get 
 away unharmed with him. I don't care what the world 
 says. As Con talks, strip our flesh off our bones, and 
 
88 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 who knows us to be sinners or saints? "Who cares aught 
 of our brittle bones? Why care for consequences on 
 earth or hereafter? My conscience has always been the 
 fear of being found out, and it troubles me now. I 
 look at my husband, his cold eyes, his self-possessed 
 ways, and the chill he brings with him by merely living, 
 and I think some day how awful will be his awakening! 
 I fancy him, pallid and dreadful, condemning me, kill- 
 ing me with those great, clammy hands of his! Heav- 
 ens! I scream in my sleep often, feeling my hour has 
 come. There is Con, a menace always, utterly reckless 
 and mad when he drinks, and blind to all danger. 
 Then Tom, wondering what it means, a spy on me, 
 Babe, with her stern disapproval, and you almost driven 
 to tell my secrets because you want to help Babe/' 
 
 " Mrs. Beach, not from my lips," I said, firmly, "will 
 your behavior ever be known to the man who trusts 
 you. But I pray you, before it is too late, to turn 
 back." 
 
 She shook her head. "I can% and you know it/' 
 she said, miserably. "Have you not just seen and 
 heard Con? Come, Tom," she called, shaking her par- 
 asol at him, "come, or dinner will be late." 
 
 He obeyed her, helping her into the carriage. "I 
 have been scolding Miss Murphy about that ridiculous 
 name of hers, Miss Wilder," he said to me. "A big, 
 tall girl, like her, called Babe!" 
 
 " One can't shake off those names so easy," I 
 answered. "In Southport I shall always be called Lyd 
 Wilder. We always had some queer nickname or 
 
MBS. BE A CR 18 A CON UNDR TTM. 89 
 
 other until marriage tacked a Mrs. on names, giving 
 respectability, I suppose." 
 
 "We will have to get Babe married, then," smiled 
 Mrs. Beach. " But Tom needn't talk; he was called 
 Buster till he was big enough to lick his tormentors. " 
 
 "lam sure Beatrice Murphy has a queer sound," 
 said Babe, scornfully. " The Murphy tucked on to the 
 style of the front name." 
 
 " What's in a name? " began Mrs. Beach. 
 
 "Rats!" said Ballinger, who was not very polite. 
 " I am going to call her Diana, goddess of the woods, 
 the chase. With her slim greyhound by her side, she 
 roams the forest and finds tramps and succors them. 
 Was there not some fellow who spied Diana and her 
 nymphs and got caught and was changed into a tree or 
 beast?" 
 
 " Called a beast no doubt by the delighted ladies," 
 said Mrs. Beach, " but you are in deep water, Tom, 
 swim to shore while you have time, and don't display 
 how little you learned at Yale if you were stroke oar in 
 the race." 
 
 " Farewell Diana, " he called, as he drove away, and 
 my dear girl looking so bright and happy, I wisely kept 
 to myself that interview I heard between her father and 
 Mrs. Beach. 
 
 Looking back, I can realize I was a sinfully weak old 
 woman, but then I let fate take us along nor ever inter- 
 posed to prevent one wrong step. When the idea of 
 right against circumstance and our own pleasure first 
 comes to us, it is a giant, strong armed and mighty, 
 
90 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 taken then it saves us, but argued with and thrust back 
 with easy prevarication and perversion of our own sense 
 of good, it gradually dwindles into a dwarf so small it 
 sinks into insignificance beside the vice that is so allur- 
 ing, and right is forever gone from us before we know 
 it. This sort of a Pilgrim's Progress disgression can be 
 easily explained in the events that followed. 
 
 Just at that time, by some wickedness of fate, Mr. 
 Beach was called to New York by important business, 
 and his wife, not being ready to go, and having her cousin 
 to entertain, was left in Erin. 
 
 He passed my house in the afternoon stage, and just 
 as he was gone Mrs. Beach drove up. " Come here/' 
 she called, and I went down to her. "A man as blind 
 as that, Miss Wilder, ought to be punished," she said, 
 earnestly, and I noted she looked worn and haggard. 
 " I know once I let go I am gone forever, and so at the 
 last moment I went to him. I did try hard with my- 
 self, for I love Con, and you know I am not a common 
 woman, and my love for him is my very life. You 
 know me best, Wilder." 
 
 " My poor dear," I said, patting her hand, wondering 
 some why she cared so little for Jones hearing, "but 
 what did you do, you should have gone." 
 
 "I know that," despairingly, "and I went to that 
 senseless dolt. 'Henry/ 1 cried, ' only wait till morning, 
 so I can get ready, and take me with you. I don't ask 
 much of you, but this time let me go along. I will not 
 bother you, I will be ever so little trouble/ 'Why, 
 Clara, you really must be ill/ lie said in that way of 
 
MRS. BEACH IS A CONUNDRUM. 91 
 
 his, and I felt the ice forming over my heart, and that 
 sullen anger he always rouses in me. ' Really, I could 
 not think of taking you. You are too delicate, then 
 my business is important, I can not wait, and you have 
 hardly a fit wardrobe now to take to New York. Our 
 friends must not think us savages up here. You must 
 be nervous (me who never had an ache or pain in my 
 life) — you certainly^ are ill. Go, lie down, my dear, 
 and rest/ ( Rest? have I had anything else but rest?' 
 'This is some little feminine vagary/ he finished in 
 that pompous way, and I almost cried, and a wife's 
 shame! Oh, I loathe him! so confident, so secure, so 
 sure he is right, if all the world be wrong! I don't 
 care now; the end has come." 
 
 She pushed my restraining hand away, for I saw the 
 tears in her eyes, and she did not want me to see them; 
 then drove away, and never again did I see Clara Beach 
 in that mood, her last struggle with the better way. 
 
 The next morning she drove out, Ballinger following 
 on his horse, and wanted us to go on a picnic up the 
 mountain. I was a silly old fool, but Babe wanted to 
 go, and so I went too. When she and the young man rode 
 ahead, I felt paid for my struggles with my better 
 sense, for they did look so young and happy. I drove 
 with Mrs. Beach, who was chatty and pleasant, flatter- 
 ing me with that quiet skill of hers, and making me 
 think I was of so much consequence. 
 
 But it looked all fair that sunny October day, and as 
 we went swiftly along over the brittle leaves in the soft, 
 chill air that puts new life in the veins with its frosty 
 
92 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 kiss, I felt the good things in this life to make us 
 lenient to sin. That easy carriage and the fast horses 
 were already smothering my inward objections. 
 
 " It is easy for folks in barren places and dreary lives 
 to be good/' I says. "Our hard-working fishermen and 
 farmers and their wives are honest and virtuous. The 
 very ruggedness of surroundings makes purity of mor- 
 als, as it was among the Spartans; ,. ; but, dear me! I ex- 
 pect in Eome they had the best time, if they did fall a 
 prey to their luxury and ungodly ways and decay as a 
 nation." 
 
 " You are a queer woman, Wilder," she said, smiling, 
 "always engaged in terrific moral battles, with a leaning 
 to naughtiness in people you don't like. I know you 
 just revel in naughty novels, and then beam on your 
 own virtues. You say it is easy to be bad if one is rich, 
 how about poverty and degradation?" 
 
 "The slums," I said slowly, "breed vice as they do 
 disease. It springs from uncleanliness, from want of 
 water and a place to wash in, from slatternliness that 
 kills self-respect. From no place to dress in, that helps 
 to preserve personal modesty, from hunger and cold. 
 In the slums, vice is a commodity; in your case, my fine 
 lady, it is a disease of the mind. There is no excuse for 
 you, there are all excuses for the women and girls in 
 poverty." 
 
 "How about love? Because we rich have full stom- 
 achs and warm houses and clothes, are we to be just 
 human animals? Do you deny us hearts and souls?" 
 
 " Love can be stilled by honest effort, and a few bun- 
 
MBS. BEACH IS A CONUNDRUM. 93 
 
 dred miles of distance. Seeing the trouble that love 
 has made, I am more inclined to think it is a viper in- 
 stead of a blessing. " 
 
 fi You have never loved? " 
 
 et Have you, ma'am, outside of the lowest form of it? 
 It's a handsome man, that's all, if he was homely you 
 wouldn't look at him." 
 
 " Nor you either and let him sit on the porch and 
 abuse me." 
 
 " You are mighty smart, Mrs. Beach," I said, some 
 disgruntled, " and whether you are good or bad I don't 
 know, even if I try to think that little walk of yours 
 that I interrupted so long ago was a very harmless 
 thing in a lawful, married woman." 
 
 " Give me the benefit of the doubt, Wilder, even if 
 you look behind," she said, that wicked smile on her 
 lips. 
 
 I looked, and there, following us on the big bay, was 
 K.t. Con Murphy, looking very handsome and smiling, 
 ijmehow at that moment I felt a shadow over my sun- 
 shine. I was so angiy that I looked at her in speechless 
 amazement. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 xl MOUNTAIN PICNIC. 
 
 " Control yourself, Wilder," said Mrs. Beach, coolly. 
 " Con is Babe's father and Tom is my cousin and there 
 is no one but you to raise up a Banquo at our feast. " 
 
 " Babe won't stay," I said, firmly. 
 
 " Babe is in love," she laughed, softly, " now be a dear 
 old soul. If she goes home, well and good, I'll take my 
 snub like a little man; if she don't, you must lend us 
 your countenance and your pleasantest manner. Is it 
 a bargain?" 
 
 " Am I selling my soul to the evil one?" 
 
 " Thanks, but a woman in love, my dear Wilder, is 
 no criterion of conduct. She is very human." 
 
 Murphy joined us then in the gayest mood and 
 entertained us until we left the traveled road, following 
 an old trail down the canon that led to the sound of 
 rushing water. We reached a grove of pines and a wide, 
 brown brook that ended in a glorious waterfall all of 
 fifty feet high. I got out of the carriage and went 
 straight to Babe, but Ballinger had read her distress. 
 
 i( Diana, don't be silly," he said, in that commanding 
 way of his, "if I don't kick why should you. Why 
 imagine evil when there is none. My cousin is unhappy 
 and I am on her side and don't you make a scene." I 
 saw her lip quiver and her eyes fill with tears, and then 
 
 94 
 
A MO TINT AIN PICNIC. 95 
 
 he took her arm gently and walked with her a little 
 ways from me to plead with her. The woman who 
 hesitates is lost, said I to myself, and went along by the 
 stream. I am always soothed by the sound of rushing 
 water and I thought idly, what matters it, as Con says, 
 are we not all skeletons and go back to dust? When we 
 are buried a hundred years that brook will still ripple 
 over the rocks and the sunlight flicker through the 
 pines? Why spoil a lovely day with human beings any- 
 way? I was too near the grave to be particular. 
 
 Jones unharnessed the horses while we sat and talked 
 as nice as you please, and I never knew before what a 
 finely educated man Con Murphy was, and how danger- 
 ously winning he could be. Ballinger was merry enough 
 too, Mrs. Beach joking him about building a railroad 
 to Erin, for it seems though he spent his days in 
 idleness, he was educated to be a civil engineer. Babe, 
 under the spell of his presence, grew very sweet and 
 bright, meeting his gaze with sweet, shy blushes, 
 looking so radiant that I saw Con give her a deep soul- 
 reading look and turn away with a sigh. That day was 
 one of those stolen moments in life, that, though we 
 may regret them afterwards and their consequences, are 
 marvelously beautiful in the passing. 
 
 After an hour, Jones and Mrs. Beach unpacked the 
 hamper, and what a spread, as Ballinger said, we had. 
 There was cold turkey, ham, chicken, all sorts of pot- 
 ted meats, bread, cakes, pickles, luscious berries and 
 fruit, and champagne, and ice for it in a pail. I 
 remembered we were pretty well buried in bundles, but 
 
 * »- 
 
96 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 the carriage was roomy. I watched Mrs. Beach, to see 
 if she had brought those little glasses, thinking of her 
 delicate taste, but, dear me, these were generous and 
 large, I can tell you. I have a partiality for champagne, 
 myself. I never tasted it until I was fifty, and I am not 
 ashamed to say that it is the nearest to love and moon- 
 shine I shall ever get. Dear me, how polite and flatter- 
 ing they all were to me, and I found I was smirking and 
 chatting too, merry enough, though my New England 
 conscience gave a twinge now and then. 
 
 Babe barely touched her glass. fi Pa brought me up 
 on it," she laughed, when Ballinger pressed her to drink, 
 "I have no taste for any liquor." 
 
 " Tired of champagne at eighteen," said Ballinger; 
 "you mountain princess." 
 
 ' e We have had periods of champagne followed by 
 skim milk," said Murphy, " latterly very skim milk." 
 
 Mrs. Beach, after the champagne, of which she took 
 a plenty, I assure you, got very witty and chatty. She 
 had Jones come get his dinner, that he ate sitting at a 
 proper distance, she sang songs, some in French, and 
 told stories all perfectly proper and was so merry, Bal- 
 linger said, "Why, Clara, you act like a girl out of 
 school." 
 
 I liked it in her that she never mentioned Beach at 
 ally it would have hurt my sense of right and decency; 
 still, there we all sat and ate and drank what his money 
 had paid for, like a lot of ghouls in a graveyard, jesting 
 in our hearts at the corpse that furnished the meal. I 
 think it must have been the drink that made me think 
 of such uncanny things. 
 
A MOUNTAIN PICNIC. 97 
 
 After we had feasted with no handwriting on the 
 wall like Belshazzar saw, nor no wall either, only the 
 rustling trees and musical brook, Con Murphy drew out 
 a silver case and tossed it in Clara's lap. 
 
 " You taught me, Tom," she said with a little appeal- 
 ing look, and drew out a cigarette. She lit it at the 
 cigar Con had lighted, and began to smoke as gracefully 
 as a Spanish woman, as if it was no new thing. 
 
 "Does it shock you?" Ballinger asked Babe. 
 
 " I have seen papa's friends smoke before/' she said, 
 demurely, giving Clara a real womanly stab. 
 
 " A second Daniel come to judgment," sneered Con. 
 
 "Bless the girl's heart," laughed Mrs. Beach, "what 
 a sour old thing she tries to be. You must break her of 
 that, Tom, there are too many bitter women with 
 barbed tongues. Men would be more faithful if their 
 wives were more agreeable and not so femininely spite- 
 ful. I was only afraid I would shock Wilder. " 
 
 "You don't," I said, slowly, "there are lots of good 
 souls in Southport who smoke pipes and take a sight 
 of comfort in it. I don't know what I may do myself, 
 when I'm a bit older. I don't see why men should have 
 all the pleasures in life, and tobacco does seem agreea- 
 ble. Maybe some cross, nervous women would be better 
 to smoke." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss Wilder," said Con, soberly, 
 "but did you come out of Maine?" I had to giggle 
 then like the rest of the light-minded creatures. 
 
 "I never dare smoke when some folks are at home," 
 said Mrs. Beach, "but Tom and I used to when we 
 
98 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 were kids. I read once, in a newspaper article written 
 by a man, a pathetic picture of a man's distress at 
 smelling smoke in his lady-love's hair. Better than 
 onions and cheap cologne, and certainly the bad whisky 
 in his own breath." 
 
 "But all the same/' said Con, wickedly, "you dare 
 not let the smoke odor be about your pretty self a week 
 from now." 
 
 She held her chin in her hand and looked at him 
 saucily. 
 
 " You think you are witty, Con, but you are only 
 aggravating, sort of stumping me, as Tom used to, and 
 I would break my neck rather than take a stump. Do 
 you know I have not been on a horse for five years, and 
 Tom and I were so fond of it. I am now supposed to be 
 too frail and to be a womanly woman. Lord, I believe 
 a man could talk a healthy wife into being a life-long 
 invalid. Tom used to teach me to be gritty. I want 
 to be gritty now, Con, and ride that big horse of yours.'" 
 
 "That you shall," he said, jumping up, a strange, 
 bright look in his eyes. He threw away his cigar and 
 helped her to her feet. They walked over to the horses 
 and he put Babe's saddle on the big bay, taking Bal- 
 linger's horse for himself. 
 
 " I haven't any habit, but my gown is limpy and long," 
 she said, "and you can all shut your eyes if I look too 
 disgraceful." 
 
 She put out a pretty foot and Murphy lifted her, 
 light as a bird, into the saddle, and I must say she sat 
 the horse well. What a changed woman she was this 
 
A MO UNTAIN PICNIC. 99 
 
 day, her eyes sparkling with fun, her rosy lips tremu- 
 lous with happiness, a faint, pink tint in her cheeks and 
 a reckless daring in look and manner so utterly differ- 
 ent from her cold repellent way with Beach. I won- 
 dered, as I watched her, why it is naughty women are 
 so much better company than those good domes- 
 tic souls with no thoughts beyond their husbands, 
 homes and children, and their little narrow-mindedness 
 that makes them think with sour envy a bright woman 
 must be bad, and treat her with disdain. I know one 
 wife with intellect, and good, too, and she told me on 
 her word she had to make other men fall in love with 
 her to make her husband think she was of any attract- 
 iveness, and ever after he admired her. In that case, 
 though, it was rather dangerous, I think, and it was a 
 merciful thing the husband did not do any shooting 
 before he found out his wife's laudable intentions. 
 When Murphy and Mrs. Beach rode off, he very near 
 her, with that eager look in his face, living in her smile, 
 knowing nothing on earth or in the life to follow but 
 that she was with him and was happy, I told Babe to 
 stay beside me and I would take a nap. She made me 
 comfortable with shawls, and, as I drifted away into 
 dreamland, I saw she was sitting with her back against 
 an old pine and Tom was lying at her feet, his elbow 
 on the skirt of her habit, reading a book he had brought 
 with him. He seemed to have taken up at some place 
 they had been reading, and I listened to the poetry of 
 Elaine's story, in Tennyson's beautiful language that 
 seems to suit young love and summer time best of all 
 written words: 
 
100 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "Sweet is true love, tho' given in vain, in vain, 
 
 And sweet is death who puts an end to pain. 
 I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 
 
 "Love art thou sweet? then bitter death must be: 
 
 Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me 
 O Love, if death be sweeter let me die." 
 
 His voice was pleasant and mellow, and his reading, 
 touching, I thought, because he loved. Kone ever read 
 of love so well as those who love. When I awoke, after 
 a short time, he had half closed the book and was talk- 
 ing to her, watching her face with those beautiful brown 
 eyes of his — his only handsome feature, I think. I do 
 believe eyes are windows of the soul, and Hike a bright, 
 honest gaze like his. 
 
 " So groaned Sir Launcelot in remorseful pain: 
 Not knowing he should die a holy man." 
 
 "How little any of us know how we shall die and when/' 
 he said, " I might think as your father does, we have 
 only the present, we can not help the future or blot out 
 the past. Live as we like, for we die the morrow." 
 
 "But we don't die/' persisted Babe; "we live and 
 grow old and suffer the consequences of our misdeeds." 
 
 "Where did you learn your wisdom, 3-011 wild girl of 
 the mountains? You don't believe it either, and you 
 think as I do that Launcelot might have stayed with 
 Elaine's relations and won her love and taken her with 
 him, instead of running away as he did." 
 
 "If he had not loved her enough to wed with her, she 
 would have died broken-hearted." 
 
 " She died anyway." 
 

 A MOUNTAIN PIONIG. 101 
 
 " But she died a lily-maid. Her innocent love cast a 
 shadow over the guilty soul of the queen, and Launcelot, 
 if he did not love Elaine, must have thought her love 
 beautiful and pure." 
 
 "But girls do not die of love, " said Mr. Ballinger, 
 decidedly, "I believe they used in old-fashioned books 
 of the Clarissa and Pamela age. Nowadays we want to 
 read of such loves as Launcelot's and Guinevere's. Don't 
 you read Ouida and Braddon and the rest of them and 
 know of modern plays? Why the world runs mad 
 over 'Camille/ "Forget Me Not/ 'Frou Frou/ l La- 
 Belle Kusse'and those. Oh, I don't mean but that we 
 want a moral sentiment sandwiched in, but we go to 
 have our nerves thrilled and our blood stirred and to see 
 other people naughty, if we dare not be. Perhaps you 
 have not seen those plays?" 
 
 "I know the stories, father's books are all that kind." 
 
 "High seasoned, eh? Maybe like an aunt of mine 
 you read ' Zola/ and keep the awful books hidden 
 under the mattress. 
 
 "I read him openly/' she said, wearily; "he is the 
 only one who tells the truth, he and the medical books. I 
 have read novels and been intoxicated with the glory of 
 sin, the splendor of its surroundings, and I felt how grand 
 it would be to be beautiful and soulless and all that, but 
 Zola always brought me to reason. In his books I see 
 what I myself have seen. The vice that ends in low 
 dance houses, the police station and starvation in the 
 gutter, and sin never could be attractive to those who 
 are forced to see the ending. But I hate Zola, and all 
 
102 BABE MUIiPHY. 
 
 the rest. Live all your life in a mining camp, forced into 
 its worst side as I have been, and then wonder why 
 such books make me utterly weary. I seem like some 
 old roue, give me buttercups and daises and spring water. 
 I am soul -tired of hot-house flowers and scorched with 
 absinthe. I am only eighteen and I talk like this. So 
 I beg you read of Elaine, of Enid, of the sweet prin- 
 cess and her University, not of Guinevere, Vivien and 
 Ettarre, there are no nice distinctions in sin to me." 
 
 " Do you never fear that you judge too harshly, and 
 may fall from your high position?" he said, quietly. 
 "You are so young." 
 
 " I am not young, I never was," she cried, bitterly. 
 " I never had an innocent childhood. Oh, it is a 
 wicked thing to soil the white soul of a child." 
 
 ' ' You talk so bitterly, if one did not know you — 
 you — " 
 
 "Hush," she said, imperiously, "don't give me a 
 stab like the rest." 
 
 He reached up and took her hand and drew it to his 
 lips. I knew by her start and blush it was his first 
 caress. Still keeping her hand, he said : 
 
 " Shall I read you some more? What a pretty hand 
 you have for such a big girl. It is so well shaped, with 
 rosy nails, pink and soft. What ever possessed your 
 father to bury himself here?" 
 
 " lie dissipated his fortune, ran away from college 
 without finishing his studies, and equipped with no pro- 
 fession, found, when his money was gone, nothing to do, 
 drifted into mining, and is where you see him. Like 
 
A MO TTNTAIN PICNIC. 103 
 
 all who wait for dead men's shoes, the wealth brings 
 little blessing, it may give joy while it lasts, but gives 
 no promise of future good when it is gone. Better a 
 thousand times a man earn his fortune." 
 
 He flung her hand away and sat up. " Who are you 
 driving at? I would like you to know I graduated as a 
 civil engineer." 
 
 " It don't make you civil, it seems/' 
 
 (( Old and mossy thy jest fair maid. I would like 
 you to know that my mother is rich and don't want me 
 to work. Suppose I did, and took a job away from some 
 poor fellow that needed it? You may curl your short 
 upper lip, and scorn comes mighty easy to you, but I 
 like money and good clothes, and twenty centers when 
 I'm flush, cigars I mean, and I don't like grubbing. I 
 have been slimy poor, went barefooted and had my 
 father's trousers cut over for me and envied the boys 
 who had store-made clothes that were not mother- 
 cut and looking sawed-off like mine. The fellows that 
 work when they don't have to, live only in books. I'm 
 not going to get wobble-legged and bow-shouldered for 
 theories. Did you ever see a middle-aged man who had 
 worked at manual labor all his life that wasn't weary- 
 eyed, and that did not walk tired, whose sinews and 
 muscles were not distorted and misshapen. I've watched 
 the tin-pail brigade go by at daylight, and, God, I've 
 pitied them." He straightened his handsome figure, 
 looking at her very soberly. 
 
 " I am not discussing dudes, if you please, I am talk- 
 ing of Americans, dudes are a remnant of the idiotic 
 
104 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 period of the century, and will soon go and meet the 
 dodo, but honestly, if mother hadn't married old How- 
 ard I would be a railroad engineer now; made up my 
 mind to be one when I was a kid. By Jove, they are 
 nervy fellows too, always the first to be killed, ex 
 pected to be a hero and stick to his post to save a train 
 and get hardly a line in the paper about it, not much 
 comfort though to him in it, but if some railroad owner 
 who has grabbed, cheated and gulled millions out of the 
 public, gets his toe hurt, the papers slop over columns 
 about it. The grimy fellow in the flannel shirt gets 
 ground up and mangled and everybody says, only the 
 engineer, and he ought to have stuck by his post. The 
 fellow that dies with his hand on the throttle-valve is 
 the only hero left nowadays, say I." 
 
 "You really like work, you know it," she said 
 eagerly, her sweet face glowing with pleasure and pride 
 in him. 
 
 "No, I don't. Say now," sitting by her side, " those 
 miners told me about you when Finnerty was killed, 
 was going down to look for him yourself. You are 
 gritty, as Clara says. Hartman told me about that En- 
 glishman, too — " 
 
 "Oh," she cried pitifully, "never that, it is too hard." 
 
 " It makes me like you more, and if I ever meet him 
 Fll smash his head. I don't believe I was unconscious 
 all the time down that caiion either. You were nervy 
 then, and that salt—" He laughed and looked at her. 
 
 "Miners are brave men," she said, uneasily looking 
 away; " they work underground where an accident will 
 
A MO UNTAIN PICNIC. 105 
 
 suffocate them in an instant. Think of those stopes 
 where a man works with a pick by the light of a candle 
 in a little rock chamber like a grave, and where his only 
 egress is a hole just big enough for his body." 
 
 "J. remember an accident at Crested Butte in a coal 
 mine; was out there with a friend of mine", a reporter. 
 The poor dead men were all blackened and burnt, and 
 each held his arm before his eyes — the last unconscious 
 act in his agony. It is a horrible world to some, this of 
 ours, and to some how easy and happy. No ' jestice in 
 it. Why did you draw away when I touched you? 
 You are offish enough." 
 
 s( You are silly," with a vivid blush. 
 
 " You ought to see some of the girls I know in Boston 
 with their seaside manners on, and waltz with them. 
 Here, you brought up here in the wilderness, keep a 
 fellow at arm's length." 
 
 "Well?" She looked at him, mischievously. 
 
 " You hugged me that day I was hurt, Missy?" 
 
 <( I thought you were a tramp." 
 
 "Fll take to the road, then, at once. That faded 
 green habit of yours I shall always remember, and that 
 circusy trimming that scratched my cheek. See here," 
 opening a pocket book, and taking out a slip of green 
 cloth, "here is a piece of it, didn't think I was so soft, 
 did you?" 
 
 She blushed then, looking wonderfully sweet and 
 pretty. He drew nearer to her, a sort of light in his 
 face. He had lost much of his bluffness and boyish 
 ways under his cousin's influence, and the change was 
 
106 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 not pleasant to me. I hated to think he would grow 
 like her, I liked his manliness and openness far better 
 than his new manner, but, after all, possibly the last 
 mood was the most natural. 
 
 "Please read some more," she said, timidly, meet- 
 ing his eager gaze and turning her head away. 
 
 "You coward, " he hissed with intense scorn, and 
 clutched the book, beginning to read in a droning voice: 
 
 "Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat 
 There in the holy house at Almesbury 
 Weeping, none with her save a little maid," 
 
 "Don't read of King Arthur, please." 
 
 "H'm," looking at her severely, "rather hear of 
 Launcelot?" 
 
 " I pity Arthur. He was so good and true, and how 
 can a woman be false to a man who lovesand trustsher? 
 Yet, he must have made her weary, he might have been 
 a cold-mannered, good man, who did not know how to 
 flatter and pet her. Perhaps he held her to the narrow 
 circle of his wishes, enclosed her with his nobleness and 
 stifled her woman's soul/' 
 
 "She fell in love, and that's all the answer there is, 
 and you can't think of Clara and your father, and pity 
 Beach and all in that underhand way. I know what 
 you mean. There used to be a big lubberly boy lived 
 neighbor to me, and every time I had pie, he stole it, he 
 could lick me, and he used to say, as he sat coolly on his 
 own steps and ate my pie, 'What are you going to do 
 about it?'" 
 
 " AVhy don't you do something?" 
 
A MO UNTAIN PICNIC. 107 
 
 "They can all steal my pie, that's why. But I try 
 to watch over Clara, and you ought to over your father.'' 
 
 " I hate her and Beach ; I wish her husband any 
 evil but that." 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "You know, well enough/' 
 
 " A queer world this, old Beach stole your father's 
 mine and the world applauds him, he won, you know. 
 Let Murphy steal Beach's wife and everything is terrible 
 and Beach the most abused man. Poor Clara, her 
 mother is an old fiend and she married Beach to get away, 
 they were nearly broke, the old lady tried to catch Beach 
 herself, no go and Clara took him. She thought she'd 
 have things like wives do in English novels, a city home 
 and all she wanted. She was brought to this forsaken 
 hole and penned up here and I can't blame her for get- 
 ting desperate. The only sensible thing Beach did was 
 to bundle the old lady off the premises and pay her to 
 stay away." 
 
 " Let's quit scandal and read some more. Let's for- 
 get people and go into fairyland." 
 
 "If I went into fairyland," he said, quickly, his 
 breath coming fast, his eyes darkening, his lips tremu- 
 lous, "I would not read books, I would make love to 
 you. You proud, beautiful thing, the only woman I ever 
 loved. No, no I've got your hand, you shall not draw 
 it away. Give in to my superior strength. I tell you I 
 love you, your eyes are beautiful, your mouth the sweet- 
 est in the world, you are the dearest loveliest girl, and I 
 talk like a fool because I am mad over you. I have no 
 
108 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 sense where you are, I only know I love you, I love you. 
 Now don't you cackle and wake the old lady. Bless her 
 old cork-screw curls I'd make an ally of her easy enough. 
 I could make anyone like me but you, you icicle." 
 
 He flung his arm around her and drew her close to 
 him and it did strike me she did not struggle very hard. 
 He held her chin tight and looked into her eyes. "Are 
 you mad, tell me ? You can't look at me (triumphantly). 
 You are as red as a beet, but prettier than ever. You 
 have got a dimple in your left cheek when you smile 
 like that and how hard you try to look cross." 
 
 " You are unmanly." 
 
 " I thought otherwise, I would be a dead man not to 
 love you. Say you hate me." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Say you despise me." 
 
 " I do, let me go." 
 
 " "Well, just look at me and say it. Oh, I know your 
 eyelashes are fine. All girls like to look like that, it's 
 fetching. Say honestly, had you rather I would not kiss 
 you ? and look me straight in the eye." 
 
 I did not see any considerable effort on her part to 
 accomplish a very simple thing. She only hung her 
 head and looked dangerously sweet. For pity's sakes, I 
 thought, why don't you kiss her, you would if you were 
 not a wooden man. There was a silence for a moment, and 
 then I knew he'd kissed her and she did not object. 
 All right, my lady, thought I, you are like all the rest, 
 just let the right man come along and where are you ? 
 It was quite time, I thought, that I was waking up, so I 
 
A MO UNTAIN PICNIC. 109 
 
 discreetly coughed and stirred under the shawl. Babe, 
 very blushing and tremulous about the lips, came trip- 
 ping over to me. 
 
 "Did you sleep well, dear?" asked that arch 
 hypocrite. 
 
 '.* I hope you did," grinned Ballinger, lighting a 
 cigar. 
 
 " I may have dreamed of silly people," I said, glum- 
 ly, "but all can't be young, nor all days like this. Some- 
 how or other I have been thinking of a sea-faring man 
 I used to know, Captain McCrate of the schooner 
 Clarinda, lost on the banks thirty years ago. He is one of 
 those skeletons you talk about now, Babe, and I am 
 a wrinkled old hag." 
 
 " Never, you dear thing," she says, kissing me, "with 
 your rose-leaf skin, your bright eyes, your dear little 
 curls," and then he too began to flatter me, until I said, 
 severely : 
 
 "I suppose you two think I can be bamboozled into 
 anything. I shall be tired of being an accessory byme- 
 by I tell you, so there." 
 
 Soon I heard Mrs. Beach's laugh, and she and Mur- 
 phy rode down the glen. She was flushed and bright- 
 eyed, her hair all disordered, her laugh louder than I 
 ever heard, looking like a rosy hoiden, then shortly we 
 all went home. 
 
 Of course I had not sense enough to stop then, there 
 were picnics and junketings almost every day, and every 
 evening Mrs. Beach, Tom and Murphy were at my 
 house. It was lively and pleasant, and my dear girl 
 
110 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 was so happy with her lover. She seemed to live in a 
 kind of dream, smiling always, her eyes bright and 
 beautiful, bits of song on her lips, and a new attention 
 to her dress and ribbons. His was the stronger will, 
 and he swayed her more than I ever thought she would 
 give in to any one, still I never feared, for he loved her 
 passionately, he was manly and good, and, dear me, how 
 pleasant their love-making was to me, a contrast to 
 Mrs. Beach and Con. I am partial myself to those old- 
 time books that ended, they were married, and lived 
 happy ever afterwards. I don't like the modern novel 
 that begins, they were married and lived unhappy ever 
 afterwards, and broke several of the commandments. 
 
CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 "SWEET IS TRUE LOVE. " 
 
 I felt, right along, the life in these few weeks was un- 
 real and unnatural, and what troubled me most now was 
 the change in Mrs. Beach that her husband must see 
 when he returned. Her gowns were gorgeous in color 
 and texture, she flashed with jewels, and every trace of 
 her quiet manner was utterly gone. She was gay with 
 a mad recklessness of word and look, radiant and witty, 
 and a new life shone in her eyes and colored her cheeks. 
 Con, on the other hand, had grown silent, seldom speak- 
 ing, absorbed in her, devouring her always with his 
 passionate eyes, obeying her slightest command, slave 
 entirely to her will. Oh, I was weary of them, why 
 should they sully my darling's love story with their sin? 
 Folks in town had begun to talk, and Mrs. Finnerty 
 told me Con had been seen at Beach's house late at night 
 and that they, Con and Mrs. Beach had lost all caution. 
 I could understand Clara better now. It is more a 
 woman's nature to tire of restraint and deceit, to fling 
 to the winds all subterfuge when she loves. She has, 
 too, a desire to hurt the man who holds her captive, 
 that a man never has, he is always looking for conse- 
 quences and what the world will say. So I was right 
 glad on the evening of the 31st of October to see the 
 
 yellow bronchos coming and Jones bringing Mr. Beach 
 
 in 
 
112 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 home. Beach was in the back seat, and he stopped 
 the horses to speak with me and shook hands very 
 cordially for him, in his clammy way. 
 
 " I hope that you have enlivened Clara's loneliness/' 
 he said, kindly, "she must have felt the time very long. 
 I should never leave her were it not for the pressure of 
 business." 
 
 Jones gave me a sort of comical look, and I got red in 
 the face and uncomfortable. 
 
 "I should think," I blurted out, "you were most 
 rich enough to enjoy yourself, Mr. Beach." 
 
 "We cannot outlive a habit," he said, blandly; "you 
 have had a little vacation I hear. I am glad of it, and 
 you have done so well with the school, really most 
 praiseworthy. Looking remarkably well, too, our Colo- 
 rado climate is marvelous. I am always glad to be back 
 in my little eyrie in the hills, so I will bid you good 
 evening, as Clara must be expecting me." 
 
 Oh, that cold, queer, senseless man, and I did feel piti- 
 ful and mean-spirited, like, I told Babe, I'd been steal- 
 ing from him. She came and hid her face in my lap, 
 and I saw she had one of her temper spells on, so wisely 
 let her alone. I felt her shoulders shake with her sobs, 
 those deep, dry, pent-in sobs, as if her heart was breaking, 
 I patted her hair softly and put my arm about her. It 
 was quite dark, but Ballinger knew us as he came along 
 the road and called out a cheerful good evening. 
 
 "Is Diana crying?" he said, sitting down near her, 
 " I didn't know she ever gave in. Headache or some- 
 thing, I suppose?" She would not speak, and he, like 
 
"SWEET IS TRUE LOVE." 113 
 
 all men, when a woman is in tears, began to whistle 
 softly under his breath and kick his feet restlessly. 
 
 " Guess I'd better go." 
 
 " She will be all right in a few moments, this is a 
 clearing-up shower," I said. 
 
 " Shall I go, Diana?" 
 
 « N_ no." 
 
 " Oh, before I forget it, will you give this note to your 
 father. The goodly king has returned, saw you not the 
 passing of Arthur?" 
 
 " I won't give it to him," said Babe, angrily, raising 
 her tear- wet face, ' ' and I am ashamed of you for asking 
 me. I won't aid them, and you ought to be decent 
 enough to guard your cousin instead of helping her in 
 her wickedness. So there!" 
 
 " Whew! You went with us enough behind his back 
 all the same, now he's home you are awfully goody. 
 Say, don't be cranky, the note is nothing, Clara let me 
 see it, let Wilder give it to him." 
 
 "She shall not," cried Babe, jumping up, in a fine 
 passion. " She has suffered enough from you all. Go, 
 take your note yourself, and I thought you were manly 
 and good, and I find you as mean — as mean — as they 
 are, I — I almost hate you." 
 
 " Thanks," he said, coldly, getting up in a temper, 
 also, " I will take myself off. I must say you are a 
 very rude young person." 
 
 So he departed, whistling in an aggravating manner, 
 and stayed away for a week. Poor Babe looked pale 
 and woe-begone enough, and Mrs. Beach's behavior 
 
114 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 almost made her ill. My lady came every day to meet 
 Con Murphy at my house, when I was absent at school, 
 and Babe would cry and storm about it, but I kept her 
 within bounds by telling her I did not care, and for us 
 to be patient, that it would come out all right. " We 
 brought it on ourselves, my dear," I said, " we should 
 never have gone with them as we did; let us take our 
 punishment, for it is in good part." 
 
 Sunday evening, Babe, who had been in bed all 
 day with a sick headache, concluded she would be better 
 on the porch. She put on her best wrapper, a delicate 
 cream-colored cashmere, trimmed with fine lace, and 
 I braided her pretty hair for her and fixed her up com- 
 fortably in the rocking chair. I knew well enough what 
 that gown was for, and why she had that wistful, 
 expectant look, but I never said a word. I looked back 
 and saw the dog was with her, for once the pesky 
 creature actually followed me into the meeting house, 
 and mortified I was. The church bells sounded rarely 
 sweet in the quiet air, echoing against the purple- 
 shrouded mountains, and all the earth seemed buried 
 in the sweet silence of a Sunday evening. The church 
 was well filled when I got there, and folks all smiled 
 kindly on me, for I think I was generally liked. Mr. 
 Beach was buried in his big prayer book, with its 
 golden monogram, H. D. B., and his wife trying to 
 look downcast, but really making a mockery of it, for 
 she was fairly brilliant with happiness, thinking, I sur- 
 mised, of Con. I saw Beach's cold eyes rest on her 
 once with a sort of pride, and, as I watched his face 
 
"SWEET IS TRUE LOVE." 115 
 
 light up, I found my lips saying, "Lord, have mercy 
 upon us miserable sinners, and incline our hearts to 
 keep thy laws," all jumbled up and bothered. 
 
 As I went home in a kind of maze, thinking of the 
 sermon and that man and his wife, I saw ahead a tall, 
 fci miliar figure, walking in a reckless sort of way, slash- 
 ing the trees with a cane. So Mr. Ballinger was coming 
 at last. I did not want my presence to upset them, so 
 slipped home on a side path and went in the back door. 
 If the window was open behind the closed blinds I 
 could not help it, the noise of closing it would have 
 betrayed me. I saw Babe walking up and down the 
 porch, her long gown trailing after her, her braid 
 of hair falling down her back and her dog walking 
 solemnly beside her. She was so white and worn she 
 looked like a ghost in the moonlight in that pale gown. 
 
 "I thought you were a ghost," said Ballinger, stop- 
 ping at the foot of the steps. " May I come in?" 
 
 " Yes," carelessly. 
 
 "I am better company than a dog/' 
 
 ' ' I never need a friend when I have Doc," she an- 
 swered, coolly. 
 
 He got himself a chair. " Thanks, I will sit down," 
 he said, mockingly, " won't you?" He pushed a chair 
 towards her that she sat in unwillingly. " How ill you 
 look," he said, suddenly, looking into her face, "and 
 so odd with your hair brushed off your face. I like 
 the little curls over your forehead better. You're a 
 human girl then, now you look like a priestess, a 
 Norma." He began to hum an air, I suppose, from 
 
116 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 that opera. "Will you hear me, Norma?" he said, 
 abruptly. 
 
 "It is late," she stammered, "I must not keep Miss 
 Wilder up; I have made her home uncomfortable 
 enough already." 
 
 "Not you, Diana, but others, and I guess your mean- 
 ing. Oh, my love," taking her reluctant hand, "for- 
 give me. From my soul I am sorry and ashamed. I 
 am a cad, a fool, anything you will, only forgive me." 
 She lifted his hand to her soft cheek and held it 
 there a moment. "I knew you were different, Tom," 
 she said, gently, " and forgive me for being so angry 
 that day." 
 
 "Don't rate me higher than I am," he said, irrita- 
 bly, " I am only a man, and some time you may hate me. 
 What sort of a girl are you, so hard to read? Your eyes 
 mock your prim ways, and your theories and your 
 bringing up give the lie to your purity and truth." 
 
 "Is that kind, Tom?" 
 
 "Kind. It's brutal, but I say it because I love you. 
 I have lived in a hell the past week. Clara has gone 
 crazy, I believe. She has lost all guard over herself, 
 says slang words before Beach, drinks more wine at 
 dinner than is good for her, laughs at her work, plays 
 nothing but dance music, sings only naughty songs. 
 He looks at her as if he were in a horrible dream. He 
 asked me last night if I thought the altitude was mak- 
 ing her too nervous. ' They say ladies can not live here 
 a long time without change of climate on account of 
 nerves/ and I felt a fiendish desire to say women and 
 
 • 
 
M SWEET IS TRUE LOVE." 117 
 
 cats can't, astliey do say c#n't in Leadville, but I blurted 
 out, ( why don't you take her away V He would think 
 about it, he answered, so gentlemanly, and such a fool 
 that I give him up. Clara laughs at me, and your 
 father gallops by the house on Beach's own land. Beach 
 said the other night in that slow way of his, ' I wonder 
 if that intoxicated person realizes he is trespassing,' and 
 I had to pinch Clara to keep her from saying something 
 mean." 
 
 "Ann and I are thinking of going away as soon as 
 this term is over," said Babe, "we can't help the trou- 
 bles, and we are going to fly from them." 
 
 "I am going away myself, came to bid you good- 
 bye," he said, earnestly, "and now don't speak till I'm 
 through, I want to explain matters to you. You know," 
 taking both her hands and drawing close to her, "that 
 I am dependent on my mother. You will own a person 
 can not live without money." 
 
 "I suppose not," bewildered. 
 
 ""Well, she allows me three thousand a year, paid in 
 small installments, and I am a thousand in debt now, 
 suppose I make her mad, why she shuts down on me, 
 don't she?" 
 
 "I suppose so," she said, wearily, her eyes on the 
 bright moon rising over the trees across the road, 
 bringing a kindly silver light into the shadow. 
 
 " There are lots of old catamarans around her all 
 the time to tell on me," he said, hurriedly, " and she is 
 terribly unforgiving. Suppose I tried to get work, it 
 would be a year before I could get straightened out, 
 
118 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 now here are you, and I, I love you, and you, you think 
 something of me." 
 
 "I— I don't know." 
 
 "But I do, and I know you are sick and miserable 
 because I did not come last week, and I kicked myself 
 every day because I didn't, but I wanted you to feel 
 how you would enjoy life without me, but it seems as 
 if we couldn't get married." 
 
 " Not for years and years." 
 
 "The old lady, my mother, would never forgive me 
 if I married without her consent. She's had a bitter 
 experience that sets her against matrimony any way. 
 Then her pet brother married a servant girl, and when 
 his daughter got to be a young lady we had her on 
 to visit us in Boston. A regular hoodlum of a girl, 
 brought up in a little railroad town, and mashed on all 
 the brakemen. She used to slip out nights and go to 
 shows with our coachman. Well, we fired her home, and 
 paid the rest to keep away from us. Then my own 
 father wasn't any too pleasant to live with, they were 
 poor, and he took to drinking, and it was only when 
 the Duchess — mother — married old Howard that she 
 ever had any happiness. She's told me, she can forgive 
 anything but my marrying without her consent. I was 
 pretty wild at college, and the old doctor told me then, 
 if I wanted to kill my mother, I couldn't go about a 
 quicker way than to shock her a few more times and 
 make her grieved — I believe she has heart disease, for 
 the time [ got hurt in the gymnasium she wasn't told 
 till I was well." 
 
"SWEET IS TR UE LO VE." 119 
 
 " Why do you tell me all this?" said Babe, coldly. 
 
 "For God's sake be human," he said, fiercely, "you 
 are a woman — act like one. She has written me she 
 wants me to go abroad and will give me all the money I 
 need, and if I go I shall not go alone. Do you hear, 
 pet?" 
 
 " Yes," in a quiet voice. 
 
 "You can go to New York and wait for me and if I 
 see the Duchess can't be moved we will get married on 
 the sly and go to Europe and trust to time to make her 
 forgive us, though she must not know until she is well 
 prepared." 
 
 " She would soon find out, Tom, and in her anger 
 leave you none of the money you prize so. Your wife 
 would have ruined you, and some day you would tell me 
 so and hate me. Poverty brings such cares and weakens 
 love, it tries the strongest natures, and you, who have 
 to begin to work late, would never have the hope and 
 energy of a lad. I would rather never see you from this 
 moment than to have a day come when you should say I 
 had spoiled your future and made you lose all life had 
 offered so lavishly once. Then to come between mother 
 and son. You will find me firmer than those mount- 
 ains, Tom, I will not marry you." 
 
 " Some things you say may be true," he said, slowly, 
 "I am only human, and I have poverty and the worry- 
 ing over the next meal, and the shabby clothes, and the 
 weary eyes and wrinkles it gives to women and men. 
 Then I do love my mother, she has been awfully good 
 to me, hasn't had any too much sunshine in her life. 
 
120 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 Suppose I go to her and tell her about you, oh, forgive 
 me for saying this, my own, she will speak of your life, 
 ask about you, and, unreasoning, in anger refuse to hear 
 of you or see you." 
 
 "I know all that," said Babe, quietly, "she will not 
 believe I am a good girl." 
 
 They were silent a moment, then he spoke, hoarsely: 
 "what are you going to do? Sooner or later Clara 
 will make trouble, Miss Wilder will lose the school 
 through your being Murphy's daughter, and Wilder will 
 stick to you I know, what will become of you?" 
 
 " 1 can work." 
 
 " What can you do, pet? " half ironically. 
 
 " I don't know," she sighed, " I don't know." 
 
 " Do you remember a talk we had once," he said, 
 putting his arm over her shoulder, "when you told 
 me about the beliefs of your lonely childhood? When 
 no one loved you or cared about you, and when your 
 father went away or had his queer company there, you, 
 a frightened little child, hid away and read old books 
 and wanted to be dead, Babe. You told me then that 
 you thought as we went back to dust it mattered little 
 how soon and when. You had seen men die so easily, 
 you said, had known those stoical Chinaman, had seen 
 in a riot once how quietly they met the end. You told 
 me of the millions of dead and living, and you said, ' why 
 should I care about me, Babe Murphy, when I am only 
 a passing shadow/ " 
 
 "I have said silly, senseless things, Tom," piteously, 
 "don't repeat them, please do not." 
 
" SWEET IS TRUE LO VE." 121 
 
 "But is it not so, who cares about the dust lain, 
 buried for a hundred years, whether it loved, or sinned, 
 or was good? When I get old I shall not sit and mope 
 over the sins of my youth. Even if Launcelot died a 
 holy man, I will wager my soul he did not forget the 
 Queen's kisses." 
 
 " I'm not old, though, and the skeleton doctrine was 
 only a child's fancy. I was so near to one you know," 
 with a hysterical laugh, "I grew so fast." 
 
 "Don't joke with me, I can't bear it. Come, walk, I 
 want to talk to you." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What are you afraid of ?" 
 
 "Of myself, Tom, don't talk to me any more. Go 
 home, for Miss Wilder will come soon and I don't want 
 her troubled." 
 
 "Well, sit there, you sour, old maid, then, and grow 
 like Wilder and have corkscrew curls, but you will be a 
 gaunt old hag when you are old." 
 
 He began to walk up and down the porch, she sitting 
 there watching him, her dog beside her, his long head 
 on her knee. Then she rose and went to him. "Tom, 
 I love you," she said, softly; "you will always believe 
 that?" 
 
 " No, I will not. If you do, and believe in your 
 theories that we are only dust, and have nothing to lose 
 — family,I mean,and that — for sooner or later your father 
 will elope with Clara, why can't you come with me, any 
 way, wife or no wife? Some time, when my mother is 
 dead — mind you, I'm not banking on that — or has for- 
 given me, I will marry you, dear." 
 
122 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 She drew away from him, looking stern and cold, but 
 he caught her to his heart, kissing her face, her hair, 
 and holding both her hands. 
 
 "Don't look at me so; is there any other way? Oh, 
 love, we are young and we care for each other; we only 
 have to-day; we may be dead to-morrow. Oh, I love 
 you, I love you, 'the one fair woman beneath the sun/ 
 as that fellow says. What do you care for the world; it 
 looks down on you; it says you were brought up in a 
 mining-camp, lived with a woman like Mrs. Daggett — 
 says, look at what your father is, a gambler, a man who 
 defies every law." 
 
 "Have pity on me," she cried, miserably. 
 
 "I meant to show you the truth; you are an outlaw, 
 anyway. The world is cruel and hard and life is evil. 
 Don't the stories tell us a life lost for love is a beautiful 
 one? Aren't the books that teach old-fashioned good- 
 ness and honor little read? Why should you and I go 
 against the current? This is an age of Sunday-school 
 superintendents and bank cashiers fleeing to Canada 
 with ill-gotten gains; there is no honesty anywhere nor 
 honest men. Every man has his price. It is a time 
 when broken vows don't count, when we read of mar- 
 ried women's love affairs, not innocent girls, and we 
 welcome back those who have run away with their 
 neighbors' wives, and don't blame them after a discreet 
 time." 
 
 "Never the women, Tom." 
 
 "They can be actresses then, and the public will go 
 mad to see them, or they can write of their sins and the 
 
"SWEET IS TRUE LOVE." 123 
 
 good public will buy their books. We look on and 
 laugh at the King Arthurs, and we long to be Launcelot 
 and love as he did. It is a time of commonplace hap- 
 penings, but of minds at high pressure, and evil a relief 
 from monotony. It's a Sodom and Gomorrah, and I 
 talk like a madman, for I see your beautiful eyes and 
 your tremulous mouth, and I know you will fling every 
 thought to the winds and be my own. They say men 
 change, but I never could with you, my wife always. " 
 
 "If you have any mercy, let me go," she panted, "do 
 not talk to me like that." 
 
 I heard all, but I would not stir a finger to stop her. 
 If she yielded, there was no faith in any woman, and I 
 wanted my love for her to die right then. 
 
 " You can't refuse me when I hold you like this and 
 look into your eyes. Oh, you fair, sweet thing, you 
 neglected, friendless girl, let my love make you happy. 
 Let us not strive against fate." 
 
 Suddenly she freed herself from him and started back, 
 looking so white and noble, so true a woman, that he 
 let her go from his arms and hung his head. "It is all 
 wrong, and you know it," she said, pitifully, "and I, 
 though I have lived through insult and all kinds of 
 sore wounds, have never been hurt like this. The 
 man I loved thought I could be like that. Yet I 
 long for you, oh, I love you — " He started towards 
 her — "No, don't, please; I am weary — worn out. I 
 could almost go with you, Tom, after all, but I know the 
 other side. I won't go down, never, I will break 
 my heart first. I have seen the ending, the waifs from 
 
124 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 country towns led by love, the unfaithful wives from 
 the pages of novels; I knew them in the dance-houses, 
 the women with painted faces and blonded hair, all vul- 
 gar, utterly vulgar. Vice is not pretty, attractive; it 
 has no charm; it is utterly, utterly low. I know 'the 
 wages of sin is death/ Not even my love for you could 
 drag me to their level, and how," with infinite pathos, 
 "could you ask me?" 
 
 "Because I loved you." 
 
 "And that was what your love meant ? And I — I shall 
 love you always. Let that content you, dear, and go 
 away and never come back. Drift out into the world 
 and forget me, that is the only way. A woman is only 
 a small part of a man's life, but a man is often a^omfn's 
 world." 
 
 "You are all of my life," he said, quietly, "and 
 though I am stung into shame and misery, I won't give 
 you up. If you despise me, you only do what I do my- 
 self. Me a Don Juan, I must have been mad. You 
 made me so, for I intended to be square. Don't talk to 
 other people as you have to me of being dust and noth- 
 ing mattering, but you shan't, for I am coming back to 
 marry you. You are like that flower that blooms above 
 timber-line on the mountains, the storms of life only 
 make you purer and more beautiful in soul. 0, my love, 
 be patient with me, wait for me to work out the 
 problem of our happiness, that is, if you love me," 
 fiercely. 
 
 She laid her head on his breast. " I know you do," he 
 went on, brokenly," there are tears in my eyes, like a kid, 
 
■ ■ S WEET IS TR UE LO VE. " 1 20 
 
 pshaw. But Pm hit hard, it kills me to let you go, 
 what can I do?" 
 
 " Only wait, dear." 
 
 "Ill go now, for I shall be saying things I should 
 not " 
 
 "It is best, for, for — "tremulously, "I can't be al- 
 ways like this. Oh, I want to go with you." 
 
 "Now you are a real girl," he said, smiling, "yon 
 did look so white and injured and that hair off your face 
 changes you so. Let me rumple it up like you generally 
 wear it, now smile at me. That is the remembrance 
 of you I want to carry away. There is lots of love and 
 laughter in life, and some day we'll be steady, old married 
 folks, quarreling over my going out nights and you wait- 
 ing for me with a club, you're most too strong for a real 
 obedient wife. We won't be skeletons yet awhile, 
 we'll keep the flesh on our bones and be patient. Look 
 at Wilder, she's waited fifty years for a husband and 
 hasn't given up hope yet." 
 
 "Thank you," I said, walking right out and looking 
 at him severe enough, "she had better wait fifty years 
 before she marries a scamp like you." 
 
 " And yon heard all, you old listener ? " he said, 
 angrily. 
 
 " Why don't you say, old sneak, you meant it. I did 
 hear all, Tom," I went on, filling up a little, "I was 
 glad to see my dear girl is good and true and that you 
 are ashamed of yourself ; and my blessing on you both, 
 and my promise to take my best care of her till you claim 
 her from me. Dear she is to me as if I had found that 
 
126 BABE MURPHY, 
 
 husband you said I was waiting for, and she was my 
 child/' 
 
 He stooped and kissed my wrinkled cheek. " Good- 
 bye, you dear old soul/' he said, "think well of me, if 
 you can. Be sure I will come back for her." He turned 
 to Babe and put his arm around her, "walk to the road 
 with me dear, my lady love, I'll be your true knight all 
 my life. I'll go find the holy Grail, but whether in this 
 case it means the Duchess' consent or a permanent job, 
 I don't know. You two help King Arthur if you can, 
 I give it up, I can do nothing. Don't call to me in the 
 morning when I pass in my armor with my war horse, or 
 I'll tujrn back like a coward." He turned and wrung 
 my hand, something shining in his bonnie, brown eyes, 
 the manly, good, young fellow. I did like him. I 
 watched him and his love walk away together, but went in 
 before they parted. 
 
 "My heart is broken, Ann," my darling sobbed 
 when she came in and knelt beside me, hiding her face 
 in my lap, "if he should never come back. Life can 
 not be so cruel, and he was not bad, Ann, in what you 
 heard, I led him on I know." 
 
 "My dear," I said, " If I were a man I should have 
 talked much the same; you are a strange woman in a 
 strange place, and I don't misdoubt most men would 
 think as he did of you, that you would go." 
 
 "But he would never have respected me." 
 
 "Never, my dear, and I know him well enough, that, 
 had you consented, he would not have taken you." 
 
 " Are you sure of it ?" eagerly. 
 
" S WEET IS TR UE L T IB. " 127 
 
 "Quite, my dear, he is a good man, and he loves 
 you." 
 
 She did not sleep that night and made me repeat 
 praises of Ballinger until I was almost worn out. At 
 daybreak we heard his horse's hoofs and caught a glimpse 
 of him waving his hat as he vanished up the road, and 
 then my lady, with a little cry, staggered wildly with 
 outstretched arms, and fainted dead away. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 BABE PLEADS WITH HER FATHER. 
 
 The 'day after Ballinger went away, Babe came into 
 my school-room looking pale and anxious. At recess, 
 while the children were playing outside, merry enough, 
 and I was glad there was something that did not have 
 troubles, though they probably did in childland, she 
 told me what was worrying her. Jones, the negro, had 
 been drinking a good deal lately, and had been talking 
 about Mrs. Beach and Con Murphy in the saloons. 
 Mrs. Finnerty had come to her and begged her to go 
 warn the poor lady, for her name was on everybody's 
 tongue, and the darky, who was insolent when in liquor, 
 might tell Beach any time. Well, after school, who 
 should we meet but Mrs. Beach herself, and Babe, 
 blushing painfully, and awkward enough, went up to 
 her and told her what Mrs. Finnerty said. 
 
 "We have no liking for each other, Mrs. Beach," 
 stammered Babe, "but in this case I warn you to save 
 Miss Wilder. It is not right to trouble her with affairs 
 like yours and my father's. I think you ought to send 
 that Jones away, for if my father ever- heard him talk 
 ill of you he would kill him." 
 
 "I'd best tell Con then," said Mrs. Beach, carelessly. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Beach, you would not make my father a 
 murderer," cried Babe, her eyes filling with tears," you 
 
 128 
 
BABE PLEADS WITH HER FATHER. 129 
 
 could not be so wicked. There was a shooting scrape 
 over cards long ago, and, though I was a little child 
 then, I can remember it ever so plain, and how that 
 dead man used to haunt me. I used to wonder if my 
 father slept well after it. I heard the shots, and ran in 
 in my night-gown, and there was the man on the floor, the 
 blood all over his face, and my father standing looking 
 white and dazed, the smoking pistol in his hand. Dick 
 Daggett caught me up, and took me screaming away, 
 and the next day the children pointed to the coroner's 
 and said, the man my father made dead was in there. 
 Oh, the shame and sorrow I suffered — " 
 
 "Don't fret, Babe," said Mrs. Beach, not unkindly, 
 Sf I fancy I think more of your father than you do, and 
 Jones shall be sent away. By the way, my cousin has 
 gone." 
 
 Babe winced, but did not speak. 
 
 "His mother would never have let him marry you. 
 She is as heartless as my mother — as unforgiving. It 
 is terrible to come of a race of ugly-tempered, virtuous 
 women. Well, well, you are a queer girl, I'd have run 
 away with the boy, he loved you with all his 
 manly, honest heart, I can't but respect you. Good 
 heavens, there comes Beach." She gave a little cry and 
 clutched the book she held to steady her trembling 
 hands.. He came suddenly out of the bank building, 
 near where we were standing, and, looking very white 
 and angry, strode up to us. 
 
 "Clara," he said, coldly, "I did not know that you 
 were acquainted with this person," 
 
130 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 " Only a little while/' she stammered. 
 
 " You know well enough," he went on, with increas- 
 ing anger, " what my opinion is of her and her father. 
 In the kindness of your innocent heart you have taken 
 pity on her, and wish, perhaps, to make her better, but, 
 though your intentions are good, only failure must fol- 
 low. You are not acquainted with the young woman 
 of the frontier. Do not tell me, Clara, that this person 
 participated in the little jaunts you enjoyed with Mr. 
 Thomas and Miss Wilder?" 
 
 "I went with them, Mr. Beach," said Babe, curling 
 that short lip of hers, " I am sorry for it, I ate the bread 
 that was paid for with the money you robbed my 
 father of. I wonder it did not choke me." 
 
 " Clara you have not answered me," he said, com- 
 mandingly, not noticing Babe's speech at all. 
 
 "Why yes, Henry, sometimes." 
 
 " And your cousin Thomas, a young, unmarried man 
 too. Clara, when will you ever learn worldly wisdom. 
 Tut, tut, this has made me quite angry. Here is the 
 carriage, luckily. Miss Wilder I bear no ill will to you, 
 but, of course, if you persist in your strange friendships, 
 I must bar you from my home. 1 have noticed with 
 intense regret and grief, a change in Clara, a want of 
 courtesy, and impatience in manner, a disregard of her 
 feminine tasks, almost an unladylike dislike for the 
 conventionalties of life. I see now how she has been 
 contaminated by evil influences. Allow me to wish you 
 good afternoon." He helped his wife into the carriage 
 with stately dignity, touched his shiny hat to us and 
 creakc.l stiffly away. 
 
BABE PLEADS WITH HER FA T1IEB. 131 
 
 " And that is King Arthur/' sneered Babe, "I don't 
 know that I pity any of them if they are like him. 
 They may go their way, my father and that man's wife, 
 I'll do no more." 
 
 I said what I thought of Mrs. Beach's standing by 
 and letting Babe be blamed. 
 
 "I gave her a look to be still," said my dear girl, 
 "What good would it have done for her to try to clear 
 me? he would never have heard anything but that I 
 was my father's daughter." 
 
 For the next two weeks we saw little of the Beaches 
 or Murphy, but Mrs. Einnerty told us the lovers were 
 often seen at night, and that Mrs. Beach rode then with 
 Murphy, as reckless and mad a rider as he was. We 
 got a letter from Ballinger about this time, written 
 from Denver. It was quite short, but I remember he 
 said, "I did not mean to break my silence, dear, 
 (written to Babe of course) but I must tell you this. 
 A young Englishman I met here told me he had just 
 come from Erin, been up to look at Daggett's mine, 
 and at the cottage, Sunday night, he met and played 
 cards with a handsome black-eyed woman, and described 
 Clara to the very life; said she was the jolliest kind, but 
 was stuck on the big Irishman. I did not hit him, 
 though I wanted to, for what was the use, but for 
 Heaven's sake, write me if that was Clara. If she has 
 lost all decency I'll come up there and drag her away, 
 if I have to kill Beach to do it. Can't you warn him, 
 dear? Telegraph me if I can do any good." 
 
 "Her room is in another part of the house from 
 
132 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 Beach's," I said, "and she told me once how easy it 
 was to slip down from the porch roof, said she had often 
 done it, and walked in the garden when she could not 
 sleep. Here is everybody knowing about her, but her 
 husband." 
 
 " And no one to tell him," she sighed. 
 
 "Who'd dare to?" I quaked, thinking of the look 
 he'd give one, and, as I spoke, Con Murphy came gal- 
 loping along the road. He had not been near us for 
 quite a while, nor were we particularly glad to see him 
 now. He looked worn and ill, Daggett said he drank 
 hard and got no sleep at all, and hinted he was, in 
 Western vernacular, 'playing his streak out/ meaning, I 
 suppose, he was wearing out body and mind. I noticed 
 he had grown much thinner, but more handsome, if 
 that could be, and his eyes, bright and beautiful, had a 
 new expression, while the pallor of sleepless nights was 
 becoming to him. He spoke irritably and made me 
 think his nerves were strung tight and his soul utterly 
 weary of life. 
 
 "Did that old fool insult you, Babe?" he asked, as 
 she went to his side. 
 
 " Who told you, father?" 
 
 " Clara, curse him, that's one more against him when 
 a day of reckoning comes." 
 
 "Why do you tell that to every one?" she said, fear- 
 lessly. "They say you go around threatening Beach as 
 you did once years ago when you took his money and 
 let him rob you of a fortune. They laughed at your 
 talk then, but now that you are trying to rob him of 
 
BABE rLEADS WITH II Ell FATHER. 133 
 
 his wife, they begin to believe you will have to kill him 
 or he you." 
 
 "You area pleasant daughter/' he sneered, "per- 
 haps people talk of you and the cub that jilted you 
 or—" 
 
 "Please not from your lips, father/' she cried, pit- 
 eously, " don't let me ever hear what you were going to 
 say. It isn't fair." 
 
 " Well let me alone then." 
 
 " Oh for your good, father, let me speak," she pleaded, 
 going close to him and clinging to his arm. "Go away 
 and leave Mrs. Beach, the whole town knows it and he 
 must find out soon! He is an old man not your match, 
 it wouldn't be a fair fight, nor has it been. She is a 
 wicked woman, and what will become of you both? 
 Think of my mother who died so long ago, you loved 
 her, your honest wife, don't sully her memory, don't be 
 weak and led; a man should be strong and brave." 
 
 ei My dear," he said, coolly, a half laugh in his eyes, 
 "you talk very prettily, but your mother was a wild, 
 young Irish girl, sweet and innocent, but a child, 
 died a child, too, that was only a boy's love, her very 
 memory is gone from me, except when you look like her 
 once in a while. But Clara is a woman a man could die 
 for, she never wearies one, like Cleopatra, she is a 
 woman of infinite variety. It is childish and good to 
 talk of quitting, bah, if you ever love you will reason 
 differently. I owe the world nothing, it has downed 
 me, and her too, and until the breath has gone from me 
 I will stay by her. Here, I've got a letter for Wilder 
 
134 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 to give her, haven't seen her for three days, maybe some- 
 thing is up, Wilder can go to her house, can't she?" 
 
 " She shall not take the letter," said Babe, firmly, 
 ' ' nor any message. She shall not be mixed up in your 
 affairs, because she has been my only friend. Go, do as 
 you will, but let us alone, neither you nor Mrs. Beach 
 shall ever come here again, if I have to go and tell 
 Beach of you, and I would rather die than do that." 
 
 "If she wants to keep you with her, curse you," he 
 cried, white with passion, "she shall be on my side." 
 
 " She shall not," said that fearless girl, and he, in a 
 fit of fury, struck her straight in the face. She fell 
 back, and without looking at her, he galloped away like 
 mad. She recovered herself and ran into the house, 
 where I found her sopping water on the bruise. 
 
 " He never struck me before in my life," she panted, 
 " oh, my father, my father. Say will the mark wear 
 off, Ann, I don't want it there to make me remember, 
 he is so strong, he does not know how hard he struck 
 me. Oh, never, never remember what you saw." 
 
 "I won't, dear," I answered, and left her to herself 
 most of that day, for she likes to be alone in her grief. 
 " Like a dog, when I'm hurt, I crawl away by myself," 
 she said, but after supper acted more like herself, and 
 we went for a walk toward Silver City. Coming home, 
 we met Beach alone driving out, he was going to pass 
 us with his chilly bow, but Babe suddenly walked up to 
 him. "I will speak," she said to me, quickly, "Mr. 
 Beach, I believe you are a gentleman, you can not refuse 
 to listen to me for one moment." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " KING ARTHUR NEEDS A XODRED." 
 
 If she had not stood so close to the wheels, I verily 
 believe that he would have driven on, but he was 
 forced to stop or run over her. " You know very well," 
 she said, nervously, the color flooding her face, her 
 voice trembling, " that I have no reason to like you or 
 have any interest in your welfare, but I must tell you 
 this. You don't go much in the village, you are so 
 proud and cold you have no friends to warn you, and 
 everyone is talking of her — " 
 
 "Is this anything of importance, Miss Murphy?" he 
 said, greatly offended, trying to chill her with his dig- 
 nity. "I have an important engagement down the road 
 about the site of a new smelter. Really, my time is 
 very precious. If you wish to complain of Mr. Bal- 
 linger, I believe I heard he had been showing you some 
 attention, I must decline to listen. His affairs are not 
 mine — " 
 
 " I wish to tell you about your wife," she cried, stung 
 into anger. 
 
 " How dare you have the effrontery to mention her?" 
 he said, in supreme disgust. " You — my wife." It 
 seemed the very idea choked him with rage. 
 
 "Her name is on every tongue, why not mine?" went 
 on Babe, determinedly, " though Heaven knows why 
 
 135 
 
136 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 I tell you this when I hate you. Ask Miss Wilder if I 
 am not speaking the truth. You robbed my father, 
 you scorn me, you have insulted me, but I am too 
 fair to see you laughed at and scorned by everybody. 
 For your wife's sake take her away from here, be good 
 to her, don't freeze her soul and make her desperate. 
 She is only a woman, not a lay figure. If shame and 
 sorrow come to you now, you shall not say you were not 
 warned. Be blind, if you will, say anything mean you 
 like to me, I don't care, I have freed my soul from the 
 stain of cowardice." 
 
 She flung the reins she had been holding to detain 
 him back into the carriage and walked proudly away. 
 He looked old and worn, putting his hand to his head 
 confusedly. It seemed some haunting suspicion of his 
 wife that he had put aside as unworthy and dishonora- 
 ble had suddenly come to light and confronted him. 
 . " Miss Wilder," he said, with a curious hesitancy for 
 him, "is there, has there been any scandal about my 
 wife, as this young person says ? I believe Miss 
 Murphy to be a good woman, I will admit that she 
 is spoken highly of, but perhaps Thomas has been attent- 
 ive to his cousin, they were always like brother and 
 sister, and she is jealous, on that account takes this 
 underhand method of revenge. Her father is a very 
 revengeful man." 
 
 "Folks are not talking about Mrs. Beach and her 
 cousin," I said, boldly, " but another man, not him at 
 all." 
 
 He looked at me as if he doubted my sanity, then he 
 
"KING ARTHUR XEEDS A MODRED." 187 
 
 said, with awful coldness, frozen into a fierce anger, 
 " There is no other man. From this moment, madam, 
 I refuse to listen to any idle stories. Do not insult me 
 with village gossip, you presume on my kindness to 
 you. It is outrageous. Xo one is above talk, the high- 
 est in authority, the men we make our presidents. It 
 is a penance for being good and great. Guard my wife 
 as I will, the envious tongues of scandal-mongers will 
 wag. Fie, Miss Wilder, a sister woman, and you allow 
 yourself to repeat such talk. I do begin to believe that 
 maiden ladies are tale-bearing and malicious, as they 
 are said to be. Tut, tut,''' and raising that hat of his 
 he drove on, leaving me feeling like I had been slapped 
 in the face. 
 
 '•'Go, then, you poor, blind fool," I said, but Babe 
 took my arm and dragged me down to the village. "I 
 can't help but like his trust in her, his loyalty to her,' v 
 she said, bravely; '"there is no credit in being fair to 
 good folks, let's save him in spite of himself." 
 
 '•How, certainly not by influencing your father?" 
 "Xo. Miss Spiteful, but by telegraphing to Toni." 
 '•'And the operator will tell all over town you sent for 
 your beau, and folks will talk nice about you." 
 
 "I begin to believe, she said, solemnly, "that 
 maiden ladies are tale- bearing and malicious. There 
 now, darling, I'll write a cypher that will puzzle that 
 operator all his days." She got a blank and wrote a few 
 moments and then brought it to me. "King Arthur 
 needs a Modred. Come.'' This I signed with my 
 name, knowing well he would guess the secret and 
 
138 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 help us in our trouble. But alas! I know now he never 
 got our warning, and once more fate intervened, the 
 shadow of the avalanche was horribly near, but never 
 did I dream of its awful woe and misery. Yet, look- 
 ing back, I think my dear girl and I did all we could, and 
 who can blame us, if, after that warning to Mr. Beach, 
 we kept within our doors and let the world go by. 
 
 The next Sunday, my dear girl being so low-spirited, 
 I suggested we go to evening service. ' ' I haven't been 
 what you may call a religious woman, Babe," I said, 
 " but there is always comfort to me in a church. I don't 
 think I ever enter into the spirit of it, I am not pious 
 — I want to reason for myself too much — but I like to 
 look at good folks and listen to the hymns, and just 
 ' Eock of Ages ' is better to me than a sermon. Oh, 
 the time comes to all of us when we want something to 
 cling to, to feel in a great heartless world there is some 
 one who loves us." 
 
 She got her hat and went with me, and during the 
 sermon I stole my hand in hers and held it there. Oh, 
 my dear girl, with your wistful eyes, your noble face, 
 must you break your heart, must your young life be 
 darkened? I thought of Elaine, for she read to me 
 often now the poetry she and her young lover read, and 
 I wondered if she, too, like that fair maid that loved 
 Lancelot, would die of love. I saw, glancing across 
 the church, that Beach was alone in his pew; that he 
 looked sort of haggard and worn, his hair much whiter. 
 He kept trying to keep his eyes on the preacher, but 
 they would wander off, and people looked at him with 
 
"KING ARTHUR NEEDS A MODRED." 139 
 
 pitying glances. Oh, yon lonely man, I thought; you 
 lone, lone creature. Shut in, in your wall of ice, in 
 your pride. You are a very target for fate. Yet you 
 think yourself invulnerable! Dombey felt the hand of 
 God in the death of Little Paul, dynasties change by 
 the thrust of a lance, the speed of a bullet — who is 
 secure in life ? Whose house is not built on shifting 
 sand?" 
 
 " Church is over, dear," whispered Babe, and there 
 I had not stood up during the benediction, and folks 
 must have thought I was a heathen. She left me a 
 moment outside to go speak with Mrs. Hartman, and 
 I started along home by myself. " Oh, Miss Babe," I 
 heard Mrs. Hartman say, "go to your father, dear, 
 and beg him on your knees to go away. Their goings- 
 on is awful, Eli says, and Dick Daggett tells me he's 
 afraid of his life to speak to Con." 
 
 Discouraged and sad, I went ahead past the lights of 
 homes and families; there might be quarreling and jar- 
 ring behind those shut doors, but, on the whole, the 
 life was happy and good, as near as we can have it. The 
 future of vice seldom has love and care, no shelter nor 
 protection. It dies unlamented, unmourned; it is fol- 
 lowed by no tears from innocent eyes, no praise from 
 good souls; it leaves no benediction of noble days and 
 helpfulness to those that look to it for a solving of the 
 weary problem of human affairs. " If I was one of 
 those beautiful and naughty women, I'd die when I was 
 young and had my looks," I said to myself, "if I had 
 to take the morphine route, as they say here." 
 
140 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "Miss Wilder," said a metallic voice close behind me, 
 and, like all folks thinking sinful thoughts, and on 
 Sunday evening, too, I started guiltily. It was Mr. 
 Beach. He lifted his hat in a shame-faced sort of way 
 and said, slowly: 
 
 " I believe I owe you an apology. I was hasty that 
 day you stopped me on the road; you probably meant 
 kindly. I now ask you to come and see Clara. I real- 
 ize she has no friends, no women friends. Perhaps I 
 do not understand her as you could. She keeps her 
 room, will not see me, looks and acts unlike herself. 
 Perhaps she did care for her cousin, and I have ruined 
 her young life. I was too old, near twice her age, to 
 understand her. "We can not reason with those things, 
 strive as we may, Miss Wilder, yet she should have told 
 me if she cared for Thomas. I could have been her 
 good friend, if not her husband." 
 
 "I think that," I said, "and I wish you had been 
 content with being only her friend, but not only you 
 became her husband, but you ceased to be her friend." 
 
 " Tell me what you mean?" he said, pathetically. 
 
 " Only that you stifled all her hopes, her wants, you 
 shut her up here and denied her pleasures. You have 
 been to blame, Mr. Beach, whatever happens, try and 
 think some of the fault is yours." 
 
 "Nature means youth should only wed youth," he 
 said, sadly, "and my young days were spent in money 
 getting and the habit clung to me, but she never com- 
 plained, she seemed contented." 
 
 I felt a choke in my throat, oh, you kind, loveless 
 
"KLNQ ARHUR NEEDS A MODRED." 141 
 
 man. I thought, what can I say to you, how make 3011 
 see even when it is so late, tilings you might try 
 to do. '" Why not take her to Europe, Mr. Beach, she 
 would like that. This is a dull place for a beautiful 
 and bright woman like her." 
 
 " Because," he said, with almost agonized impatience, 
 " she will not go. She refuses me, she who never had 
 an idea opposed to mine. I fancy she is not well, her 
 looks are different, her laugh unnatural, her eyes 
 strangely bright. I asked the doctor — he acts odd, very 
 odd, said for Heaven's sake take her aw r ay, that I would 
 regret it all my life if I did not. I will not believe any- 
 thing but that he meant her health, not her honor 
 required it. Miss Wilder, my wife's name is above 
 reproach.'' 
 
 He was loyal and true to her, his face kindling, his 
 manner growing more decided when he spoke of her. 
 I could not speak, I hung my head and listened, feeling 
 so mean and wicked as if I, not his wife, were deceiving 
 him. 
 
 11 She always liked yon," he went on, eagerly, "your 
 frankness and odd ways pleased her, I may have con- 
 demned your kindness to Mr. Murphy's daughter, but I 
 respect you for it." 
 
 "Someday you will know, Mr. Beach," I said, firmly, 
 and I little knew how soon, "how true and noble a woman 
 that poor girl is. I can tell you she would not marry that 
 Cousin of your wife's, though he was mad for her. She 
 would not come between mother and son, and she sent 
 him away though her heart is breaking. She is a 
 
142 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 woman who could not lie, and who to help you, to warn 
 you, her father's enemy, stifled her pride, her maiden 
 shyness, and told you of your danger. Think well of 
 her, for she has tried to help you more than you will 
 ever know." 
 
 "I do not understand you," he answered, " I trust I 
 may if she did try to do me some imagined good. She 
 owes me none. They speak highly of her at the village, 
 especially that very decent man, Hartman. Pray come 
 and see us, will you not. I ask your aid, you will not 
 refuse me." 
 
 His pride was humbled, his very voice meek and dis- 
 pirited, his manner imploring. His heart ached, poor 
 man, and I did promise to come and meant it. I never 
 liked him so well as that moment, he was nearer human. 
 I put my cotton glove in his big, brown kid one and 
 said, "I'll try to cheer her up and talk her into going away 
 for a little trip," and then I heard people talking. 
 Merciful Heaven! there was that mocking laughter, that 
 now thrilled every nerve in me and seemed to choke my 
 very utterance. Nearer and nearer came the sound and 
 then a rarely sweet voice said: 
 
 " That was the closest shave yet, Con." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MR. BEACH SORELY SMITTEN". 
 
 " I must go back for Babe/' I said, mad with, terror 
 Jest he should recognize the voice and laugh. "I'm 
 not going this way any further." I whirled around, but 
 Mr. Beach laid a restraining hand on my arm. 
 
 "If this haste is on my account, Miss Wilder, it is 
 quite useless. I recognize Mr. Murphy's voice, he has 
 a lady with him, so there is no fear of violence. Be- 
 sides, he and others of his ilk have threatened me for 
 years. I am not afraid of braggarts, in fact, I never 
 go armed." 
 
 " Please, go back," I cried, wildly, "I tell you, you 
 must," I spoke up loud to warn them. 
 
 "Why, Wilder's got a beau," said that mocking voice; 
 "the sly, little thing, and we've stumbled on a trysting 
 place, Con. Colorado is a wonderful country for 
 school ma'ams." 
 
 I think her ladyship had been taking too much cham- 
 dagne, but, land! what did I care what she said, poor 
 soul! if I could have warned her, but my arm was 
 gripped with a grasp of iron, and Beach stepped into 
 the bushes out of sight, yet holding me all the time. 
 
 "We won't peek at him, Wilder," she said, as she 
 passed close in the trail, her skirts brushing mine so 
 near Beach could have touched her where he stood, 
 
 143 
 
144 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "only don't tell tales on us." As they went on, she was 
 smoking, and mischievously puffed up the light on her 
 cigarette, and for a fleeting instant her face showed 
 bright and clear against Con's shoulder, for his arm 
 was around her. 
 
 "If you are going to shoot, Mr. Beach/' I quaked, 
 "for Heaven's sake! let me run. I hate the noise, I'm 
 scared of fire arms, always was, I will tell on you in 
 the courts, I will — " 
 
 " Peace! fool," he says in an awful voice. " How long 
 has this been going on? Tell me the truth." He held 
 me, glaring into my face. 
 
 " Folks says years and years, oh, let me go, sir, you 
 are pinching me black and blue." 
 
 " Was that what the girl meant? Did she know it? " 
 His voice husky now. 
 
 "Yes, it was," he fairly shook the words out of me; 
 "everybody in town knew it but you. She has been 
 breaking her heart about it, Babe can hate honest, but 
 that kind of a revenge sickened her. " 
 
 "Revenge," he muttered in a horrible tone, "Oh,my 
 God!" He staggered back against the tree, and his 
 silk hat fell off, and rolled in the mud, but I did not 
 dare pick it up. He began tearing off his gloves with 
 feverish haste, and some senseless memory came to 
 me then of how carefully he usually did this, working 
 off the fingers one by one, and smoothing them out. 
 He pushed away his thin gray hair off his forehead, and 
 began picking at his throat. A moment later he had 
 flung his collar off, and his neat white tie that he al- 
 
MR. BEACH SORELY SMITTEN. 145 
 
 ways wore Sundays, and breathing hard and fast, stood 
 there, clutching his throat. Then, watching him with 
 scared eyes, I saw he was trying to speak, and could not. 
 Oh, that awful, voiceless agony, that tide of passion that 
 found no channel. 
 
 "Only speak," I pleaded. " Mr. Beach, do not look 
 like that, curse her, if you will, or him, but, for Heav- 
 en's sake, speak." Mercifully then I heard my dear girl's 
 voice, calling me, and she came running along the path. 
 "What has happened ?" she asked, seeing us. "Is it 
 the worst?" 
 
 " We met them," I sobbed, trembling now in every 
 limb. 
 
 She saw the condition of that stricken man, and 
 bravely went up to him. She took that hand of his, 
 that he was clutching his throat with, and held it in 
 hers. "Mr. Beach, you must think," she said, gently. 
 "Let me share your suffering, he is my father, and I 
 must hate him. I won't say be calm, but try to steady 
 yourself. It is a blow; you cared for her. Lean on 
 me, you are so weak; you stagger, the road is very 
 rough, too. Now collect yourself, and let me lead you 
 to Doctor Hcoper's; it is not far." 
 
 "Er, — thank you, Miss, quite ill, yes, collect myself," 
 he mumbled. " You are his daughter, my enemy's, very 
 kind." 
 
 " I pity you," softly. "Ah, I do pity you, let me help 
 you." 
 
 He would have disdained that strong young arm, but 
 he was actually too weak to walk alone. He clutched 
 
146 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 at the air, put his trembling hands to his head and 
 then reached out to her. " I am almost blind. I can't 
 think, oh, to my lawyer's, take me there. I had left 
 her everything, come, I tell you to Martin's, you know 
 the house." 
 
 She signed to me to go ahead and tell him, and I hur- 
 ried along and luckily the man was at home. When I 
 told him, he went to the parlor, told his women 
 folks to keep away and leave a light in the dining-room, 
 and seized his hat. 
 
 "Go for Hooper," he called as he ran down the road, 
 and, never thinking I was tired and I had walked a 
 good bit, I turned to go, and found the Doctor, walking 
 not far from Martin's house, coming home from a call 
 on a patient. He was a short, chunky man, with a bris- 
 tling, gray beard and rosy cheeks, real New England blue 
 eyes and a pleasant, honest way with him, and of think- 
 ing a body knows something and agreeing with one. I 
 told him what had happened, and he went with me mut- 
 tering, "1 knew it, damn the women and beg your 
 pardon, Miss Wilder, but some of them are the devil." 
 
 We did not knock at Martin's, but went direct to the 
 dining-room, where a lamp had been lighted. I was so 
 beat out I had to sit down, and the Doctor, seeing how 
 white I was, got me a glass of brandy out of the cup- 
 board. There are some rooms we have seen in strange 
 days of our lives that are printed on the memory, and 
 that dining-room was one. It was low-ceilinged, the 
 walls covered, with gaudy paper, little red balls fes- 
 tooned together with gilt chains. . The hanging lamp 
 
MR. BEACH SORELY SMITTEN. 147 
 
 had smoked the ceiling over it, and I noticed that. 
 There were four hard, wooden chairs, a table covered 
 with a cheap, red cloth, I never liked them since, there 
 were two chromos on the walls, cows, I believe, morning 
 and night, or something, but pleasant to look at. I had 
 heard Martin was close, and that room showed it. By 
 one of the windows, hung with a paper curtain, was a 
 stand of plants and over it hung a cage with a sleeping 
 canary. A cat came creeping from under the stove, 
 smelled of me and went yawning back. I thought to 
 myself, there are times when one might like to be an 
 animal. Then the gate clicked. 
 
 Was that wild-eyed man Beach ? I stared in horror. 
 His shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, his hair all 
 awry, he'd been bleeding from the mouth and it had 
 streaked down his pallid face and on his white shirt, 
 his hands too, were covered with it. His coat was dusty 
 and disordered, he stooped in his walk, staggering like 
 a drunken man. His dreadful eyes, were glassy and 
 staring and his nervous hands would not be still. 
 He looked like a murdered man come back for ven- 
 geance, and if ever I dream of a ghost it is his, as I saw 
 him that night. He kept hold of Babe's arm and 
 reached out for the glass of brandy the Doctor had 
 filled. Though he was a temperate man he drank that 
 liquor with a fierce gulp and a second glass too. 
 
 " Give me some water, you/' he said to Babe, in a 
 thick, strange voice, " fancy of mine, from your hand 
 a cup of water, enemy. Some saying I have heard, 
 can't place it." She handed it to him with trembling 
 
148 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 hand, he drank, looking at her in that queer way, then 
 he staggered to a chair and fell into it, burying his 
 head on his outstretched arms. We looked at each 
 other and at him and all our eyes were dim and our 
 hearts ached. Oh, that mute, silent agony. 
 
 Babe started to go, but he heard her step and raised 
 his ghastly face. "She is a good girl, Hooper?" he 
 asked, querulously. Both men answered for her with 
 warm praise. 
 
 "I may have wronged her, hurt her life — business 
 men are unscrupulous. A good girl, and would not lie. 
 Will you say, Miss, you will try and bear me no ill will?" 
 
 " I am over that, sir," she said with quivering lips, 
 are we not together in our sorrow? My heart feels 
 only tenderest pity for you." 
 
 " I thank you," he said, humbly, then, turning to the 
 lawyer, he went on with strange force, "'Am I not in 
 my right mind, Martin, will you and Hooper swear to 
 that?" 
 
 "No man is more sensible," said the doctor, " you 
 are a bit upset by the shock, that is all, you will come 
 out all right. A woman is not all there is in life." 
 
 "Miss Wilder, I am sorry to have brought you here, 
 made you a sharer in my misfortunes, I thank you for 
 all your kindness. Life is so short I may not see you 
 again, and I want you to remember I appreciated your 
 efforts to help a blind, and worse than senseless man. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 His hand that he held to me was as cold as ice. " God 
 pity you and help you," I stammered, and then we went 
 
MR. BE A CH SOREL 7 SMITTEN. 149 
 
 away, Babe and I, and he, with his invariable courtesy, 
 stood until we had gone, but I looked back and saw him 
 again leaning on the table, his face covered, and the 
 two men looking on in voiceless sympathy. 
 
 As we passed through the village street, we saw Jones 
 sitting by a saloon door, and we went across to speak to 
 him. 
 
 " Where is my father? " said Babe, blushing painfully. 
 
 "Kode by on his horse five minutes ago," said Jones, 
 and he'd been drinking too, pretty freely. 
 
 "He has left her then," muttered Babe. "Jones, if 
 you have any reason to be grateful to Mrs. Beach, you 
 must help her now. Her husband saw her with — with 
 my father. " 
 
 "De old man know!" cried the negro, jumping to 
 his feet, sobering instantly. 
 
 " The worst, run to her and warn her, Beach is not 
 in his right mind, tell her to go any where but to meet 
 him, to hide herself. I pity the husband more than 
 her, and I don't want him, in his agony, to do some- 
 thing terrible that will haunt him forever. As for my 
 father/' with a sudden tightening of her lips, "it may 
 be a sin — unfilial — wicked in me, lay it to my bringing 
 up, to frontier justice, but he shall have no warning 
 from me. He shall abide the consequences of his sin." 
 
 I was too confused to wonder at her white rigid face 
 and that stern morality of hers, I only motioned to the 
 darky to run, and he did, as if his life were at stake. 
 As usual, fate was against us, for, before we could get 
 away, I heard some one come out of the saloon, and 
 
150 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 noticed in the trees the bay horse tied, and saw Con 
 Murphy going up to him. Why Jones lied I never 
 knew, out of sheer mischief, I suppose. 
 
 " Whatever you think, you wicked girl," I said, ' ' I 
 shall tell that man his wickedness is found out/' and 
 I turned around and went up to Con Murphy. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Wait," I said, as he started to mount his horse, " I 
 have something to say to you." He put his arm through 
 the bridle and came to where we were standing. 
 
 " You and Babe here," he said, as she turned her 
 face away, proud and cold, " what has happened?" 
 
 "Mr. Beach was with me when you passed to-night. 
 Jones has gone to warn Mrs. Beach, and I tell you for 
 your own good to get out of Erin as quick as you can." 
 
 He drew a deep breath. "Whew, that is rough on 
 the old man," he laughed, bitterly, "saw us did he? I 
 saw him once sign me a check for ten thousand and rob 
 me of a million. Quits by — , and here he is." 
 
 That poor man was coming along the sidewalk with 
 Doctor Hooper, we had been quite a while on our way, 
 and he evidently had made quick work of what he 
 wanted to tell his lawyer. He was still hatless and 
 staggered, walking feebly leaning on the Doctor's arm. 
 
 "Don't you dare speak to him, father," said Babe, 
 pushing herself in front of her father, "don't be a cow- 
 ard. He is not armed, he is old and feeble, can you 
 not be satisfied with your revenge?" 
 
 " Confound you," he muttered, fiercely, " Fm no 
 assassin — you, do you think me capable of that. It's his 
 business to shoot, not mine." He stepped out to meet 
 
 151 
 
152 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 Boach as coolly as if he were a friend. " Here Beach," 
 he said, recklessly, " do you want me? They said you 
 knew all; I'm glad of it, had to come some time." 
 
 " Mr. Murphy," said the doctor, coldly, "if you have 
 any decency at all, you will not torture this stricken 
 man. 
 
 "I won't hurt him," said Con, carelessly, f 'I only 
 robbed him as he robbed me. Here, Babe, take my 
 revolver and give it to him, or keep it, if you are afraid 
 of shooting. I'm not. I am ready to settle with him 
 any time; this earth is not big enough for both of us." 
 
 "I want nothing to do with you," gasped Beach, the 
 great beads of perspiration standing on his forehead, 
 "nothing to do with you." His trembling hand went, 
 to his throat then and picked nervously. " Doctor, 
 help me home." 
 
 "If you go home, so will I," said Con, fiercely; "you 
 shall not frighten Clara, while I am alive to protect 
 her." 
 
 " Has there ever been anything in my life-long cour- 
 tesy to women," said Beach, witli white lips, " to war- 
 rant your insinuation that I might abuse my wife? 
 Kindly let me pass, Sir." 
 
 "Are you not satisfied," cried Babe, clinging to her 
 father's arm, "is it manly to torture that stricken old 
 man?" 
 
 "He made you a pauper and the jest of a mining 
 camp, don't forget that," sneered Con, flinging her 
 aside and jumping on his horse. As we might be 
 needed, I persuaded Babe to follow the doctor and Mr. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 153 
 
 Beach. His house looked quite deserted, but, on hear- 
 ing our steps, alight flashed in the hall, and Mary Eric- 
 son, the cook, came out on the porch. 
 
 She seemed to know the trouble, for she said, nerv- 
 ously, "Shall I put the lamp in his room? there is no 
 one here." 
 
 The doctor nodded, "Come, Beach, straighten up 
 and collect yourself, there is nothing to dread, your 
 wife has gone." 
 
 "Gone," he muttered in that queer, dazed way, "gone, 
 I thank God for that." 
 
 I watched them go up the steps to the verandah, where 
 she used to sit with her pretty work, and he watching 
 her with that light in his face. Alas, how old and feeble 
 he was now, his pride forever lowered, -the edifice of a 
 successful, prosperous life shattered by the hand of her 
 he loved most on earth. We sat outside, and waited 
 for the doctor to come, thinking we might be needed. 
 It was very cold, and I remember yet the chill wind 
 blowing from the mountains, where the new snow of 
 the year lay on the purple shadows like the ermine on 
 the mantle of a king. Above us sparkled myriads of 
 stars, wonderfully bright in the clear atmosphere. I 
 always think of the moonlight in Colorado when I go 
 East, and I seem to see a blur over things there; for 
 it may be some recompense for living near the clouds that 
 we see things in a purer air. Around us the trees 
 rustled and whispered, and seemed alive. Often when 
 I have been alone in the woods I have felt the livingness 
 of the trees, in ghostly stirring and rustling, until I could 
 
154 BABE MUBPHY. 
 
 most believe souls were shut up in them. I looked at that 
 pretty home he had built for her, where the light in the 
 parlor glimmered on the pictures and costly furniture, 
 and all the things to make life beautiful, and somehow 
 I thought of the starving women in city streets, and 
 what a paradise that home would be to them. There 
 seemed little right in this hard world. 
 
 That was a home, I thought, and I can not think it 
 will ever be so again. I wondered if a child would have 
 softened Clara's wayward heart. Think what you will 
 of me, I never can say she was utterly bad, she was only 
 weak-willed and weary, sort of desperate. Would cling- 
 ing baby fingers have given a tender pity to her face, a 
 better feeling to the man who meant to make her life 
 happy, but made her miserable? Would the pure soul 
 of an innocent child have made her strive to be worthy 
 of it? But better, a thousand times, there was no child 
 if she would still have loved as she did. 
 
 At last the doctor came and thanked us for waiting. 
 " He is quite calm now and needs nothing, the girl has 
 promised to look after him, the second girl went to the 
 village to stop the night with her family, but Mary 
 thinks the coachman will be back. Mrs. Beach has 
 gone for good, I am sure, for her room is in disorder, 
 her clothing scattered about as if she had been packing 
 what she needed. That poor husband, my heart bleeds 
 for him. lie never made many friends, but his worst 
 enemy would pity him, as he sits there, his eyes vacant, 
 his unquiet hands twisting nervously, thinking, oh God, 
 what horrible thoughts." When we left him at our 
 
A TRAGEDY. 155 
 
 road, he shook hands with my dear girl. "We here 
 love you and respect you," he said, kindly; "what your 
 father does will never be visited on you." 
 
 I got up at sunrise the next morning, for I could not 
 sleep. Babe had fallen into an uneasy slumber, and I 
 was glad of that, for she looked terribly ill. It was a 
 cold, gray morning, the mists on the mountains linger- 
 ing long, the road frosty and white, all the trees were 
 bare and leafless, and the brooks, filled to the brim, 
 seemed to try to make up for the loss of summer life in 
 their merry ripple. Mornings in this mountain country 
 are not much like those at Southport. I miss the sight 
 of the water sparkling in the sun, the rattle of cordage, 
 the clank of oars, the voices of the fishermen; here 
 there is a dense stillness below those gloomy heights, 
 where light and joy seem, above timber-line, near eternal 
 snow. I looked at the great wall twixt heaven and 
 earth, with that shut-in sort of feeling I always have. 
 "When 1 have got on the other side of you I shall 
 breathe again," I muttered. As I turned to go home, I 
 saw in the road at my feet, a mousquetaire glove, tan- 
 colored and scented with violet. It was Clara's, like 
 all her dainty belongings, costly and fine. I held it in 
 my hand and saw that it had been torn off hastily, all 
 the buttons ripped and on the palm was a stain that 
 looked like blood, there was a black mark on it too, 
 not caused by the bridle reins I thought. Wondering 
 w r hat it meant, I hurried home, where my dear girl had 
 a breakfast waiting that neither of us ate. When she 
 was clearing up the dishes, I took the dog's meal out to 
 
156 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 him in front of the house, and as I watched the animal 
 eat, very dainty he was too, no scraps for him, I saw 
 Mr. Beach's carriage coming. I thought most likely he 
 was going to Silver City, possibly to make preparations 
 for a divorce, but lo, and behold, the only occupant of 
 the carriage was Mr. Martin, and he drove straight up to 
 my door. He looked pale and anxious, and before I 
 could speak he said,, quickly: 
 
 "Can you go with me? We need some woman at 
 the house, some one with sense, Mr. Beach is dead." 
 
 " Did Con Murphy kill him?" I cried right out, and 
 could have bitten my tongue for it. 
 
 " Don't talk, please; any word of yours will be used 
 against him. It may be suicide, but it looks like 
 murder." 
 
 " Murder! " repeated my dear girl. "Oh, Mr. Martin, 
 Mr. Beach is not dead?" 
 
 " Last night," the lawyer answered, shortly. " Will 
 you come, Miss Wilder?" 
 
 " But my father and her," gasped Babe. 
 
 "They went away last night, also, but if there is any 
 law in Colorado, they shall be brought back." 
 
 I had no reason for not going, so Babe got me 
 my shawl and bonnet, and I drove away in that car- 
 riage that had brought me to Erin nearly five months 
 ago. Where was my driver of that day, and how had 
 he gone on his long journey? All of us are afraid of 
 suicide, that sense of going before our time where we 
 are not wanted, the feeling of imperiling an infinite 
 future by an act of our own. Nor was Beach the kind 
 
A TRAGEDY. 157 
 
 of a man to give up beat and let the world say he was a 
 coward. 
 
 "I never will believe he committed suicide," said 
 Martin, "though Hooper thinks so. That fool Swede 
 ran away from the house after the doctor left; was. 
 afraid to stay there; came back by daylight this morn- 
 ing with the second girl, made the fires, worked around 
 awhile, and then went up to see how her master was 
 She'd promised, mind you, to give him medicine if he 
 woke up in the night; she's got her punishment, though; 
 believe she'll go crazy. They found his door open, the 
 bed not touched, and his sleeping draught untasted. 
 Fearing something had happened, they crept down the 
 hall to her room, Mrs. Beach's, and there they saw him, 
 dead." 
 
 I felt a creepy feeling coming over me, "and then?" 
 I asked, in a queer sort of voice. 
 
 "They ran like mad for help, and the cook has gone 
 into one fainting fit after another " 
 
 We turned into the open gate and went slowly up the 
 pretty avenue under the evergreens, the swollen stream 
 by the house rushed merrily along, but the flower beds 
 were bare and the shrubs dead, and decay had settled 
 upon the garden that was as desolate as the home. We 
 met some of the miners walking in the path, with that 
 way of folks prying around when the man of a place is 
 dead; for they never dare come when he is alive. There 
 were some sitting on the steps, and the coroner, a 
 solemn-faced man, frowned on them when he opened 
 the door for us. 
 
158 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "1 have locked the crowd out," he said, in a low, 
 funeral-like voice. " We needed you, Miss Wilder; the 
 servants are of no use, and we shall want some of his 
 clothes got for him." He spoke of the dead man only 
 as "him," and, I suppose, from long acquaintance with 
 death, had given the dead only a pronoun, not a per- 
 sonality. " Very cold weather we are having," he went 
 on, showing me into the parlor. Lord, how could he 
 talk of weather; what did it matter to a murdered man? 
 "The coachman can not be found, Mr. Martin, and 
 two of the horses are gone. Now, Miss Wilder, I shall 
 have to ask you to come to the room occupied by him — 
 he is not there — and to look over his clothing. He will 
 be left, until the inquest, where he is." 
 
 Death lurked in the air in that quiet house. The 
 sunlight streaming into the pretty parlor, on her 
 piano, the music still in the rack as she left it, 
 her work in a dainty Chinese basket, had a strange, 
 bright cruelty. There was her lace handkerchief on the 
 table, crumpled up by her hand and smelling of violets, 
 an odor that always brings me back to that day, and 
 will as long as I live. I went and closed the shutters. 
 The ormolu clock on the mantel ticked musically, and 
 then I thought if the master's hand wound it and it 
 would run until the machinery stopped, while he was 
 still and motionless; yet his personality was there. It 
 made itself apparent in the stiff-backed chair he liked; 
 in his smoking set, where a cigar, half burned, lay as 
 he had left it before going to church; there was his hat 
 in the hall, not the one dropped that night; his ebony 
 
A TRAGEDY. 159 
 
 cane, with a gold head, and I wondered if he had put it 
 there, or ever thought that his hand had touched it for 
 the last time. The stairs were carpeted soft, and my 
 footsteps made no sound, and he went wearily up these 
 stairs last night, I thought, little dreaming then he 
 would be brought down in his coffin. The doctor met 
 me in the upper hall. 
 
 " You are a sensible woman," he said, in a low voice; 
 " I think you will be brave enough to stand it. Will 
 you go see him? I want your opinion, and you must, at 
 all events, tell what you know, at the inquest. Bad as 
 Con Murphy was, I will not think he murdered that 
 poor man." 
 
 I took off my hat and shawl, and laid them on a chair, 
 and found myself smoothing my hair, showing how a 
 habit will cling to one always. I followed him into a 
 beautiful room, a soft blue tint in paper, carpet and 
 furniture, a bed with lace shams and spread, exquisite 
 pictures on the walls, and everywhere dainty bric-a- 
 brac. On the floor and chairs were her clothes, scat- 
 tered in wild confusion, every bureau drawer was wide 
 open, and her jewel boxes emptied and flung down. 
 The gas was still burning, flickering in the wind from 
 the open window. We had gas in Erin, and I must say 
 people in Western towns are far ahead of those in the 
 East, in the way of comforts. I thought of how thau 
 light had flickered all night in the ghastly stillness, and 
 far off its glimmer had penetrated the trees, but brought 
 no helping hand. In a jog behind the door, a safe was 
 set in the wall, and, before this, lying on his back, as 
 
160 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 they found him, lay the master, dead, never to open 
 his eyes on the world he had fought so bravely, but that 
 had crushed him at last. 
 
 lean see yet that decent broadcloth suit, the white 
 shirt-bosom, all stained with blood; the disordered hair, 
 the white face, where, mercifully, the eyes were closed. 
 I thought of the look in them, and what his last glimpse 
 of life had seen. Yet, his expression was calm, the thin 
 lips closed in a quiet way, many of the hard lines 
 smoothed out of his face. 
 
 "A face changes after death," murmured the coroner, 
 who followed me like a horrible shadow, " I never knew 
 why; haven't been in the business long; looks natural, 
 don't he?" 
 
 My eyes strayed in a strange sort of fascination to 
 those white, bony hands; I saw the waxen fingers were 
 curled into the palm a little, and on one was a mark of 
 powder. 
 
 " The shot was fired very close," went on the coroner, 
 "his vest is blackened with powder." 
 
 I tried to think, with a confused remembrance one has 
 of something that ought to have happened as we wished, 
 if Babe gave her father the pistol back. 
 
 "The pistol is beside him, there on the left; his own. 
 I told Hooper I thought Murphy always carried a 
 forty-five calibre, this is only a toy for a Western 
 man, can't get good aim with it." 
 
 " There are no bruises on him," whispered the doctor, 
 "and Murphy is a powerful man. In a close struggle 
 as this must have been, Beach would have been hurt." 
 
A TRAGEDY. 161 
 
 Other people coming in then, I went to the master's 
 room, and got out his clothing. Dear me! the waste of 
 good things for the want of a little mending; I do not 
 believe she ever sewed a stitch for him. Those clothes 
 somehow pictured the loneliness and isolation of his 
 life. " You were good to her, you lonely, frozen soul," 
 I said, "and what did she do for you? It seems to me 
 even if I hated a husband, I would attend to his wants. 
 Your room was fine and beautiful enough, but his is so 
 plain and forlorn, and nothing kept neat, the torn 
 handkerchiefs put in with the good ones, dust every- 
 where; his brashes neglected; nothing in its place. Oh, 
 you poor, dead man! proud as you weue, you are pitiful 
 enough. You loved her, selfish and unworthy as she 
 was, and I doubt if a better, more human man than 
 you, would have ever thought of her so well." 
 
 The coroner's jury came that afternoon, and after 
 they had viewed the corpse, it was dressed in the suit I 
 had got. and laid on his own bed. Hooper told me 
 afterwards I had got Beach's wedding suit, but he lies 
 in it now, in his last rest, and after all, perhaps his hap- 
 piest hour was when he wore it and married the woman 
 he loved. The jury poked into every thing, creaking 
 about, talking in low, scared tones, and then we all went 
 down to the parlor where they sat around a table, and 
 questioned those who knew anything about the death. 
 I got the cook up, but she was too upset to answer 
 rationally, and, poor soul, forgot all she knew of the 
 English language, and jabbered away in Swedish, until 
 we sent her away. When I came back from her room 
 
162- BABE MURPHY. 
 
 off the kitchen, I heard a sound on the porch as if some 
 one was trying to make a dog be quiet and lie down, 
 and then the coroner opened the hall door to usher in 
 Con Murphy's daughter, summoned as a witness against 
 her father. 
 
 m- 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 WEARY OF THE MOUNTAIN WALLS. 
 
 She came into the room and faced them quite calmly, 
 answering all their questions with quiet dignity. "That 
 was not my father's revolver," she said. " I had his 
 in my possession Sunday night, it was much larger." 
 "At what time?" they asked. "When he met Beach." 
 Did she ask for it, fearing trouble ? No, her father gave it 
 to her of his own motion. He said it was Mr. Beach's 
 place to shoot not his. Well they did not care to hear 
 that, but did she not know the dead man's life had been 
 threatened for years by her 'father? Yes, she did know 
 that, with a weary sort of scorn, did not a great many 
 men talk that way, was it not a custom in the camp ? 
 After that speech, that they took kindly, one of the 
 jurymen asked how long the liason had been going on 
 between her father and Mrs. Beach. 
 
 " That does not concern the dead man," she said, 
 firmly, " it can do the case no good, and if I knew I 
 would not tell." 
 
 They respected her wish to be silent on that painful 
 subject, and soon she was allowed to go, and she came to 
 sit by me. We had just begun to breathe freely, think- 
 ing there was no case at all against Murphy, when Eli 
 Hartman was called. He got up, looking pale and anx- 
 ious, and gave Babe a miserable glance, as if he did not 
 want to speak. 
 
 163 
 
164 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 No one had seen Murphy near Beach's house, and 
 the case against him looked well on that account, 
 but now Hartman said he had heard of the trouble and 
 had gone to Daggett's house to get Dick to look after 
 Murphy for fear of bloodshed. He then went to look 
 for Con himself, as Dick was in Denver. They had been 
 partners once in a mine, and he always liked Murphy and 
 would not believe he was cowardly enough to kill an old 
 man like Beach. He was told by the jury his opinions 
 could be dispensed with, and looking angry and insulted 
 he went on. He could not find Murphy and then went 
 to Beach's house, it was late — after twelve, he thought. 
 He saw three horses tied in the trees by the gate and 
 heard footsteps. Not wishing to intrude before he knew 
 who was coming, he hid in the bushes and saw Murphy, 
 Mrs. Beach and the negro, Jones, come down the avenue, 
 mount the horses and ride rapidly away. He was sure 
 they were there, could even tell Mrs. Beach had on some 
 sort of a fur cloak, saw her hand a package to Con. 
 They stopped a moment to - tie some bundles on the 
 saddles. He heard nothing they said, did not think 
 they spoke at all. Con swore some, tightening a girth 
 in his saddle, for the horse would not stand, that was all. 
 Did he hear any shots ? No, not a sound, and his hear- 
 ing was good, too, had never been questioned. He sat 
 down, and I could not tell if his testimony had helped 
 or hurt Murphy. The jury went out in the dining room 
 then, and we sat and waited for the verdict. I helped 
 get the cook in a wagon and she was taken away. I 
 think she died in the insane asylum afterwards. Poor 
 
WEARY OF THE V0VNTA1N WALLS. 1G5 
 
 foreign creature, she had not been in this country a year, 
 and her opinions of us as a people and our goings on 
 must have been strange. 
 
 At half-past seven Doctor Hooper came to us. "The 
 verdict is, he came to his death from a pistol wound in 
 the hands of a person unknown," he said, cheeringly, 
 "it was the only possible one. I don't believe in the 
 suicide theory myself now, for the position of the body, 
 the pistol and the wound are against it. He was shot 
 by some one who was struggling in his grasp, and has- 
 tily too, without aim. No man could hold a weapon and 
 kill himself in that way.* I never will believe it was Mur- 
 phy that did it, he is too powerful a man, Beach would 
 be a child in his hands; now, Babe, you take up heart, 
 this will not hurt you." 
 
 "I thank you," she said, sadly, "the time has come 
 when I shall need all my friends." 
 
 "I am sorry," said Martin, joining us, looking red 
 and angry, "very sorry to have to act as I shall, but I 
 owe a great deal to Mr. Beach. He took me from an 
 obscure position and made me attorney for the Maid of 
 Erin mine. I intend to push this case and find Mr. 
 Beach's cowardly murderer. 
 
 "I suppose you do owe something to Beach ?" saidBabe, 
 curling that short lip of hers, the ugly look in her 
 eyes, "but I thought he paid you well for aiding him to 
 outwit the rest of the owners in the mine! He cer- 
 tainly made enough to afford it." 
 
 "Women have at best a shallow acquaintance with 
 business," said Martin, rudely, "you only see with 
 
166 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 your father's eyes. I tell you what I am going to do, 
 for I do not wish the people here who have some sense- 
 less liking for Con Murphy to think that I went about 
 proving the murder in any underhand way. The grand 
 jury is in session, the district attorney a friend of 
 mine, and I shall have a charge of murder brought 
 against your father and get out a warrant for his arrest." 
 
 " I should think," Babe muttered, " you would wait 
 for Mr. Beach's relatives to do something. I am sure 
 Mr. Ballinger will be here in a day or two when he 
 knows. " 
 
 " He was telegraphed for, but had left Denver sud- 
 denly some days ago, and no one knew where he went. 
 Mr. Beach has only distant connections, so all the 
 affairs of the funeral and property are in my hands. I 
 was left in the dark about his last will, he left orders 
 it was not to be opened for two months, for I think 
 he feared some trouble and wished to give me time to 
 set matters right. For your sake, I hope Murphy 
 may be proven innocent, but I tell you, frankly, it looks 
 very bad for him." 
 
 "I am glad I know what you are going to do, and, 
 unjust as you are, I thank you for telling me/' said Babe, 
 courteously, and then he went away. " Tom never got 
 our telegram," she said, mournfully, as we walked home. 
 " I can not see anything we can do except to hope and 
 pray my father may not be found." 
 
 We did nothing in the case. I kept on with my 
 school, and Babe, growing thinner and paler, took care of 
 the house. Beach's body was sent to his Massachusetts 
 
WEARY OF TEE MOUNTAIN WALLS. 167 
 
 home for burial, and a host of hungry-looking distant 
 connections flocked into Erin to see if there was any- 
 thing for them. I hear some of their board bills for the 
 next two months, while they waited for the opening of 
 the will, are not yet paid, and Mrs. Finnerty wrote me 
 long afterwards, "They was sarved right and got their 
 comeuppance" (the last word I taught her, it being a 
 favorite in Southport) . It took a couple of days to get 
 out the warrant for Murphy, and that much more time 
 he had to escape, so I hoped, as all the papers were full 
 of the murder, Con had warning enough to keep out of 
 the way. As time went on, we lost our fear that every 
 passer was him brought back, but we were unhappy 
 enough. Babe grew sad and morose under the shame of 
 it, and folks did act a little different towards us. I saw 
 the sentiment of the community was against Murphy. 
 He was so big and strong and the murder such a 
 cowardly one; then Mrs. Beach was always hated, and 
 the fact that she was somewhere, happy, possibly, with 
 the sinful man she loved, made all the dislike come 
 uppermost. At last, when two of the children were 
 taken away from school, because I lived with Murphy's 
 daughter, I sent in my resignation on the spot. Then 
 I went home and told Babe, and we got ready to depart. 
 She was eager to go, and yet heart-broken that I had 
 suffered in some way for my love for her. 
 
 "Good land, dear," I said, "I have been dying to get 
 out of here, I am sick of those walls, those eternal, ever- 
 lasting mountains, I want to get in an open country, I 
 want a horizon in my life, not to be hedged in and no 
 getting away or looking off." 
 
168 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 It was the first day in December when we shook the 
 dust, or rather snow, of Erin off our feet, never to see 
 the place again or walk in the shadows of those mighty 
 mountains, already white and drear with the snows of 
 winter. The road was icy and slippery, and that ride 
 haunts me yet. Our belongings filled the stage, and we 
 and the dog were the only passengers. Babe sold her 
 broncho to Hartman, who I know gave the beast good 
 care. Dr. Hooper and Mrs. Finnerty came to see us 
 off, and Hartman came running in his working clothes 
 to say good-bye as we reached the high ground near the 
 mine. The last thing we saw in Erin was that cottage 
 Beach had built for his wife. It looked as pretty as ever, 
 with its gay paint and its fair surroundings but the cur- 
 tains were down and no blue curl of smoke floated 
 from its chimneys in the frosty air. Deserted and soli- 
 tary under the pines peopled with ghosts and creeping 
 sounds and strange, pallid faces, filled with remem- 
 brances and memories, to stand for years in desolating 
 decay, and then, in time, to bear the reputation of being 
 haunted. 
 
 "Looks bad, don't it?" said our driver, " Lord, Babe, 
 who would have thought Con would have panned out as 
 he done, jolliest kind of a feller once, but after the 
 wimmen too much. Been all right ef they'd let him 
 alone, wimmen makes lots oi trouble." 
 
 "You know, well enough, my father did not kill 
 Beach," Babe cried, angrily, "he was not a coward, and 
 he was the best shot for miles, and, if it does sound 
 wicked, the shot that killed Beach was bungling work 
 and none of his." 
 
WEARY OF THE MOUNTAIN WALLS. 169 
 
 "It wan't Con's style/' said the driver, thoughtfully, 
 "he was alius quick to get the drop on a man and done 
 a neat job, but mebbe he was cornered, man or dog 
 wun't fight fair when cornered, Babe." 
 
 She did not reply, and there was little talk on the 
 way. The weather was bitterly cold and we went slew- 
 ing along the edges of precipices and abysses until I made 
 a vow I'd keep on a level country the rest of my life. It 
 was no comfort to me, either, when I gave a little 
 screech at particularly bad places, to have that driver 
 look around — not minding the horses at the time too — 
 and say, scornfully, " That's nawthin', come over here a 
 month from now." To which I would answer, " I hope 
 never to set foot in this wilderness again." At Silver 
 City our driver, and grumpy he had been, surprised us 
 by refusing to take a cent for our fare. 
 
 " Been driving that stage fifteen year; Con Murphy's 
 made thet town and his girl shall git a free ride outer 
 it. Them corporations ain't got no feelings (with 
 quite a series of rumbling oaths). Let 'em come to me 
 for their pay, say I, and they'll git it in talk." He got 
 quite red in the face, for he was short-necked and 
 apoplectic. He hurled our trunks out and commanded 
 the hotel porter to give us the best in the house and no 
 big bills neither, then he patted the dog with his big 
 mitten, looking sl} T ly at m£. 
 
 " Say, old lady," he said, mysteriously, Babe having 
 gone into the hotel, "tell her I'll eat my heart and 
 liver fore I'd believe Con done that killing, but appear- 
 ances has to be kep up, biz is biz, an' the sentiments of 
 
170 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 tlio town is agin Con, and outwardly I has to tramp 
 along with the percession." 
 
 Babe came towards us then with a box in her hand. 
 
 " Take it from me, Tony, many's the ride you have 
 given me free before and the talks I've had with you 
 bruising my broncho's knees against the stage wheels, 
 while you were telling of ' Injuns/ I know your 
 weakness and every one of these you smoke will make 
 you think kindly of my father and me." 
 
 " Wal now, wal, wal," he said, quite upset, opening 
 the box of cigars and smelling of them with a satisfied 
 grunt, "ten centers, I'll be denied." 
 
 " I didn't want to poison you," she laughed, " Good- 
 bye," the slim hand lay in the big mitten a moment, 
 " and, Tony, when time goes on you will speak a good 
 word for me now and then. The old place will never 
 see Con Murphy's daughter again, and I was born there 
 and grew to womanhood there. I was the maid of 
 Erin more than the mine." 
 
 "There isn't a miner there, Babe," he said, solemnly, 
 "but speaks the highest praise of you. This is only a 
 cloud as 'twere, bless your sweet face, Babe, if that 'ere 
 lied been a fair fight, or two pistols found, or Con got 
 limbed, he'd a been acquitted unanimous." 
 
 He climbed up on the stage with great haste, caught 
 up his reins, slipped the brake with a creaking noise 
 and with a great flourish drove up the street, all because, 
 good, honest man, there was something dimming his 
 kind eyes. I insisted we should have our supper served 
 in our room, though Babe objected on account of cost. 
 
WEARY OF THE MOUNTAIN WALLS. 171 
 
 "Land child," I says, "Fve got three thousand in 
 ready cash, and you a hundred, and we don't want to 
 be gawked at by those galoots down stairs." It was 
 real cosy in our room, and eating at a little table, sort 
 of Bohemian and jolly, and she ate more than since 
 Beach died. We'd smuggled the dog in, and covered 
 him with shawls, when the waiter came in, and the 
 animal lay quiet, as if he knew deceiving was necessary 
 for his comfort; We gave him the scraps before the 
 victuals were carried out, and after the waiter had gone, 
 I carefully examined the mattress, Babe laughing at 
 me, but I wanted to sleep in peace. There is something 
 worse than the plagues of Eg}-pt, I have found out in 
 my travels. Then I sat down and Babe beside me, her 
 head in my lap. I took her hair pins out and smoothed 
 her hair for her, as I usually did to comfort her. 
 
 "Ain't it good to be away?" I says. "I feel like I was 
 out of school, as I am. Now, what do you say for a trip 
 to Southport, and a living there in my house, two old 
 maids together." 
 
 " Oh, you dear thing, but this old maid is a sour, 
 gloomy one with a pain in her heart." 
 
 "Ballinger is too old to get lost, my dear, he has cut 
 his teeth, and struck me as uncommonly fitted to get 
 along. To use slang he was cheeky enough too. But 
 don't you get into mooning ways. La me, I feel like 
 the children of Israel, and what a foolish time they were 
 getting through the desert, forty years in the wilderness, 
 and most of them dying by the wayside. Wandering in 
 a circle like one does in Boston, and bringing up where 
 one started out." 
 
172 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 She gave me a little squeeze. " But I think, Ann, I 
 may never see him again, because he will not want to 
 come," 
 
 " In that case, my dear, good riddance to bad rub- 
 bish. If you are thinking he will be different because 
 of the murder, set your heart at rest, his own folks ain't 
 none too well behaved. To my mind, though, I don't 
 like to be against a woman, but I do think Clara was 
 more to blame than your father, for if she had not had 
 flirtatious ways he would never have dared speak to 
 her, and a woman does have to begin such affairs her- 
 self. That I know." 
 
 At that moment there sounded a brisk business like 
 knock on our door, and thinking of sheriffs, and the 
 law and that we were pursued, though what we did, 
 I could not know, I jumped to my feet. The person 
 did not wait for me to answer the knock, but boldly 
 opened the door and stalked in. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DICK DAGGETT TALKS. 
 
 "It's only Dick Daggett/' said Babe, much relieved, 
 laying her head back on my knee, "you and I act like 
 criminals." 
 
 "I don't know but what we are accessories," I an- 
 swered, thinking of a glove in the pocket of a certain 
 gown of mine. I recollected I had not mentioned 
 finding it to that jury, but I wasn't paid for my tes- 
 timony as they and the lawyer would be. I felt like a 
 sensible man in a street fight, I just kept along and 
 minded my own business, it was nothing to me if the 
 law got worsted, and, as is often the case, in being called 
 on to help the police, one gets hurt and no thanks for 
 it. Dick sat down, his hat on the back of his head, 
 a big cigar in his mouth and tilted his chair against the 
 wall, keeping one foot on the rung. 
 
 " This is the h — of a bad business, Babe/' he says. 
 
 She seemed used to his ways and only nodded wearily, 
 I gave that hat a withering look, which he chose not to 
 see 
 
 " I got home a week ago, Em told me about it, see it 
 too in the Denver papers. Kind of mean of you, Babe, 
 never to come to say good-bye, you'd saved me a trip 
 here if you had/' 
 
 173 
 
174 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "I never wanted to see the old house again, Dick, 
 and I guess you were not worrying much about me." 
 
 "■ Say everything right out like you used to," he 
 laughed, "but honest, Babe, I rode here after you just 
 out of friendship. You can't deny I was square with 
 you in old times." 
 
 " But for you, Dick, where might I have been?" she 
 said with a shudder. " Oh, I never want to think of 
 it. Did you really care to see me enough to come all 
 this way to say good-bye?" 
 
 "I'll be honest, too, Babe, I come mostly to give you 
 a message. Yon see I met Con in Denver, they got away 
 from here by the early train Monday morning, and I 
 met them Tuesday night. Con was full of spirits, not 
 rum, I mean, but lively and glad to get out of Erin. 
 Only, he says, with some swearing, " I made up my mind 
 for a trip abroad, but blank me I've got a bit in my 
 teeth. It's rough, after a long life of having your own 
 way, to have a little woman you could crush with one 
 hand drive over you rough shod. Clara's got the boodle 
 too, and I'm broke, as usual, and we are going to 
 Texas, cuss the luck." 
 
 " Texas," Babe repeated . 
 
 "Yop. They went off that night, and I paid Con 
 five hundred in cash for his share in the mine. Honest, 
 Babe, if it ever pans out I'll do fair by you, Em can 
 say what she wants to." 
 
 "Pa's mines always were N. G. after the Maid of 
 Erin," she laughed, "keep all you get, Em can spend 
 it for you. So they got off all right? " 
 
DICK DAGGETT TALKS. 175 
 
 "That very evening I think. I saw Mrs. Beach in 
 the hall she was dressed in black with a widow's veil 
 and she was one, by — , but no one knowed it, and they 
 are in/' he brought his chair down with a thump, 
 lowering his tone, "in a little town called Corpus 
 Ohristi. Never mind how I know it, I sticks by an old 
 pard and never had no stock in Beach. He robbed me 
 too and had oughter been shot, but, dern me, if Con done 
 it, it was his first bad work. That's what made the 
 sentiment agin him. They are at that place with the 
 name that if it wan't in Spanish would be wicked to 
 say, like there's an engine I see in Denver, Sangre de 
 Christo, and yet them Spanish was said to be religious. 
 I may as well tell you Con's on his last legs. He has 
 been going a pretty rapid pace for months, for years, 
 more like, and it may be malaria, or Texas whisky 
 that is finishing him, or a general break-up, but he writ 
 he was on his death-bed and wanted to see you. He 
 said Clara kept him so close he had to steal the letter 
 out by a boy. I burned it — don't want no troublesome 
 docriments found on me. I keep a close mouth too' 
 and I am pretty sure Mrs. Beach has fixed the detectives, 
 she's a mighty smart woman, and Martin's mean enough 
 to lay his family graveyard inter building lots, or stake 
 a claim on his mother's burying place, he's a skin, and 
 sometimes in law as in poker, it's a matter of who puts 
 up the most on a bluff. Con says he wants to see you 
 and get friendly with you 'fore he chips in, and that 
 you are the h — of a fine girl, not his exact langwige 
 maybe, for he was college larned, but near enough to 
 it to swear by," 
 
174 
 
 ■ 
 ..... 
 
 - ,er, v 
 
 u own some 
 
 ■ 
 
 rj, I WJgfr Ik: that 
 
 • -. 
 "I. 
 
 
 
 II 
 | 
 
 11 V, -. that," 
 
 " \v )m, andCoi 
 
 rn dm J ! 
 
 for ) o ; ally light on both feet," 
 
 A thai b • 
 
 I 
 
 "15 Dick/'aeuddennrn 
 
 j find i 
 tie a I p in 
 
 I 
 
 or the bed," 
 
 " \ will not be the daughter of a m r, i will 
 
 hia name/' die Mid. 
 
LICK DAGGETT TALK 177 
 
 "Ought to have begun earlier then," he said, coolly, 
 '•' Con's been mining a good while and accidents happens 
 uncommon easy, when there's a cuss trying to do you 
 out of a claim. Him and me was in Montany 
 when you was a kid, and Con's got a denied unpleasant 
 habit of calling a bluff or of filling a draw, and though 
 he never cheated — h- fetter — he was quick to 
 
 it in others, and to .is opinion with a gun; 
 
 Lord, him and me was vigilantes once, regular picnics 
 of killing; and Injuns, if they counted. Of course the 
 nar: s t around, but you can change that, maybe, to 
 Ballinger. Good stuff in that cuh>, Babe. Jest k 
 cool and after you're married, if he ever tw i of 
 
 your father, you up and give him a racket about his 
 cousin, 111 give you some astonishing facts about Mrs. 
 Beach. Don't look glum on me, I guess I know more'n 
 you do about gitting married and fighting ; hain't you 
 seen me and Err. ? Well a good road to you and fair 
 traveling, say good -bye to the old man for me, wonder 
 what sort of a country him and me will stake our next 
 claim in. S' long." 
 
 Jus k from that evening Babe and I found our- 
 
 selves in a Pullman car, nearing the quaint, old 
 San Antonio. I am over tired of writing, my hand, 
 unused to the pen, and stiff and old, but like the brook 
 I could go on forever abo: of 
 
 wide lands and clear skies, of boundless prairie and spring 
 sunseh.in The home of the south wind, its languid 
 air balmy and beautiful, but cleared now and then by a 
 breath from the north that brings health and purity, 
 
178 BABE MUEPIIY. 
 
 like our New England winters. In the Pan-handle 
 alone, there is room for future generations, and, though 
 I shall leave none after me, I am glad there is a home 
 for other people's descendants. I fancied I would grow 
 young again, in that land of perpetual summer, that in 
 these December clays had hardly a touch of the chill of 
 winter. After all, eternal summer has always been in 
 my heart. I will never grow old, I said, and join the 
 groaning ones, I will keep all my hope and joy. I won't 
 be a moss-killed oak, but a green and strong old tree. 
 I will be a cheerful pilgrim on my progress, as all 
 ought to be if they can. 
 
 I looked at Babe, who is rosier now, and acts a bit like 
 her old self. "Is it not much better, my clear/'- I said, 
 "to travel first-class?"' 
 
 "'But I feel like an adventuress, me with seventy-five 
 dollars in the world and dependent on your kindness." 
 
 " Keep your best foot foremost, my dear. The world 
 treats you by your looks. Ink the worn places on your 
 black silk, metaphorically speaking, for you haven't 
 one. Xever patch. Some book said once a patch is 
 premeditated poverty, a rip may be the accident of a 
 moment. Here am I in my second best gown, on the 
 shady side, that I procured by giving the porter a dollar, 
 and everybody thinks I am well-to-do and treats me 
 accordingly. In the common car the seats are not so 
 comfortable, it's dusty and not clean. The cup is rusty, 
 the water warm, the men spit tobacco juice on the floor 
 and the women have famished and clamorous babies 
 that, poor little souls, give one only an. idea of the 
 
DICK DAGGETT TALKS. 179 
 
 repulsiveness of childhood, never its clean, white loveli- 
 ness. Fve quit going second-class. As they say in 
 Erin, dern me, but I want the gilt-edge." 
 
 "Oh, you old sinner, if you were twenty years 
 younger you'd be at Monaco bucking the tiger." 
 
 " Your language is not elegant, my dear, but I think 
 I would. I shall go there when you are a respectable 
 married woman. Goodness! what thoughts I used to 
 think in meeting at Southport, of meanderings, and 
 time went on and I only had my thoughts, but at last I 
 could put them in action. Like Christopher Columbus, 
 I am on a voyage of discovery, and shall never settle, 
 down again. I may be an old lunatic, but I'll have my 
 fun. Land, Fve a mind to get some red paint and what 
 are those things, plumpers, and blonde my hair and 
 start out on the war path. I tell you, Babe, I shan't 
 never rest satisfied until I marry a Texas colonel. They 
 are the only men I ever hankered after." 
 
 We both laughed then, for she knew what I meant. A 
 certain Colonel Neil Latham, of Corpus Christi, had 
 made our trip delightful. We got acquainted with him 
 at the start, when he insisted on his giving up his lower 
 berth to Babe the moment he found she had an 
 upper one, and after that he was all attention. He 
 helped us on and off the cars at eating stations, and 
 explained the scenery all along the line and kept us 
 fairly distressed with oranges and bananas and litera- 
 ture. He was not a young colonel at all, and had hon- 
 estly won his title in the Confederate army. T think the 
 prettiest sight on that whole trip was him and a L^nion 
 
180 BABE MURPITY. 
 
 soldier talking ever old times and battles with perfect 
 good will and courtesy. 
 
 ""When the blatant noises in Congress and conven- 
 tions and the ward bummers in the beer halls quit war 
 talk, the late unpleasantness will be forgotten, my dear," 
 I said. " There is no animosity nor bitterness in the talk 
 of those two gentlemen nor ever is in the reminiscences 
 of soldiers of either side when they meet. lam terrible 
 tired of men that want to make stepping stones to polit- 
 ical honors of dead men's names, of live men's hearts." 
 
 "It is pleasant to hear those two," she whispered, 
 watching them, leaning her pretty cheek on her hand, 
 and then they told her stories of the war. One of the 
 Colonel's, about a cook he had and a banquet he gave 
 where there was gopher soup, and fried, boiled, stewed, 
 roast, only the flesh of that animal, all gotten up by an 
 ignorant foreigner because the Colonel suggested he 
 make the gopher the center of the feast. 
 
 " Why didn't you gopher him?" said Babe, and I was 
 ashamed of her, for the Colonel could not think a lady 
 could joke, and regarded her with grave politeness as if 
 she had made some serious suggestion. 
 
 I notice Texas gentlemen are not quick to see wit in 
 ladies, they have a way of making us out angelic beings 
 that must be hard on the female population to live up 
 to. If the younger men have a way of taking one's arm 
 to aid one over most trivial difficulties as up-stairs and 
 the like, and may be sit a bit nearer, I like it better 
 than the frozen North and Boston. If I was a young 
 girl and a handsome, dark-eyed son of the South squeezed 
 
DICK DAGGETT TALKS. 181 
 
 my hand a little more than I was used too, or grew 
 tender and melancholy when we parted, I would never 
 glare at him, I would think I might live in Boston a 
 great many years before I could make an impression so 
 easily. A man's admiration is always a compliment 
 anyway; somehow I remembered that Jim Dunn's saying 
 I'd a trim figure, and being more than ever careful of 
 the set of my basques. 
 
 Speaking of Boston, reminds me of a day when I 
 sauntered into an art gallery, where I saw a young lady 
 with eye-glasses, sitting with her beau in front of a 
 statue, not remarkable for its apparel, and calmly read- 
 ing about it in a catalogue. I suppose every nation has 
 its customs, but the sight of those two young creatures 
 gave me a shock; I wasn't cultured, and I did quit that 
 gallery some uncomfortable, thinking if any of the 
 Southport folk knew I'd been there what they would 
 say. Still, there's hope for Boston, now; all its gov- 
 ernment is in the hands of the sons of the soil, while 
 the sons of first families are writing biographies and 
 essays on civil service, and lots of little trash that 
 keeps them out of mischief and don't do anybody any 
 harm. 
 
 Our colonel is all of fifty-five; he has sandy hair and 
 beard, thickly streaked with gray; his eyes are sort of 
 hazel and have a weary expression, for the world has 
 been cruel to that good man. His idolized wife and 
 daughter have died in the last two years, and he has no 
 one to care about him. I think he remembers his 
 daughter when he looks at my dear girl, and she tries to 
 
182 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 be very lady-like and nice, not to shock him. He calls 
 her Miss Wilder, thinks her my niece and I tell her let 
 it be so. There's lots of good citizens in this country 
 that came out here with nom de plumes; I kind of wish 
 Fd taken the name of a first family of somewhere, an 
 Adams or a Bid die, something so I could have blood if 
 I didn't have beauty. 
 
 We arrived in San Antonio very late at night, but 
 our Colonel got us a carriage, and at the hotel had a 
 good room secured for us and the best attention. In 
 the morning, as we had time, he insisted on taking us 
 driving. Oh, that quaint and beautiful city, where the 
 San Antonio winds through street and lane, under rus- 
 tic bridges, through tangled undergrowth, by meadow- 
 lands and quiet homes. It is crystal clear, with a 
 soft, greenish tinge, and mirrors, on its quiet waters, 
 many old-time scenes, rare in this day of progress — 
 that hateful progress that means removing the ancient 
 landmarks, against the Scripture and good taste. We 
 passed through narrow streets, where the adobe houses 
 crowded the very sky from showing. Here there were 
 Mexican senoritas and odd musical language that sounds 
 like poetry, but may mean just the old-time, ''Come in 
 out of the sun, Mary Ann/' or like domestic calls. We 
 passed fine old manor houses hidden in the trees, or 
 stately city homes, the fine cathedral of San Fernando, 
 the Alamo, a great adobe building, its quaint chapel 
 standing as it used, but stripped of all the associations 
 of the past — a mere shell. I think the fort was used as 
 a storage house or grocery warehouse, but, all the same, 
 
DICK DAGGETT TALKs. 183 
 
 the ghosts of Santa Anna's band are there, and the brave 
 men who fought them so fiercely. Then we drove down 
 the river to the other missions through a fertile coun- 
 try. 
 
 Some of the ruins were enough to show us the grace- 
 ful outlines of those, I suppose they were meant to be, 
 meeting houses, built in the early part of seventeen 
 hundred, and I could not but think that those good 
 fathers had a fine idea of location, for their land, within 
 the sound of the Angelus, was the best around the coun- 
 try. Somehow the Catholics always got along well 
 with the Indians, in a William Penn sort of way, but 
 nowadays our government only blunders, and fire water 
 and greed of settlers is quietly working out the prob- 
 lem of extermination, and nothing said to trouble any- 
 body. We drove back and across the Plaza, they call 
 it, a sort of square where there were market things and 
 loads of mesquite drawn by lean oxen. Wood is queer 
 in Texas; they have whole groves of trees that fool the 
 tenderfoot, for they look like fine young orchards, but 
 are only good for fuel, and the roots are burned at that. 
 At night the Plaza is animated and gay; there are songs 
 and dances, and the senoritas that we saw very dirty 
 and lazy, smarten up and come here to sell chili con 
 carnei — I believe that is right — which is, in spite of 
 its name, only a sort of pepper hash, the meat not 
 nice, to my taste, and choking me. The Colonel told us 
 all this, and got us some at a restaurant. We finished 
 by a tour of the military post and a look at the fat, 
 well-fed soldiers — such lazy creatures! I am glad there 
 
184 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 are no more of them. I do think Europe would be bet- 
 ter off, a good deal, if the standing armies had to work 
 for a living. 
 
 The colonel put us aboard of our train, and, after 
 saying he hoped he would see us soon, stood vith his 
 hat off while we were in sight. 
 
 " Bless the man," I said, " did you ever see prettier 
 manners? I have been reading of Southern gentlemen 
 all my life, and there is the Simon-pure, only with the 
 great heart this generous big State gives to all of its 
 men." 
 
 " You'll never get out of Texas a single woman." 
 laughs Babe. 
 
 " Well, I don't want to," I answer. 
 
 Then we go on, jiggerty-jig, jiggerty-jig, and my 
 thoughts go traveling with the train. We fly through 
 silent woods, by endless fields, white with cotton in 
 summer time, by plantation, and cabins, Uncle Toms 
 everywhere, and mammys, fat and comfortable, and 
 black babies, playing in the sun; past swamps, bayous, 
 sluggish and slow, half hid in cypress shadows; past 
 towns and hamlets, jiggerty-jig. Then on again, by 
 great oaks, bearded with moss, that means malaria, 
 but that looks beautiful, and, as I don't live there, 
 I don't care how unhealthy they may be, and I think 
 of old men in majestic bearded age. Then clank- 
 erty-clank, and we cross a wooden bridge. I look- 
 in some terror at the length of it and the waves sough- 
 ing against the piles, but Babe laughs, and says the 
 water is only two or three feet deep, that we are 
 
DICK DA GOETT TA LKS. 185 
 
 on the coast now, and a county road is actually laid 
 out under the sea. We go out on the platform, the 
 salt air blowing in our faces and my eyes fill with home- 
 sick tears, for, far ahead, lies the blue and sparkling sea, 
 lit by a pale, young moon, and saying to me those old, 
 old words, I loved in my youth: "Life is like the sea, 
 men go as the waves go, and beyond that far blue line 
 is joy eternal." Aye, it said all that to me in my child- 
 hood, and I thought some day I might sail away into 
 the enchanted world, beyond the far horizon, but that 
 was never to be. 
 
 We reach a stretch of sand, and the train stops at a 
 little station. Corpus Christi, the porter says, and we 
 send our baggage to the hotel, that is far off, where the 
 glimmering lights shine across the distance. Then, 
 sent by the porter, we set out for Mrs. Jones' cottage, 
 following Dick's directions. We come to a long beach, 
 where a gentle surf breaks, and whispers, and comes and 
 goes forever, and has for so many endless years. Far 
 ahead we see the glimmer of a light that shines a bright 
 pathway on the sea. It has a friendly look, and the 
 cottage, quaint and small, is set close by the shore on a 
 little bluff. At the door are two bushes that make 
 me think of the lilacs in Southport, and the shells 
 bordering the walk bring me back to my own home, 
 where I was born and lived my young life. The sound 
 of the waves follows us, and the wind sighs and the 
 light flickers on the sea, but the voices I have always 
 heard tell me we are not too late. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CLAKA AND CON". 
 
 At the click of the gate the door of the house opened 
 suddenly, and a slight, graceful woman stepped out in 
 the path. It was Mrs. Beach, sadly altered, grown pale 
 and worn, with circles under her bright eyes, and a 
 strange nervousness in her manner. She quickly closed 
 the door, and then pulled Babe away from the house. 
 
 "Come out on the beach," she said, with trembling 
 lips. "Oh, I beg you listen to me. He must be prepared. 
 I only knew to-day you were coming. " 
 
 "I must see my father at once," said Babe, stub- 
 bornly. 
 
 "Oh, have pity! Babe," pleaded Mrs. Beach, "come 
 away from the house, don't awaken him, he just fell 
 asleep after such dreadful pain. Spare him further suf- 
 fering if you can." 
 
 We went with her a little distance from the house, 
 and she, much easier in her manner, asked how we 
 knew where they were, and all about the doings after 
 the murder was discovered. She seemed to know so 
 much, I had a shrewd suspicion she had been tampering 
 with the law or its officers, and felt pretty safe in her 
 hiding place. I saw that she was terribly nervous, 
 catching two or three times before she could gather up 
 the trail of her wrapper, a soft crimson, but lace and 
 
 186 
 
CLARA AND CON. 187 
 
 all much worn and soiled. In fact, she looked as if she 
 no longer cared to be "fixed up/' as we say in South- 
 port. She pushed back the heavy hair from her face, 
 holding both hands behind her head as if she were 
 utterly weary. We went on where a log lay half buried 
 in the sand, and here she sat down. 
 
 " I'm worn out," she sighed, "night and day, since we 
 came, I have waited upon him, watching over him every 
 moment, sleeping little, eating nothing. I seem to be 
 a woman now, if I never was before. I don't know, 
 Wilder, but I might have been good, and this would 
 never have happened, had I been given a chance. I 
 tried to act right at first, but my husband stifled all the 
 goodness in me. He cared nothing for caresses, and 
 those little acts of affection women like, and I had been 
 starved for love all my life. He denied every wish of 
 mine, I had no horse to ride, no young company, no 
 pleasure at all, no society but his. I was buried in that 
 dreary place, shut into a round of duties and days that 
 never changed. I felt I should go mad from the 
 monotony. Were there not domestic, mindless women 
 for him, why should fate have thrust such a life upon 
 me? The wife he fancied I was would have been a dead 
 woman or an idiot. One day, smarting under the hu- 
 miliations that man put upon me, beating my helpless 
 wings against the cage he made for me, I met Con, and 
 then my life changed. Look upon me as you will, 
 Babe, your father meant to drag me down, and, God 
 knows, I was easy to lead. I loved him from the first, 
 and for years our friendship was — was not wicked. I 
 
188 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 was closely watched by my husband, for my mother had 
 warned him I might rebel at first. So time went on, 
 and I studied my part carefully, and I got letter per- 
 fect. I made a fool of that man who read other people 
 so well. He could find no flaw in me, and by degrees 
 his watch relaxed. 
 
 Xights, when I played my piano — it was not for him, 
 sleeping stolidly through Mendelssohn and Mozart, but 
 for my lover outside. Oh, the moon-lit walks we took; 
 the daring journeys up those lonely mountains where a 
 misstep might bring us the death we reckless souls 
 feared not if we could die together. The joy of a com- 
 panionship with a bright man who allowed me intellect; 
 who liked to talk to me; who found in me a friend and 
 fellow traveler, as daring as he was, asking his aid only 
 at times when climbing was beyond any woman's 
 strength. At first he strove for baseness and revenge, 
 to win me from Beach, but afterwards he loved' me. 
 Have pity on me, you two, for, at the last, when the 
 world is free to Con, to me who love him so, he is to be 
 taken from me. 
 
 " You know, Wilder," piteously, "how beautiful he 
 is, perfect as man I ever dreamed of, do we not all love 
 beauty? Did he not sway you by it, you who wanted 
 to hate him? Then think of me, I loved him, and he 
 ah, God, he did love me. I could die in prison as 
 calmly as I lived with that dead man, for when the 
 breath leaves Con's body my heart dies. Babe, you are 
 his child, you have his eyes, a sort of nameless likeness 
 to him that used to make me mad with jealousy because 
 
CLARA AND OON. V<< 
 
 yon were his child. Ton made me think there wu3 
 another woman in his life, a memory only, but just as 
 hateful to me. But he lores me, never cared for your 
 dead mother, and I can see you now without an_ 
 You are young, you love too, can you stand there and 
 condemn me? Can any woman with a heart in her 
 bosom? Be gentle and pitiful to me, for he, my lc 
 my only love, is dying." 
 
 Babe went to her then and put her arm aronnd that 
 bowed figure and laid the weary head on her breast. 
 
 • • I can pity and forgive," she said, oh, how ten- 
 derly, "I have been cruel, perhaps, I do not know 
 how sorely yon were tempted. But why did my father 
 act the coward, wa? that poor man's life necessary for 
 your happiness." 
 
 " Oh, in pity hush," cried Clara, raising her tear-wet 
 face, "do not drive me mad. Con did not kill Beach, 
 I -v.-~;,r :: ::. jr. 7 =:■■:/:. II -r ' " 
 
 that, he was brave and hated our deceit, begging me 
 always to go away. He is innocent and he does not 
 even know my husband is dead." 
 
 • If that is so, I can hold up my head again," said 
 Babe, earnestly, "oh, the shame and sorrow I have 
 endured ! " 
 
 "I brought you here to warn you not to tell him," 
 went on CLira, sadly. " Oh, my love, so soon to be torn 
 from my care, denied the life that beggars fling avr 
 :ha: =u:-:-:ie= LoL'I =: / D~n:~-j ::. . •'.: :o ":'•; 
 when vre can y-7- T:.:-.k "-~1L ;: ::.->. ■;■:- r.:: 
 
 k-.:~ r.v -.-.::.'-. i~.:i:. z~z ~r.~ ir. v;ur urir.g ~~v:.::i '.'..- 
 
190 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 truth I have kept from you. If you should turn from 
 me them I would die, too, in agony. They say," with a 
 jarring laugh, "that the wages of sin is death," he 
 repeats it, and so it seems with us, but I can only see 
 my evil fate that mocks me now as "t ever has." 
 
 Babe lifted her gently and they went together to the 
 house, my dear girl murmuring comforting words of 
 forgiveness and pity. We are sinners all, and who shall 
 judge those who do what we may think to do, or who 
 fall as we may never fall because we are never tempted. 
 In what world, thought I, will those two enemies meet, 
 can any heaven ever hold them both, or if both be 
 barred from that, any place of punishment ? For my 
 part I carry some old animosities to my grave with me 
 and I don't want to give them up afterwards. 
 
 "Come, dear," said Babe, waiting at the gate for me, 
 and then we went softly into the kitchen where a 
 gloomy-faced, old, negro woman, much blacker than her 
 son, got us some tea. Jones looking shabby and seedy 
 waited on us. 
 
 "H'm,"I says, "if it ain't in a good cause, you're a 
 faithful fellow any way." 
 
 " Mis' Beach alius good to me," he answered, seeming 
 pleased, "I done stay by her." 
 
 "Those is wicked days," groaned the old woman, 
 whose gloomy face looked like that of a prophetess and 
 foreteller of evil, and yet I think she must have been a 
 light-minded young colored girl in her day and certainly 
 her son was a mighty gentlemanly fellow. " l)e Lawd 
 ain't gwine to furgive ye, Lewis, yo' done trifling with 
 
CLARA AND CON 191 
 
 Satan. De Lawd ain't got no use fur them that 
 helps the evil one." She rocked to and fro, and I thought 
 her a fitting servitor to Con Murphy in his last hours on 
 earth, for she seemed sincere repentance for a light- 
 minded youth. 
 
 " He is awake now," said Clara, softly, and we crossed 
 the little hall to a bedroom facing the bay, where the 
 salt air would fan the cheek of the sick man, the spray 
 when the wind blew, tapping softly on the window 
 pane, where he might lie and hear the voices calling, as 
 little Paul heard, calling to drift with them to oblivion 
 and death. To die as a wave dies, swept back into the 
 mighty ocean of eternity. Oh, it is easy to lie on one's 
 death-bed by the sea, dying is pleasant, or if that be 
 denied me, I would like to lie in the shade of those 
 mighty tree monarchs in the Yosemite; by their 3,000 
 years my little personality is nothing — the passing of a 
 summer zephyr. 
 
 I looked at him sadly, that handsome, powerful man, 
 brought so low and helpless. His beautiful eyes were 
 more like Babe's now, for their mocking light had faded 
 forever. He was white and thin, wasted to a shadow 
 of himself, but retaining his wonderful comeliness and 
 the winning smile, that I saw last on his dead lips, and 
 marveled that fate could be kind to him at the end and 
 make his death so peaceful . 
 
 " These are the wages," he said to Babe, and smiled, 
 but I saw something glisten in his eyes and his lips 
 trembled. He put out his hand and she knelt beside 
 him. 
 
192 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "My father! my father!" she repeated, softly. 
 
 "I played a trick on Clara, she watches me sharp, 
 but I was not so weak I'd lost my old skill at decavin\ 
 I wanted to see my big, handsome girl before I quit the 
 game. A bad father Fve been, but never a time there 
 wasn't in my heart a liking for you." 
 
 "I loved and hated you," she sobbed, "my dear, 
 dear dad." 
 
 " That sounds like old times, when we were pards, 
 before you got above timber-line and I went into the 
 valley." He smoothed her hair softly, then looked 
 across to me. " Well, I declare, there you are, old Wil- 
 der, not a hair of those curls awry. You've been the 
 salvation of Babe. Saint Ann in the wilderness." He 
 pressed my hand, looking at me quizzically. 
 
 "We dragged you into our deviltries," he went on, 
 "now you are lending your New England conscience 
 and countenance to an elopement, and one of the parties 
 a married woman. Fie, fie, and is the old man bearing 
 it well? Damn it, I can't but pity him." 
 
 " He is very calm," I said, thinking with a horrible 
 mirth how calm he was, "I fancy he will not trouble 
 much," and as Clara gave me an imploring look, "he 
 never was one to give in beat." 
 
 " You are a fair, old maid, if there ever was one, and 
 I know you pity Clara and me, for you've got a man's 
 soul in that small body. A heart as big as a Colorado 
 mountain, that's pretty steep, but I never knew a 
 woman like you. You are as a cup of cold water to a 
 thirsty soul. Keep with my girl, and keep her good till 
 
CLARA AND CON. 193 
 
 her lover comes, as he will, Babe. Women like you 
 are not so many in this world that he can let you go. 
 Lying here, looking out on the sea, I fall to thinking of 
 my life, and the ghosts of what I might have done come 
 trooping forth, and the one that haunts me most is 
 that of a little, neglected child that I might have 
 loved and cared for. I think of your dead mother, and 
 of the day I struck you; she never had to say that I 
 was cruel to her, she died loving me, and then I was 
 only a boy too, but you, a part of her life and mine. 
 Oh Babe, forgive that blow, it is written on my soul." 
 
 "I tried you, dear," she murmured, "1 told Ann 
 then we would never, never remember it. It is for- 
 gotten." 
 
 "I like to think, Babe, you came out all right, that 
 your soul is pure and white, that your ruined life is not 
 on my heart now, as I have Clara's and the dread of 
 her future." 
 
 She was standing at the foot of the bed, seeming 
 shut out by us for the moment. " There will be no 
 future, Con, and we have been happy. Could I ever 
 sully your memory ? We have been wicked, our love 
 was a sin, but it was true love, and will be so through 
 all eternity." 
 
 "For both," he smiled. " Now Babe, say you forgive 
 your unworthy father, lay your soft cheek close to mine, 
 say as you used to when you were a long-legged, spider 
 of a child, 'Dad let's make up and be everlasting 
 friends/ Everlasting now; your bitterness to me must 
 end at my grave." 
 
194 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "I have never ceased to love you,, father/' she sobbed, 
 and put her arm around his neck. Then Clara and I 
 went away and left them to. make their peace alone. 
 The negro woman who had taken a great liking to 
 Babe, came to tell me our room was ready; while she 
 spoke, Babe, looking pale and red-eyed, came swiftly 
 out, and went away by herself to cry. 
 
 " Can't I sit up with you?" I asked, looking into 
 
 the sick room, "and save your " Good gracious, 
 
 I nearly said wife! , 
 
 "I know what you were going to say," he laughed, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Well," I said, severely, " I wish she could have 
 been such, all fair and honest in the sight of God." 
 
 "All fair and honest in the sight of God," he re- 
 peated, as if my poor words were ringing in his heart, 
 "Ah, if it could. Won't you rest, Clara." 
 
 "I have not left you yet," she cried, miserably, 
 " Con, could you sleep without me? " 
 
 He fastened his brilliant eyes on her face, looking at 
 her with that tender smile, "Not in my grave, my love, 
 not even in my grave if you forget me. Do you remem- 
 ber long ago I read you once, 
 
 ' My heart would hear her and heat, 
 "Were it earth in an earthy bed ; 
 My dust would hear her and heat, 
 Had I lain for a century dead.' 
 
 " Only a few hours of life, my love, of happiness 
 together. Come close and talk to me, let us two sin- 
 ners be together to the end." 
 
CLARA AXD CON. 195 
 
 As Clara went to him, my eyes, blinded with tears, 
 could no longer look on them and condemn. Sadly 
 confused, pitying that poor, wronged husband, pitying 
 them, a straw blown by every wind, I went softly away 
 and left them, wondering if, in this case because she 
 loved much she could be forgiven. Xot by this world, 
 but by a better. And yet it was all wrong, bitterly, 
 wofully wrong. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE DEATH OF CON. 
 
 " I never/' said that old colored woman, " sets here 
 o' nights a listening to the waves, but what I prays fur 
 him. De good Lawd, furgive his wicked ways and be 
 mussiful to a poo', misruble sinner." 
 
 "I shall pray that, too/' I said, "and it is not .for 
 long, the signs of death are in his face. If this 
 were Southport I should think he would go out with 
 the tide. I never knew a soul to go when the flood was 
 coming in, though they say in Boston the idea ain't so, 
 but, dear me, after all, I think culture is proving every- 
 body but yourself wrong." 
 
 " Folks thinks thater way here, ma'am, it's a seafaring 
 place, there's big schooners down by the wharves in de 
 town, and deep water beyond the bar outside. Ay, 
 there's terrible waves comes here sometime, a raisin' of 
 the sea so slow you cayen't see it, but de fust you know 
 the waves is over eberyting." 
 
 "I hope it may be the prayers of us two honest, old 
 women will help his journey, Drinda, I think they call 
 you. La me, a strong man withers away like a flower, 
 and lies low when his strength fails, then on that last 
 narrow bed, a bad life comes to haunt and make miser- 
 able the few hours left." 
 
 "An' him talkin' that we done skel'tons," said the 
 old woman with shrill anger, "ay, he say to me, ' Drinda, 
 
 196 
 
THE DEATH OF CON. 197 
 
 strip off yo' bones, no one tell yo' bones is dem of a 
 church member's, or jist a wicked woman. Der ain't 
 room in Hebben fur all dem that's died, nohow, or de 
 bad place neither, deys moren de waves in de sea, an' 
 the leaves in the forest, de Lawd done f urgit all 'bout 
 you.' Oh, Miss, dem ain't no salvation thoughts, dem's 
 dreful trifling ways." 
 
 Clara, looking ghastly and frightened, came into my 
 room at sunrise. "He is asleep," she said, hoarsely, 
 "I sent Jones for the doctor; oh, I am afraid, Miss 
 Wilder, there is a change in his face, for Heaven's sake 
 come." 
 
 Babe and I rose and dressed and went softly into the 
 sick room. Over the wide, blue water, glinted the morn- 
 ing light, and every wave dimpled and sparkled; far off 
 sounded the crowing of a cock, the bark of a dog and 
 the rippling laughter of a child. The world seemed 
 more alive with brightness and color now that death 
 was so near. And yet I wonder, be it ever so fair a 
 morning, if, when our time comes, we shall not be ready 
 and willing to go. Jones came hurrying across the sand 
 followed by a short, stout man, who went in to the sick 
 room without ceremony. 
 
 "Madam, I can do nothing here," he said to Clara, 
 " why did not you send for me before ? He is dying." 
 
 "He would not have a physician," she stammered, 
 "he has been ill a long time. I — I thought you might 
 make his last hours easier." 
 
 "I doubt it," answered the little man, briskly. He 
 felt the flickering pulse, listened to the faint throbs of 
 
198 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 the heart. "He will pass away quietly in his sleep, 
 ma'am." 
 
 "And never know me again?" she cried, wildly. 
 
 "Would you try to awaken him and bring him back 
 to pain? I doubt even if you could. Let the end be 
 peaceful and happy in sleep." 
 
 "Only slay," she sobbed, "keep him a little longer; 
 is there no drug that will — can money pay you to make 
 him see me once more — to speak to me? Oh, think his 
 voice must die and through all my life I shall never — 
 never hear it again. For God's sake, have pity on me!" 
 
 "You will be ill yourself, madam, here, drink this 
 brandy, now if you can not control yourself you must 
 leave the room." 
 
 "Ah, I will be very still," she moaned, and knelt by 
 the bed, laying her hand on that quiet one." 
 
 "Had you looked on death as I have," the Doctor 
 went on, not unkindly, "you would think as I do, it is 
 only a passing, the nicker of a light, a happy release 
 from suffering. Have you ever lost a loved child, and 
 after all its weariness and pain have said, 'it is best, I 
 would not call it back?'" 
 
 " I never had a child," she said. " I never saw death 
 before; and to him, to me, there is no future, we lived 
 only in this life. Oh, my love, my love, open your dear 
 eyes once more, just to look — one look. Oh, fate can 
 not be so bitter, so unjust." 
 
 " Have mercy on him ? " said the Doctor, solemnly, 
 "and do not bring him back." 
 
 She grew quiet then, and the clock seemed to tick 
 
THE DEATH OF CON. 199 
 
 louder and more cheerily than ever one did before. 
 The soft plash of the sea against the sand chimed with 
 the solemn moment. I heard the old woman sobbing, 
 Jones whispering to her, the creaking of the Doctor's 
 shoes. The moments were passing, and time to him 
 would soon be no more; of all the wasted hours of his 
 life there was not now a second given him to say fare- 
 well. 
 
 Suddenly into his pallid face there came the change, 
 the awful seal of death. His drawn muscles relaxed, 
 the lines of pain smoothed away and a smile came upon 
 his lips. There was a sigh, "a, sound so fine there's 
 naught that lives 'twixt it and silence," the passing of a 
 human soul. Then the peace that is beyond our under- 
 standing came to him. 
 
 And thus he died, that man of a black, sad past, as 
 quietly and peacefully as an innocent child drifting into 
 dreamland. Since that time the mystery called death 
 has been to me more marvelous, more beautiful than I 
 ever imagined it could be. 
 
 "It is the end," whispered the Doctor, laying his 
 hand on Clara's bowed head. It seemed that soul, 
 already far on its way, must have heard her cry of 
 agony and lingered in sad sympathy, and gone on, 
 forced by invincible power, but unwillingly. The 
 Doctor and my dear girl carried Clara to her bed where 
 for two days she lay in a stupor. But when I went to 
 her the third morning to tell her he must be buried 
 that day, and did she wished to see him once more, she 
 got up with strange strength and went about the duties 
 
200 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 forced on her, with calmness and care. She stood by 
 his grave and watched the clods fall when his daughter 
 had gone sobbing away. She closed the coffin herself 
 allowing no one to see him after that. I saw there at 
 his grave her old manner had come back, she had that 
 impassive look, that cold indifference she had worn 
 when I saw her first. So we went away and left him 
 lying in that far land, in that hillside burying ground 
 by captains and sailors, Indians and Mexicans with 
 their musical Spanish names, side by side with that 
 strange company under the scattered grass, unshaded 
 by any generous trees or shrubs, in that dreary, sandy 
 land by the sea. 
 
 A fortnight after the funeral Clara came to me to ask 
 about Mr. Beach's will. Babe was out on the beach 
 that morning, she had a great liking for the sea, and she 
 and her dog could always be found close by the shore, 
 she lying looking at the blue distance with that wistful 
 look, so often on her dear face since he went away. 
 As for me, I liked the town better, its quaint streets 
 paved by nature's hand with sea shells ground to pow- 
 der, its homey houses hidden in trees, its generous 
 folks, its views of blue water and the balmy air that 
 always whispered of Paradise. 
 
 I told Clara, sitting there in the room where Coii died, 
 all about the trouble at Erin and the feeling against him. 
 " It does not hurt the dead," she said, rebelliously, 
 looking so white and worn, so utterly miserable, that 
 from my heart I pitied her. 
 
 "It hurts the living, Clara." I could not call her 
 
THE DEATH OF CON. 201 
 
 Mrs. Beach. " Babe will never marry your cousin 
 while the world says her father is a cowardly mur~ 
 derer. 
 
 " His mother would never consent, anyway." 
 
 "H'm," I says, a man of twenty-six has outgrown 
 apron strings, I hope. Your marriage was made by 
 some heartless old creature, and how has it turned out? " 
 
 " You are partly right, but much of the blame must 
 be laid on me, I married to get rid of an unhappy 
 home, so there is no excuse for me. Tom's mother is 
 a kinder woman than mine, but is soured by trouble. I 
 would rather face the yellow fever or that dead husband 
 come to life, than to meet my mother now, yet a mother 
 heart should have some mercy. She will be my cruel- 
 est judge, the Lord preserve any erring women from 
 ever having to be judged by women, good, narrow- 
 minded women, of shut-in-lives and homely faces. 
 
 " Men are easily won over to a woman's cause if she 
 is fair to look upon, Clara, and on that account it would 
 be perfectly safe for you to go to Erin and clear up that 
 mystery about Beach's death." She gave me a murder- 
 ous look, and I know by her black eyes her temper is 
 something awful, but I am not afraid of women, so, 
 though I trembled some, I went sturdily on: "If you 
 loved Con Murphy, you would not let those people say 
 he was a coward and an assassin; then Babe has treated 
 you nobly, why should you repay her by letting that 
 crime be put upon her father. Prove Con Murphy's 
 innocence." 
 
 " How ? " in a queer, constrained voice. 
 
202 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 I went into the other room and fetched back some- 
 thing done up in paper. "By telling the story of the 
 murder as you know it, as Dick Daggett (like all women 
 I was eager to drag in a man to back me up) says you 
 know, and soon the whole town will find out. By 
 explaining how this glove came stained with powder 
 and blood, Clara, for no other woman I ever knew but 
 you would have vanity enough to put on gloves and 
 other foolishness when she was eloping and like to get 
 killed any moment/' 
 
 "You are trying hard to make a dangerous enemy, 
 Wilder." 
 
 "Maybe, but I come of good fighting stock myself, 
 my men relations that existed before I did, weremoctly 
 drowned fighting, as sailors fight the sea, or on battle 
 fields, beginning with the Revolution; they wasn't given 
 to dying in their beds. My brother Nathan was the 
 meekest of the lot, and I suppose he had skirmishes with 
 his landlady, to judge from that person's letters, that 
 was as near war as a man could get in times of peace. 
 I have a suspicion, my lady, that you went back for 
 your jewels and was caught by Beach, and that Jones 
 knows more than he will tell, unless he's made to." 
 
 " He won't be made to." 
 ' Let poverty pinch him a little and see." 
 
 "I shall be rich, the Colorado law gives me half the 
 property." 
 
 "You will have to spend most of it in hush money 
 and be eternally dogged by the men you paid not to find 
 you here. You used to brag how brave you were, and 
 
TEE DEATH OF CON. 203 
 
 yet, loving that dead man out on the hill as you do, you 
 let the world cry him down and heap disgrace on his 
 name." 
 
 "What would you have me do?" 
 
 I laid my hand on her knee and looked straight in 
 her eyes: "Go tell the district attorney that Beach's 
 death was an accident, ask for a trial, take Jones with 
 you, and tell the whole story. Hooper whispered to 
 me, Beach was shot in a scuffle, and he said the person 
 who fired the pistol never meant to kill." 
 
 " Let's go out on the sands," she said, abruptly. So 
 we went along by the sea to an old log, a gnarled tree- 
 trunk that had floated from some far Pacific isle, hoary 
 with age and decay before some storm crashed it down, 
 and some swollen river whirled it along its swift current 
 to the sea, there to float how many, many years before 
 it found a resting place in this far land. I wasn't given 
 to poetry, but that log suggested queer thoughts. 
 
 "Jones told me that night," said Mrs. Beach, sitting 
 down and drawing her black shawl around her. " In 
 horrible fear I got together all my things that I wanted 
 to take, sent him to tell Con, and then ran out of the 
 house before Beach came. Outside, hiding in the trees, 
 I kept thinking of things I ought to have taken. I had 
 my diamond earrings, but my bracelets and pin and 
 fifty dollars in money were in my safe. I knew Con 
 was always hard up and that we should need all the 
 money we could find and jewels we could sell. I saw 
 the doctor and Beach come, watched you and Babe, and 
 at last saw the doctor go away with you. I thought 
 
204 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 Beach must be in his room, possibly given some opiate, 
 so I told Jones to follow me, and we climbed up the porch 
 to my room. I opened the long, French window noise- 
 lessly, and crept across the room. I never lived through 
 such fear as when I crossed the floor in the darkness, 
 thinking that man might be crouching to spring on me, 
 yet you say I am not brave. When I lit the gas - 
 stumbled over a chair, and the slight sound seemed to 
 stop the beating of my heart. No one came, and I went 
 over to the safe, opened it with the key I always carried 
 in my pocket, and took my jewels, wrapping them in a 
 handkerchief, putting them in the bosom of my gown. 
 There was a red pocket-book in the safe, and I took it 
 to see if it held money or anything I could use. It was 
 full of bills, and though I felt mean and hateful at 
 stealing, I felt it was the last I would ever get from my 
 husband, and I had given him live years of my life. I 
 don't think I ever was honest any way. I stuffed this 
 money into my dress and got up on my feet with a kind 
 of elation that I had been so successful. Oh, my God ! 
 the horror of that moment, the door was slowly opening 
 behind me, shutting me into the jog beside the safe. 
 Like a person in a nightmare, I could not cry out, my 
 lips made no sound. Into my heart dawned a faint 
 hope he would look in, and, not seeing any one, go 
 away; but he had heard the noise and knew I was there, 
 lie closed the door and looked at me with those glassy 
 eyes, one hand tearing at his bleeding throat, the other 
 holding a pistol. His gray hair was all disordered, his 
 coat dusty, covered with twigs and leaves where he had 
 
THE DEATH OF CON. 205 
 
 fallen, for I think he must have gone out around the 
 grounds to hunt for Con or me. I don't think I cared 
 after the first shock, I wanted to die and end those 
 awful moments that I stood there." 
 
 " ' I've been out to see him/ lie mumbled, his mouth 
 working, that awful hand clutching. ' You were rob- 
 bing my safe for him/ 
 
 "'I took what I am entitled to: you robbed him 
 enough, years ago/ 
 
 (i •' I could not find him,'' he said, irritably, and then 
 I knew that my husband was insane, and I was face to 
 face with a madman. ' There seemed to be people, a great 
 many, following me about, but not him. Strange! 
 strange V He stopped and looked at my clothing scat- 
 tered about, noted I had my cloak and hat on, then he 
 stepped toward me. ' You are going with him?' He 
 reached out and caught my shoulder, and I could not 
 scream nor move. Then, there was a sound, I know 
 now it was Jones, creeping away in the darkness, leav- 
 ing me to my fate, but, in my agony, I thought it was 
 Con, coming to save me. 
 
 " 'He is there now/ yelled the madman, and leaped 
 forward, and I, given a strength I never dreamed, 
 made desperate by my love, held his arm that clutched 
 the pistol, and clung to him. I tell you, I was blind: I 
 saw nothing, I heard nothing; only in some horrible way 
 I thought I must cling to.him, and stop what he meant to 
 do. He beat me away from him, but I came back and re- 
 newed my hold. My hands were gloved, and I could not 
 retain my grasp. Then I fell, and caught his knees, 
 
206 BABE MrFPITT. 
 
 holding him from moving. I raised myself, and 
 reached for the pistol. At last I had it, if it was to 
 kill me, I did not care. There was an awful eras 1 , 
 seeming in my very face, a blinding flash, and I felt 
 myself freed, while he fell heavily down by my side. 
 Jones ran in, he had seen the struggle, and carried me 
 out, and I tell you I did not know Beach was dead ""ntil 
 I saw it in the paper. 
 
 e< Soon after that, when I lay on the ground, and Jones 
 bathed my bleeding face, Con whistled, and we went to 
 meet him. He asked us if we heard a shot, and we 
 denied it, and he cried, fiercely: 'I hear shots every- 
 where, I must be going mad. I never felt I had a con- 
 science before, to make me a coward/ He wondered 
 afterward what made me so bruised, but I said I fell 
 from the porch, and Jones swore I did. That is my 
 story, Wilder. I lived through that and Con's death, 
 and must finish my allotted time, for I am too guilty a 
 soul to commit suicide. " 
 
 "Then give your years to others/' I said, "have you 
 not lived for self long enough, and have you not been 
 punished? Your first step to better things will be to 
 set this matter right. You owe something to my dear 
 girl, surely she has been noble and good to you/' 
 
 She did not reply, but went on by herself to the 
 graveyard, and did not return until midnight. Jones 
 said, he often saw her there, lying on Con's grave late at 
 night, at a time when I, with all my good, common 
 sense, would not dare invade that place, nor walk 
 among those graves with their strange occupants. 
 
THE DEATH OF CON. 207 
 
 Early in the morning she came into our room, and woke 
 me up. I saw she was dressed for traveling, and had 
 a set, determined look. 
 
 " I am going to Erin, Wilder," she said, pitifully, 
 "don't get up, Mrs. Jones has my breakfast ready, 
 and I would rather be alone. I shall take Lewis, and 
 set matters right, even if it goes hard with me. I don't 
 fancy I shall ever see you two again. You don't like 
 me, Babe, but I am doing this for your sake and his, 
 my dear love's. You were his child, and have a like- 
 ness to him that softens me now, and he, that bonny 
 face hid away forever, and you, and the rest left above 
 ground, and you a link with him. You are his child 
 and I love him in you. Show me some kindness, for I 
 am giving myself up to justice for your saKe." 
 
 "For the love you bore my father," said Babe, sitting 
 up and drawing Clara to her, "oh, Clara, if it could 
 have been right and honest, if it had not been a sin, if 
 you were not married, and what you did ruined that 
 poor man's life, I could have loved you." 
 
 She laid her cheek against Babe's with one of her rare 
 caresses that I never saw her show to any one but Con. 
 "My poor husband trusted me and that was against 
 your sense of fairness, Babe, but life has been kinder to 
 you than to me, for all your trials in the past. Tom 
 will be good to you, he is faithful and generous, some 
 day you two will meet again, the happier for the part- 
 ing, and your life will run in pleasant paths, and all 
 you know of me will make you gentler and more tender 
 to the girl baby that may lay in you arms some day. 
 
208 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 You look at me with his dear eyes — those wide, gray 
 eyes, and almost I seem to see his old expression, as if 
 he spoke to me through you. Oh, Babe, Babe, those dear 
 eyes shut forever and me — me left here to bear all the 
 woe and loneliness. Not even the happiness of being 
 where he lies. Never until I come in my coffin shall I 
 enter this far country where he left me. Good-bye." 
 
 She pressed my hand, kissed Babe softly, on my dear 
 girl's tear- wet eyes, and then went away. I saw her 
 slight, black figure cross the sands to the graveyard, 
 and then I saw her no more, nor ever will while we 
 walk along this world that has so many far lands where 
 broken hearts may hide. 
 
 The last of January she sent us a slip cut from a 
 newspaper, telling about her trial and acquittal. There 
 was a mention of Con Murphy, too, in a kindly spirit. 
 "The discoverer of the Maid of Erin mine, the daring 
 spirit whose energy and courage had opened many a 
 region in the mountains considered inaccessible, who 
 enriched others, failing himself by some strange irony 
 of fortune to gather the fruit of his discoveries. In 
 time," ran the article, "he will only be remembered 
 for his nobler qualities, that, had he willed, would have 
 given him an honored name in the State, and positions 
 of trust and esteem that he, with his education and 
 brilliancy, was qualified to fill." 
 
 "I am going to Europe," Clara wrote, "I shall never 
 return to America. I take Lewis with me and my 
 mother also. Miracle of miracles, my mother met me 
 in Erin, looking old and ill, very shabby, too, poor soul. 
 
THE DEATH OF CON. 209 
 
 but forgiving and kind. She blamed herself, and has 
 not rebuked me once nor mentioned that sad act of 
 mine, that now I see more clearly, and that strikes me 
 to the heart for the ruin I have wrought. I shall take 
 care of her and keep her with me, so you see this pil- 
 grim has his burden, a dreary, gloomy, old woman. 
 The only Delectable mountain for me in this world is a 
 mound in that seaport town where some day I shall lie. 
 You have known one woman who gave all and lost all 
 for love. 
 
 " I did my best for Babe, but she played me false, 
 there is no truth in any woman but you, Wilder, you 
 old Bohemian, with your New England conscience, Con 
 used to joke about. My poor, poor Con, how merry 
 he was, and how he hated shams and deceit, and how 
 hard I tried to keep him in Erin when he would have 
 dragged me away, long, long ago. We two, Con and I, 
 take all the punishment; Beach, in his grave, is praised 
 as a good man, and a public-spirited citizen, and the 
 other things they say, and no one remembers he robbed 
 poor Con; and Babe will marry Tom and be happy on 
 her ill-gotten gains, and you, too, but, after all, 
 Wilder, you have a good heart. I take olf my hat to 
 your unobtrusive excellence, as Con used to say, taking 
 his sombrero off behind your back; then we would 
 laugh; and I did laugh once, but like the king, I shall 
 never smile again. You told me once an avalanche 
 would come, has it not? and I bereft of all I loved, 
 come creeping up, after it has passed, crying with bit- 
 ter anguish, why had it not taken me into oblivion too. 
 Farewell you prophet and thing of evil. Clara." 
 
210 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 I thought of her sweet, low laugh of that night she 
 said, "you wicked Con/' and how far away it all was, 
 and how short had been her happiness in wrong doing. 
 
 "What have I done," cried Babe, "and where are 
 our ill-gotten gains?" 
 
 "Our property is about the same as we set out with, 
 my dear," I answered, "let us not worry our heads. 
 That poor soul is most crazed, belike, with her grief. 
 It's going back to the scene of a crime that tells on one, 
 and she has been dreadfully tried." 
 
 Thus after that we spoke of her with pity and for- 
 giveness and prayed some day her weary heart might 
 find peace and comfort in well-doing and charity, and 
 that she would forget herself and live for others. That 
 is the only sincere repentance in this world. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE COLONEL EXPECTS COMPANY. 
 
 And now my dear girl and I saw many peaceful and 
 happy days, we decided to spend the winter in Corpus 
 Christi, for the weather was so fine there, and traveling 
 expensive, besides Mrs. Jones let us the cottage very 
 cheap. She stayed to cook for us, liked Babe mightily, 
 and, barring a gloomy turn of mind, was a good, old soul. 
 Babe went to church with her once in a while, helped 
 her about the work, and was so bright and lively, 
 Drinda was never tired of singing her praises. To help 
 our limited income, I took in sewing, being always 
 handy with my needle, and Babe helped me, running 
 the machine all day, and resting up at night with a 
 walk on the beach. Everybody called her Miss Wil- 
 der, too, and I thought it much better, and, dear me, 
 how nice it was to be independent, and to live among 
 good folks, out of the path of avalanches. We seldom 
 saw a newspaper, but read good books and felt like two 
 old, storm-tossed mariners, in a sheltered, winter harbor. 
 We went to the graveyard, once in a while, and talked 
 of Murphy, kindly and pityingly, remembering the 
 good in him, never the evil, as should be done to dead 
 folks, that are not here to defend themselves. We got 
 
 acquainted some in the town, and went to a few church 
 
 211 
 
212 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 sociables, and such village happenings, but not very 
 often. A pleasant surprise in April, was our kind 
 Colonel walking in one day, very glad to see us, and eager 
 to make our life more pleasant. 
 
 After that we often visited the big house on the hill; 
 such a beautiful place, standing on a high bluff looking 
 seaward, and all bowered in roses and jessamine, and 
 shaded by fine trees. There was a shadow over the 
 house, two portraits on the wall, a mother's and a 
 daughter's, and they were both such fair, sweet faces, I 
 could understand the Colonel's long mourning, that 
 would last to his grave. I thought it hurt him when 
 he begged Babe to open the piano and play, but after 
 awhile she did, picking up the music she had been 
 taught at the convent, and playing simple pieces with 
 much taste and feeling. We indulged in a game of 
 poker now and then with the Colonel and a burly 
 captain, stranded on the coast, and though we did not 
 play for money, the game was jolly enough, and I 
 found myself quite proficient. When the Colonel got 
 sick, Babe went up and took care of him and read to 
 him the slow days of his convalescence. I wondered, 
 sometimes, if he would fall in love with her, I would get 
 angry at the very idea, but you see I did not know a 
 Texas colonel. 
 
 In May, when all that great State is carpeted with 
 flowers, is gorgeous, like the kings of old, in scarlet and 
 purple and gold, I felt again 1 was in Paradise. Life 
 awoke in the tropic forests, the streams were deep and 
 rapid, the birds sang in the thick foliage, over wide 
 
THE COLONEL EXPECTS COMPANY. 213 
 
 fields crept the tiny cotton plants or the rich meadow 
 grass, and cattle, sleek and fat, with silky coats, roamed 
 on a thousand plains. The whole air was full of sun- 
 shine and laughter of birds, and the joy of living things, 
 human or insect, or beasts. And, speaking of beasts, 
 I came very near calling our Colonel one, in my viper- 
 ous way, when he asked me if I thought Miss Diana 
 would live single always, and did I not fear to lose her? 
 I thought he was going to ask me if she would have 
 him, and at the idea, my soul revolted; no more ill-as- 
 sorted unions in my life. 
 
 "She is engaged to a young man/' I said, stiffly, 
 " thinks the world of him, and will marry him when their 
 circumstances warrant." 
 
 "Indeed," he muttered, "I wish I had known that, 
 I am very sorry." 
 
 He never mentioned the subject again, but I saw he 
 looked at her with a new and tender interest in his kind 
 eyes, and was probably planning how he could help her 
 to her happiness. 
 
 One night, after a walk across the sands, we w T ent on 
 up to the Colonel's house, he was sitting on the porch, 
 but the house was all lit up and had a holiday air. I 
 surmised, at the start, he was expecting company, and 
 was sure of it, when I saw through one of the windows, 
 the dinner table laid for two. 
 
 " You are expecting company, Colonel Latham," I 
 said, "and, as we only ran up for a moment, Babe, to 
 get that book you were speaking of, I think we must 
 be going." 
 
214 BABE MURPIIY. 
 
 " Not for the world, Miss Wilder, " he said, in great 
 distress, "I wanted yon to meet my young friend, and 
 Miss Diana, here" — standing at her side and looking 
 very kindly on her — "I wanted her, especially, to meet 
 my guest. Like most silly, old men, I am a sort of 
 match-maker. I had a plan about her, which you, Miss 
 Wilder, dispelled." 
 
 "What did she tell you?" asked Babe, blushing 
 prettily. " Something to make you think less of me, 
 Colonel?" 
 
 " To think more of you, my dear, and to hope most 
 earnestly your little romance will end happily. You 
 must tell me all about it some day, and, perhaps, I can 
 aid the young man; I would be so glad to." 
 
 He went and picked her a handful of cape jessamine, 
 and handed it to her with stately courtesy, watching, 
 while she pinned them on the breast of her white gown, 
 with pleased admiration. I looked at her a moment, 
 understanding well why any man's gaze should rest on 
 her. She appears her best in white gowns, made with 
 severe classic folds; she has filled out a bit, too, and 
 grown more womanly, has less angles. Her wide, gray 
 eyes still look wistful and waiting, but that sort of 
 pathetic expression gives a wondrous charm to her 
 sweet face. She is very rosy now, and the dimple in 
 her left cheek is quite apparent, and she always had the 
 most kissable mouth I ever saw on a woman. Am I a 
 silly, old creature to rave over her? I don't know. 
 I never had any beauty, nor saw much beyond that 
 fragile, delicate bloom of youth, so fair in our young 
 
THE COLONEL EXPECTS COMPANY. 215 
 
 girls at home, but so quick to fade. With Babe, her 
 beauty grows each year; if she had homely features I 
 would still adore her for the beauty of the soul in her 
 eyes, and the sweetness of her disposition and her 
 noble patience. You are worthy my life's devotion, 
 my dear, and it is my happiest remembrance that in my 
 poor way I made your life better and more rounded, 
 and helped you to your high pedestal of noble woman- 
 hood. 
 
 "The carriage went an hour ago," said the Colonel, 
 peering down the street, " but sometimes the train is 
 very late. Ha, there are the wheels!" 
 
 "We will only be introduced, then run away," said 
 Babe, coming out with the book, leaving the hall door 
 open behind her, and standing there in the light, looking 
 like a beautiful spirit. The Colonel went dow T n and 
 opened the carriage door. "Ah, Thomas, I heard 
 him say, but his guest made one leap out of the car- 
 riage, passed him without a word, and ran up the steps, 
 two at a time. 
 
 "My darling, my darling," he cried, in his eager 
 voice, the dear, impetuous boy, hugging her as if it had 
 been years instead of months, since he saw her last, 
 and forgetting we were looking, or that any body lived 
 in this world but the woman he loved and he, who had 
 found her. 
 
 "I knew you would come," she sobbed, with one of 
 those passionate gusts of tears. 
 
 "Drive to the barn," commanded the Colonel, 
 sternly, much upset because the coachman, a white- 
 
cio BABS vr!;rnv. 
 
 headed old darky, was looking at the scene with intense 
 enjoyment. " Ponce, 1 am surprised at yon. I 
 infer. Miss Wilder,** he said, joining me and robbing 
 
 his hands excitedly, "that Thomas knows our young 
 lady:-- 
 
 1 giggled rudely. "I should hope so. Colonel, that 
 would be a singular way of meeting her if he didn't. 
 Why, he is the one." 
 
 •• Is it possible, possible?" rubbing his forehead in a 
 
 ted way. •• Why, 1 had him come here to meet her; 
 that was the match I hoped for, and after I had sent for 
 him I learned from you that she was engaged. It was 
 too late to undo what 1 had done, but never did I 
 imagine what a meeting it would be. and that I could 
 e my dear, young lady such happiness as this. Ah. 
 youth is the time for love, is it not: " 
 
 •• Yes," I answered, sadly, for once in a while a ghost 
 comes from the tishing banks of Newfoundland, a jolly, 
 curly-haired ghost that used to call me Xan, and tell 
 me I was the only girl he could ever love, and make me 
 feel I was somebody, as a lover will. I wonder if I 
 
 old have been happy married to him. if I would have 
 been a good wife, a loving mother? Perhaps not. and 
 it is best my romance is only a faint memory, but still, 
 I feel I have been cheated out of something. And 
 here 1 ramble on. a faded, old maid, with corkscrew 
 curls, and the waves have been rolling over Captain 
 Md these thirty years and more. I saw the Colonel 
 
 into the parlor with his stiff, soldierly walk, and 
 ad there beneath a portrait, the light falling on his 
 
THE COLONEL EXPECTS COMPANY. 217 
 
 bowed head and melancholy face with the weary eyes. 
 
 I thought there is nothing in this world so beautiful 
 as the love of true husband and true wife. I had seen, 
 and was sadly grieved at that other sinful love. I 
 wanted the pure spring of affection, no more dark 
 streams of vice. In this world we must live up to some- 
 thing better than our human lives, and the tried and 
 steadfast affection of a lifetime is the best thing I have 
 seen, and the only thing that endures and leaves fragrant 
 memories behind it. 
 
 " Get plates for four," ordered the Colonel, opening 
 the dining-room door as the servants were bringing in 
 dinner, and, as some demur arose as to the quantity 
 cooked, he finished with great solemnity, "put every- 
 thing in the house on the table then." 
 
 " You kindest and best of men," said Ballinger, going 
 up to him, "I never acted quite so rude before, don't 
 think I spoke to you at all; but she was there, Colonel, 
 and I have not seen her for so long, and it was such a 
 surprise; and isn't she the dearest girl in the world? 
 Why, there you are, Miss Wilder, and how good you 
 have been to her, sticking by her always. " Then he made 
 a grab at me and fairly kissed my breath away, '"'Gracious, 
 am I dreaming, is it real?" he went on, his lips trem- 
 bling under that faded moustache, ever so much lightei 
 than his skin with the new bronze on it, "it don't seem 
 possible Fve struck such a streak of luck. 
 
 " You are quite awake, Thomas," beamed the Colonel, 
 patting Ballinger's shoulder, "'are you sufficiently rested 
 to sit down to dinner?" 
 
218 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "Must brush the dust off first; same room, I suppose? 
 Oh, I say, Colonel, don't let her fly away while I'm 
 gone; don't let her out of your sight." 
 
 "He has taken care of me/' said Babe, very blushing 
 and smiling, her eyes beaming with happiness. 
 
 "And he always will," said the Colonel. " I think a 
 great deal of Thomas, also, his mother and I were old, 
 old friends, and no one in this world could be more 
 delighted with his choice than myself." 
 
 Babe's bright face did not cloud at the mention of 
 his mother's name, she did not care for the future now, 
 her joy was all in the present. She did not eat any- 
 thing at the table, looking at Ballinger all the time with 
 eager e3'es, noting, as women do, the little changes in 
 his looks and manner. I must say he had a fair appe- 
 tite, but still he couldn't keep his eyes off her. The 
 Colonel and I, however, ate a good meal, as elderly folks 
 will when everything is nice and excellently served. 
 
 After dinner the Colonel would have given up the 
 porch to the young folks, and was trying to inveigle me 
 in to look at an album, when Ballinger took hold of his 
 arm and got him a chair outside. Then he went and 
 got one for me. "I want to have a family talk," he 
 said, "and we'll all be real comfortable about it." I 
 thought he was particularly so, sitting beside Babe on 
 the settee and stealing his hand into hers, thinking no 
 one could see in the darkness. Then, with a curious 
 hesitancy, he began and told the Colonel Babe's history. 
 
 "Why do you tell him about me," she said, piteously, 
 "he is different." I knew she was thinking of the fair, 
 
THE COLONEL EXPECTS COMPANY. 219 
 
 dead girl, and how innocent and sheltered that pure 
 life had been, how vastly distinct from a childhood and 
 girlhood in a mining camp. He stooped and patted 
 her hand softly. 
 
 " Do not misjudge me, my dear child," he said, ear- 
 nestly. "1 am too old a soldier not to reverence those 
 who have acquitted themselves nobly in the battle of 
 life." 
 
 "When I met you in Denver," continued Ballinger, 
 " I had just left her, hating my cowardly self, and un- 
 able to do anything to get my self-respect back. You 
 saw I was in trouble, and wanted to work out the prob- 
 lem of earning a living, and you gave me a chance in 
 that mine in Mexico, money to go, and promised to 
 keep my hiding place a secret from my mother. I 
 worked hard all that fall and winter, saving my money 
 with only one object — to get my dear girl when I could 
 keep her from want. Then you wrote me to come 
 here, you sly colonel, thinking I might fall in love with 
 Babe, as I should if I had not already. I. had money 
 enough saved for my purpose, and I meant to ask your 
 aid to find her. In January T wrote to Martin, and got 
 answer that Murphy, Mrs. Beach and Miss Wilder and 
 Di, were all gone, no one knew where, and, sick at heart, 
 I kept to my work, for, suffer as I did, I had to have 
 funds, and, I believe, half the tragedies in this world 
 come from want of money, to go away, or to go find 
 some one we love, and I can tell you, all the cash I'd 
 wasted used to haunt me. Do you wonder I could not 
 think of anything but her when I saw her on your 
 
220 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 steps, looking like an angel, in that white gown, standing 
 in the light? And then I am free now, for m) 7 mother 
 wrote me to marry any one I pleased; Clara's marriage 
 had decided her not to interfere with any match; but if 
 I married without her consent, she should reserve the 
 right to disinherit me and leave her money to institu- 
 tions where the offspring of unhappy and mismated 
 people had to seek refuge. When you forwarded that 
 letter, Colonel, telling her, I suppose, you knew where I 
 was, to save her worry, I just laughed. I guess I can 
 look after the offspring, I said, and the poor, dear old 
 mother some day will forgive me. The awful dignity of 
 that threat shows she worked over the letter a good 
 while, and pictured to herself what sort of a wife I should 
 marry; for I wrote her how lovely you were, and ended, 
 I know, by a good motherly desire to meddle and to 
 scare me into letting her. I shall be married a week 
 from to-night; my savings will come in handy to get us 
 some trash to start with, and Babe don't need any fix- 
 ings-up in that Mexican country — it's too warm for 
 frills." 
 
 The Colonel, who had writhed at the mention of Mrs. 
 Howard's letter and the refuge, now brightened up. 
 
 li I think, you are right, Thomas, is he not Mis? 
 Wilder? I am sure Mrs. Howard will love this young 
 lady some day, and I think it wise not to put off the 
 present happiness. Life is, at best, so sadly incomplete, 
 so short." 
 
 "Di can't object," said Ballinger, "for I have the 
 stronger will, and we are all against her. She can't say 
 
THE COLON-EL EXPECTS COMPANY. 221 
 
 no; look how miserable she was before I came, and how 
 rosy and happy now. Why! it's just wicked to fool with 
 fate, besides, I shan't take any more chances. I've got 
 her, and mean to keep her, and you too, Miss Wilder, 
 you needn't look glum, we've got to have you. We 
 want you to help bring up those offspring into the paths 
 of proper young ladyhood, as you taught that Maid 
 of Erin, and to keep them out of institutions." 
 
 The Colonel looked a bit shocked. Dear me! Young 
 America is different. Let him live in a bran-new 
 country, like Colorado, a while, and he won't be so pre- 
 cise. Manners like his went out with the minuet. Yet, 
 after all, that old- fashioned delicacy of speech and senti- 
 ment is very pretty to see, and one feels better and of 
 more importance in his company. The chivalry of men 
 is dying out, forced away by the rising of womankind. 
 Just now there are queer divisions in our human affairs; 
 some women who shut themselves in to a narrow circle 
 of life and ideas, and others who go too far outside, but 
 the latter give me the most hope for women's future. 
 They may be unladylike, may even go wrong, may be 
 rude and ugly to men, but they are the first wave in the 
 tide of progress. The time comes when women must 
 work as men, side by side, and, in some future day, both 
 must regard each other with a courteous fairness, the 
 women expecting nothing beyond ordinary courtesy 
 from men, and the men looking upon women as fellow- 
 workers, not to be guarded and protected, but treated 
 civil and kind. These poor waifs and strays are the be- 
 ginning, they are loud and blatant now, or they are vin- 
 
222 » BABE MURPHY. 
 
 dictive, struggling for the same pay and privilege as 
 men, but they are all pioneers, and my blessing go with 
 them. I hope the time will be near, when women's 
 work shall be faithful and well done, and women's faces 
 wear no longer a stamp of idle sin, or narrow intelli- 
 gence and silly vanity. 
 
 The walk homeward across the sands was a happy 
 one to us all. The Colonel and I went soberly along 
 discoursing on the tariff, the climate of Texas, the 
 Maine ice crop, and the prospect of deep water off Ar- 
 ansas pass; but no such talk occupied the young couple 
 ahead. As they went I saw her head droop almost to 
 his shoulder, and his arms clasp her waist. 
 
 Oh, rare moments in life, when love is young, and 
 the world is fair! Run slowly, oh, golden sands of time, 
 and you grim, old reaper, pass them by! Give them 
 their fill of love and sunshine, for the waiting was weary, 
 and they are worthy of thy kindness. Let the hours of 
 happiness linger, and give them long life; for their love 
 shall endure to the end! 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A LOOKER-OX IN VIENNA. 
 
 While looking over some old papers to aid me in my 
 story, I found a diary of mine where, in my Boswell sort 
 of way, to my dear Doctor Johnson (a feminine one), I 
 came across my account of Babe's wedding. It is none 
 the less interesting, because they have now been married 
 some years, and are happy in the usual commonplace 
 way of wedded folks. I fancy if this were a composi- 
 tion I should mark it seven per cent., though goodness 
 knows why not ten. I think, as I often did about my 
 scholars' compositions, they all ought to be marked 
 according to ability given each, not the merit of the 
 work itself. And, dear me, in all that long procession 
 of children who have passed before me with their grimy 
 papers all blotted and creased with eager work, I never 
 snared one germ of bright thought or one bud of open- 
 ing genius. Well, here is my poor account of the cere- 
 mony where I officiated, as Tom says, as chief mourner: 
 
 "June 18, 188 — . Such a lovely day this has been; 
 the sky absolutely cloudless, the sea a great azure, daz- 
 zling stretch of waving sunshine. My dear girl woke 
 me early with her usual hug." 
 
 "You precious dear/' she said, holding me in her 
 
 strong, young arms, "never think I don't love you as 
 
 much and more than I ever did, and swear you will 
 
 always live with me." 
 
 223 
 
224 BABE MUBPT7Y. 
 
 "Men don't like a third party, a meddlesome, old 
 maid/' I cautioned. 
 
 "Tom thinks the world of yon, and he will do just 
 what I tell him." 
 
 " He'll be the first man then, my dear," I said, " but 
 Fll stop till he drives me out." 
 
 We got up and dressed then, Babe in a pink wrapper, 
 her hair carelessly knotted in her neck, and me in my 
 black muslin, seeing its third summer. Drinda had a 
 fine breakfast for us — red fish from the gulf, graham 
 muffins and strawberries. I heard her singing a cheer- 
 ful Jordany hymn, which means she is pleased, in 
 fact, I had not heard her favorite one on the judgment 
 day for a whole week. She watched us eat, with many 
 ' bress de Lawds,' standing with her hands on her com- 
 fortable hips and looking at Babe with pleased interest. 
 No matter how old or how black we are, we women do 
 love to see a wedding and to know all about the parties 
 concerned, and to bother over the details and out of 
 the ordinary cares it calls for. After breakfast Babe 
 and I tidied up the sitting-room and the bedroom facing 
 the sea. I had taken a little, back chamber, its window 
 looking upon the sand. 
 
 "I like it best," I explained, when Babe expostulated 
 with me for giving up the best, " the sea makes me feel 
 creepy (which it didn't at all) and then you know a 
 man wants lots of room to move 'round in." She 
 blushed as usual, and went away from my teasing. She 
 did not have any trousseau, but the Colonel insisted on 
 sending to Galveston for the wedding gown. I got an 
 
A LOOKER-ON IN VIENNA. 225 
 
 old basque of hers for a model, and he telegraphed the 
 work must be done as soon as possible. It came the 
 night before and we had admired it enough to satisfy 
 any generous giver. It was a sort of creamy, thick, 
 ribbed silk, very soft and pliant, made much better than 
 I could do, having a style a professional only can give. 
 It needed some trimming to set it off, I thought, " a 
 lace flounce," I suggested. 
 
 (i I think it lovely enough, I never did like mussy 
 clothes/' she said, happily, " and then you know I shall 
 have flowers." 
 
 A rap at the door sort of startled me, but there was 
 only a small boy with a basket of flowers from his ma, 
 with her compliments, and he had no sooner gone than 
 a red-bearded man brought a bouquet, from his wife; and 
 as we were in the land of flowers and generous hearts, 
 the ten different calls we had with floral offerings seemed 
 sort of natural and expected after all. The last knock 
 was made by the grimy and warty hand of a small, 
 freckled boy. 
 
 " Ma says she'd sent more," he grinned, handing me 
 a bouquet, " but they're usin' 'em over to the church." 
 
 "Well, indeed," I says, " what for?" 
 
 " Huh, for her gittin' married, you bet we 'uns is all 
 gwine ter be there." 
 
 " You are awful good down here," I said. 
 
 "You 'uns don't know us Texas folks," he grins and 
 scampered off. 
 
 Babe had just finished arranging the flowers when the 
 Colonel came, followed by Ponce carrying a small par- 
 
226 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 eel. The dear man stalked in with that stiff way, to 
 say my girl was a rose among roses, and to shake my 
 hand very warmly. Then he wanted to see the wedding 
 gown, if we did not object. "It had been a long time," 
 he smiled, sadly, when he said it, "since a gown had 
 interested him so much." He thought Mrs. Latham's 
 wedding dress was a white brocade. Ponce confirmed 
 this with some details of the event, the Colonel cough- 
 ing slightly at the reminiscence. Babe brought out the 
 gown, and then he undid the tissue paper around a roll 
 of beautiful old lace. 
 
 "I brought you this, my dear, a heirloom in my fam- 
 ily. I want you to accept it. It is point and of a fine 
 pattern. My womenkind prized it highly. I have no 
 one to value it now but you, my young friend, who has 
 made many of my lonely hours bright and happy by 
 your kindness." 
 
 "My dear friend," she said, brokenly, and then in 
 her own, impetuous way, caught his hand and laid it 
 against her soft cheek. 
 
 "My dear," he said, much shocked. 
 
 "Kiss my lips, then," she said, that graceless girl, 
 and no man could resist that sweet, blushing face, least 
 of all a Texas colonel. They made a pretty picture, 
 too, he so stately and dignified, his very caress as sol- 
 emn as a benediction, she blushing and radiant, the 
 flowers everywhere, the wedding gown lying across a 
 chair, and Ponce and I looking on for a background. 
 I went in the bedroom to sew the lace on the gown, and 
 she followed me in a moment, holding a little box. 
 
A LOOKER-ON IN VIENNA. 227 
 
 • 
 
 "The Colonel's wedding gift," she stammered, 
 "ought I to take so much from him, and are they not 
 beautiful?" She held out a set of pearls, ear drops and 
 pin, and though I know very little about jewels I could 
 see these were rare and costly. 
 
 "He says," cried Babe, "he thought they would 
 become me best, says, after what he knows of my life, 
 that I am as pure and fair." 
 
 "You would hurt him more to refuse them, my 
 dear," I said. The Colonel would not have peeped in 
 that bedroom for the world, though I know he wanted 
 to hear my opinion, that stately delicacy of his seemed 
 to shut him out from common folks. 
 
 "He wants to seethe dress on, Ann, is it bad luck?'' 
 
 " Land, no, child, it's got to go on, anyway, so I can 
 drape the lace. So shut the door and I'll help you." 
 If ever I saw a girl, if I may use an odd term, blossom 
 into beauty, it was Babe in that white silk. Clothes do 
 make a difference, and that is where poverty cuts the 
 most. Don't we all want to look nice and have pretty 
 things about us, and isn't having to buy at cheap stores 
 and wearing cheap ill-fitting gowns enough to sour the 
 sweetest temper? She put the pearls on while I fixed 
 the lace in the neck of her gown. "That was cut 
 rather low in the neck, my dear, that square, and if I 
 must say it, you ain't built for that fashion." 
 
 " Heroines in books always have such beautiful 
 necks," sighed Babe, "and though I never cared before, 
 I do wish nature hadn't been so prodigal in giving me 
 collar bones. Still, like all lean people, I can deserve a 
 reputation for extreme modesty." 
 
228 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 m 
 
 "That's the result of those French books, Miss/' I 
 said, severely, " your talk is trifling, but really you are 
 not matured yet, you may fill out and be a fine figure 
 of a woman. You never will be dumpy, and that's 
 what scared me all my life, fat dumpiness, but I guess 
 I'm safe now." 
 
 I saw a flash of color flood her face at that moment. 
 " H'm, he's come, has he? You needn't be so upset, 
 you were hoping he would, and see you all fixed up, 
 Miss Vanity." 
 
 " You mean, old mind-reader," she laughed, and that 
 dimple came into her cheek and stayed there, with a 
 little tremulous smile on her pretty mouth. 
 
 " Did you make that dimple with a slate pencil?" I 
 said, patting her cheek. 
 
 "It just growed like Topsv." I opened the door 
 and she swept, as the books say, into the room, and the 
 swish of a silken train is a pleasant sound to my ears, 
 old as I am, and I do love to feel dressed up. "How 
 does she look?" I said. Ballinger was standing by the 
 window, a big bunch of cape jessamine in his hand. 
 
 "Charming, beautiful," said the Colonel, "and the 
 lace is an improvement? I trust, Miss Wilder, as you 
 ladies say, the fit is satisfactory." 
 
 "Sets like a duck's bill, the lace is elegant, and those 
 pearls the most fitting for her to wear, I agree with 
 you in that." 
 
 I looked at the two lovers, who were afraid almost to 
 look at each other, Babe very rosy and shy, Tom awk- 
 ward and uncomfortable. His hands trembled when he 
 
A LOOKER-ON IN VIENNA, 229 
 
 a 
 
 handed her the bouquet, and hers when she took it. 
 " Don't you like my gown, Tom?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, you handsome thing/' he said, eagerly, "of 
 course, I like it, but you are not the same girl at all, 
 you are a princess, and I've only got my every-day 
 clothes on, I feel like the hired man." 
 
 "Princesses don't have hired men, they have reti- 
 nues," she laughed, "and I hope you will continue to 
 be in awe of me." 
 
 "The right way to begin married life," I says, but 
 the dear Colonel only smiled gravely, understanding 
 nothing at all of our joking, but pleased, because we 
 were. Then, as we were to spend the day at his house, 
 he departed, and I told Babe to run get ready, as it was 
 two o'clock, and we were to dine at half past. As she 
 passed him, Ballinger made a grab at her. 
 
 "Don't," I fairly screamed, "you must not muss 
 that dress, you can't hug her in that." 
 
 "He can kiss me, Miss Wilder," said silly Babe, and 
 he with his hands behind him, gave her a distant kiss 
 on the forehead. 
 
 "Bless you, my child; ain't that fatherly, Wilder? 
 Go hurry, Di, you musir t keep his dinner waiting, it's 
 going to be a masterpiece, and us poor paupers won't 
 get many such, but then you know you were Mase of 
 champagne at eighteen." 
 
 Babe ran in to change her gown, but as I was all 
 ready, I entertained the young man with some sage 
 advice. 
 
 " That speech of mine makes me think of a fellow 
 
230 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 and girl that dined at our house once/' he said; " the girl 
 mighty pretty, fellow a little cad, we had some sort of 
 a frill of a pudding and the fellow says, ' Lizzie you 
 must be prepared to give up all these sort of things, 
 you won't get many puddings in our future life on a 
 Dakota wheat farm.*" 
 
 (i Well, lie was a cheerful soul." 
 
 " Wasn't he/' laughed Ballinger, " and the joke of 
 it was, the girl ran off with another fellow, a month or 
 so before the wedding." 
 
 " And they lived happy ever afterward?" 
 
 " No, in five years they got a divorce, though they 
 were rich and had everything, maybe she would have 
 been better off without the pudding, living on the 
 wheat farm. Good gracious, how long does it take a 
 woman to dress?" 
 
 " She hasn't been gone five minutes, and what a 
 fidgety creature you are, one would think you were 
 afraid to get married." 
 
 " Wouldn't you be? " mischievously. 
 
 " No, it's nothing new in the history of humanity." 
 
 She came in then, in her pretty blue muslin, with 
 her leghorn hat and drooping plumes, and she had hur- 
 ried so she had quite a red face, that didn't pale any 
 when he kissed her several times. 
 
 "You are an every-day girl now," he said, "and 
 poor old Wilder has to stand all the spooning. Come 
 Birdey, let's go hand-and-hand, like country lovers 
 to a circus." They walked decorously when they came 
 to the town, and tried to act distant and dignified, but, 
 
A LOOKER-ON AV YIEXNA. 231 
 
 la, everybody knew, aud one old sailor, calking a boat, 
 looked up as they passed and said, ' ' It's a fine, fair day 
 for the wedding, the Lord bless ye." 
 
 Dear me, what a fine dinner the Colonel had for us, 
 such a variety of food and fruit and wine. I did enjoy 
 the champagne, I think I said before, that I have a 
 weakness for it, and the folks in Southport may as well 
 know it first as last. Maybe I took a drop too much for 
 discretion, for I found myself discoursing so eloquently 
 that I wondered at my own ability. " What an orator 
 you'd make, Ann Wilder," I said to myself, "but, lame, 
 women can only talk on temperance, and the fact to do 
 that, I would first have to exhilarate myself on cham- 
 pagne would hardly be proper; as for women's rights, my 
 curls and my age would hurt the cause, giving newspaper 
 men a chance to jibe at it, as they will at my story. La 
 me, though, as old Ben Rines, of Southport, used to say, 
 when the boys sauced him, " Let 'em talk, it don't hurt 
 me none, and it does give 'em a heap of fun." 
 
 The Colonel mellowed to pleasant reminiscences, Babe's 
 cheeks grew red, her eyes very bright, but Ballinger be- 
 came pale and quiet. I do think a man on his wedding 
 day is the forlornest object on earth. What silly, nerv- 
 ous, irritable creatures they are, something the same as 
 if the noose was not matrimonial. After dinner we sat 
 in the parlor and Babe played for' us some of her pretty 
 pieces, and then, it being about six o'clock, she and I 
 went upstairs to begin her toilet. The ceremony was to 
 take place at eight. We left the two men chatting over 
 their cigars, Tom still abstracted and ill at ease. Up- 
 
232 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 stairs I gave Babe some good advice, as she had no 
 mother to aggravate her with the same. She took what 
 I said, meekly, only getting impudence enough to say: 
 
 " How did you know so much, Ann, when you never 
 got married ?" 
 
 " By keeping awake, my dear, absorbing information 
 like a sponge does water, but mostly by neighbors. 
 Neighbors are a great boon to us old maids. We often 
 live in their lives as I do in yours." 
 
 When she had her gown on, I stood upon a chair and 
 fixed her veil, and the two colored women at the house 
 came in to rave over her, one, Hetty, who had been Mrs. 
 Latham's maid, gave a few deft touches to the flowers 
 and looping better than I could. I ripped the third 
 finger of her left glove open, and, wondering if that 
 wild-acting young man had thought of the wedding 
 ring, stepped across to see. He was tearing about his 
 room in his shirt sleeves, cursing his necktie, so I got 
 on a chair and tied it for him, he standing still, for a 
 wonder, and then I patted his brown cheek with my 
 wrinkled hand. 
 
 u You never looked so well in your life, Tom." 
 
 " Nor felt so like a fool — look like a waiter in a sec- 
 ond class cafe. Don't that coat draw across the back?" 
 — with some profanity about a New York tailor. 
 
 "It couldn't set better, could it, Ponce," I said, to 
 the old darky, who had come in to offer his services to 
 Marse Tom. 
 
 ( ' Jest melted an' run inter it/' he grinned, and, as 
 there was nothing to do, admired the young man, and 
 
A LOOKER-OX IN VIENNA. 233 
 
 departed to adorn himself for the important position of 
 driver of the wedding carriage. At the door he stopped 
 a moment: 
 
 "When the Colonel married Miss Elton, dey wa' the 
 harnsumest couple in Virginy, cle Eltons was way-up 
 folks, and Miss carried her head pretty high I tell yo', 
 and de Colonel, want he proud too. Lawd, how times 
 change, de Colonel only one left/' He shuffled down 
 the stairs, where I saw the Colonel meet him and pat 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "Makes you think of old times, Ponce, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes, Marse." 
 
 "Long, long ago," muttered the Colonel, going into 
 the parlor and standing before his wife's portrait, and 
 thinking, God knows what sad, sad thoughts, and living 
 again, such dear memories of her. 
 
 The young couple met in the upper hall, Tom too ex- 
 cited to admire my darling, hardly looking at her. 
 " Have you got the ring ?" I snapped, not any too much 
 pleased with him; fixing Babe's lace handkerchief (my 
 gift) in her dress. 
 
 " H — 1 no," then he darts back into the room, 
 returning, putting one ring into his pocket, he hands 
 Babe a little case holding a lovely diamond solitaire shin- 
 ing like a star. 
 
 " She can't carry it," I said, putting it carefully in 
 my pocket. "Seems to me an engagement ring is 
 rather late now." 
 
 " She wouldn't have one before, and I was too broke 
 to get as nice a one as she ought to have. Do you 
 
234 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 know the Colonel gave me a check for five hundred this 
 morning ? Wonder how he got into this world anyway, 
 he's too good for it. Curse it, there goes that glove." 
 
 " It ain't," I said, " see, it fastens this way; now you 
 are all right, and you might have the courtesy to admire 
 your wife." 
 
 "My wife," he says, with a long, sweet look at her, 
 and that was all, but I suppose she saw enough admir- 
 ation in his eyes to content her. The Colonel helped her 
 in the carriage, tucked her train in carefully, and gave 
 a series of directions to Ponce, who was gotten up 
 quite elegantly with the biggest pair of white cotton 
 gloves I ever saw, and a bow of ribbon on the whip. 
 The Colonel and I climbed into a hired carriage, and 
 then off we went to the little village church. In a room 
 back of the church I fixed Babe's train and settled her 
 veil, and then I slipped out into a front pew, rustling 
 my best black silk, feeling mightily well dressed. The 
 church was a mass of flowers and vines, beautifully dec- 
 orated, and as there were no invitations nor limitations, 
 most of the folks in town that knew us were there. 
 Soon the organist began the wedding march they 
 always play, and that is so grand and majestic, I always 
 wish the marriage could be as beautiful, and kept up to 
 such a high ideal. But, alas, it seldom is; and coldness, 
 and want of faith, and hatred, and all unkindness too 
 often comes, and love flies away. I heard the swish of 
 Babe's gown, seeing through a mist my darling's blush- 
 ing face and her radiant eyes. I noticed, as they stood 
 before the minister, how handsome they were, and how 
 
A LOOKER-ON IN VIENNA. 235 
 
 well suited. I don't think Babe would have been happy 
 with any other man than he at her side, and I do 
 believe in affinities. I heard as in a dream the solemn 
 service, that name Beatrice Murphy had a strange, 
 unfamiliar sound; then Thomas Ballinger, that was dig- 
 nified and stately enough. The Colonel gave the bride 
 away, then there was the usual hunt for the ring, and 
 Babe's hand shook a little, and his voice trembled when 
 he promised to love and care for her till death did them 
 part, but she said she'd obey quite distinctly, meaning 
 it, I suppose, as little as any woman does. 
 
 I found myself wondering if he would love her always 
 in the way a woman likes, with caresses and lover's 
 attentions; not many men do. When coldness and 
 indifference comes, God pity the woman, and give her 
 children to fill her heart. When that solemn admoni- 
 tion sounded, if any man knew aught that those two 
 should not be man and wife, or words to that effect, 
 remembering in books how many strange beings had 
 popped up to protest at that time, I turned around tim- 
 orously, but no one appeared, not even the ghost of 
 Mrs. Howard, or much worse, the lady in the flesh. 
 Well, it was all over now, a kiss from the young hus- 
 band to his dear wife, a kiss without passion, pure- 
 hearted and reverent, accepting his great responsibility 
 to make or mar a human life. I liked him that in that 
 moment he could remember the solemnity of the time. 
 
 W T e drove back to the Colonel's, where there was a 
 sumptuous banquet — sumptuous having to my ear a 
 rich and oily sound fitting a description of food — and a 
 
236 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 number of guests, the Colonel's old-time friends. Babe 
 cut the bride's cake, and everybody took some home — 
 the young folks, I mean, to dream on. I did, slyly, put 
 a piece under my pillow, merely to test the superstition, 
 and had a horrible dream of Mrs. Howard, stern, gigan- 
 tic in size, sailing into a monstrous church after my 
 young couple, and forbidding the bans ; and I know 
 that dream now was probably indigestion, for late eat- 
 ing don't agree with me. After the banquet there were 
 dancing and promenading, and Babe, when she could 
 get away, slipped up-stairs to change her gown. 
 Neither she nor the bridegroom ate or drank anything, so 
 the fine victuals were quite wasted on them; but I suppose 
 they were necessary as a target for long and flowery 
 speeches, growing longer and more florid as the glasses 
 were emptied. I slipped after Babe to help her, for we 
 were going to walk home, and she didn't want to trail 
 that gown along ; but I found she was nearly dressed in 
 her blue muslin, aided by the deft fingers of Hetty, the 
 maid. "Just you come along with us," she says, giv- 
 ing me a hug, "don't you creep off by yourself." She 
 picked a few jessamines out of her bouquet and folded 
 them in her handkerchief to press and keep, but she 
 took the rest with her. Hetty promised to fold the 
 dress properly, and then we set out. The Colonel and 
 Ballinger were waiting on the back porch, the latter 
 smoking in that nervous, irritable way of his, peculiar 
 to this day. As we started off, after bidding that kind 
 man good-night, the guests heard us, and flung rice and 
 slippers after us. We escaped these delicate attentions 
 without injury, and hurried on. 
 
A LOOKER— OX T$ VIENNA. 237 
 
 What a glorious night it was, the great, sparkling 
 sea alive with moonlight and mystery, the town wrapped 
 in that poetic moon haze that makes everything beau- 
 tiful. "W r e stopped by the graveyard fence, and Babe 
 went in alone. 
 
 " A queer place to go on a wedding night," grumbled 
 Tom. 
 
 She heard him and looked back. "I want to Jay my 
 bouquet on his grave," she said, with trembling lips, 
 "and begin, dear, my new life with kindness and 
 love for him." 
 
 As we waited, Drinda passed, going home from the 
 festivities and a position of observation in the kitch- 
 en. She stopped and looked towards my girFs kneel- 
 ing figure by the grave. 
 
 "De Lawd's giben you a mighty good wife, Marse 
 Tom." 
 
 "Don't I know that?" he smiled, " and she shall be 
 a happy one, so help me God !" 
 
 I went on home with Drinda, and left the young 
 couple alone; I saw them walking on the beach as I 
 went in, after talking over the day with Drinda. I saw 
 them so close together their shadows were almost one, 
 and I prayed that all their future might be as bright and 
 beautiful as that moonlight night, and all their paths 
 as pleasant and fair as that long stretch of shining sand 
 by the unquiet waves. I wrote all this that I have 
 copied while they walked, and had almost finished when 
 I heard the gate click. I saw him hold it open for her 
 to pass, and followed, flinging away his cigar — I wonder 
 
CCS BABE MURPnY. 
 
 how many he smoked that day to calm his nervousness, 
 but only making him worse — it glittered a moment, a 
 fiery spark under a bush. I saw him pick a rose and put 
 it in her dress, and stoop to kiss her hair lightly. She 
 ran away from him and came in to me, sitting on the 
 floor beside me, hiding her face in my laj:>. She is very 
 pale and tremulous, and hugs me close to her beating 
 heart. He stalks in, throws his hat on a chair with an 
 easy sense of ownership. " I wonder if I acted as much 
 like a chump as I looked and felt," he says. He is full 
 of a mad merriment, his face slightly flushed, his 
 nervousness quite gone. 
 
 " Your temper has been worse than anything," I said, 
 agreeably, "I never saw such a cross-grained creature; 
 I pity your wife." 
 
 "The only flaw in your character, Wilder, is that 
 you are a single woman," he answered, lightly, going to 
 the window and looking out on the bay. "What a 
 night it is, a beautiful, moonlit world!" 
 
 "There is some sentiment in your composition after 
 all," I said. 
 
 " Who would not gush on his wedding night," he 
 said, coming over to me and patting my shoulder, "you 
 are an old brick, Wilder, and if you ever leave us, I 
 shall drag you back. Come, Babe, you and yours truly 
 are not like literary folks, like Ann. I wonder if she is 
 dissecting us for the public amusement. If you put 
 me into f writinV and it gets into print — ah, there's the 
 rub — if it does — and tell what a fool I am and have been 
 all day, and how Di and I have spooned, I'll sue you 
 
A LOOKER-ON IN VIENNA. 239 
 
 for libel, just $3,000, brother Nathan's legacy, and land 
 you in the poorhouse. But we are not jooks and Mer- 
 quises, and Babe's a respectable married woman, so you 
 won't find a publisher — lor' child, they can get for noth- 
 ing much better stuff than you can write, chuck full of 
 the latest foreign immorality." 
 
 He raises his wife, rumpling her curly hair from her 
 forehead, to kiss her passionately. " Good-night." 
 
 They are gone, and I sit alone, the balmy air blows in 
 from that far, blue gulf, the moonlight nickers on the 
 waves, and in one long, silver shaft falls through the 
 window on the floor, and wavers with the wind. "A 
 looker-on here in Vienna," those words come to me, 
 and I wonder where I heard them. Such have I been 
 all my life. I have seen children grow up to love and 
 mate, and mothers died beloved by children, and 
 grandparents go mourned to their quiet rest, but I 
 have only been a looker-on, and shall be to the end. 
 Somewhere I read of a withered rose found in the cere- 
 ments of an Egyptian princess, dead a thousand years. 
 A traveler, unthinking, laid the rose in water, and, lo, 
 it bloomed again, fragrant and marvelous, so rare and 
 beautiful, the like was never seen. In some far, future 
 life my heart, may, like the rose, come again to the love 
 and passion of my youth, my bereft and widowed youth. 
 Till then, I am content to be the looker-on. 
 
CHAPTEK XXII. 
 
 MR. BEACH S GRATITUDE. 
 
 We had a happy fortnight, those two and I, for they 
 would persist in making me go everywhere with them. 
 The Colonel, who had gone to Galveston, left them his 
 carriage, so we had delighful drives, besides our rows on 
 the bay. They went riding a few times, Babe wearing 
 the habit I made her at Erin. One evening I remember, 
 when we were sitting in her bedroom, she brought out 
 that old habit with the gilt braid, that she says will 
 never be destroyed in her lifetime. When he saw it, of 
 course Tom had to take her and the habit in his arms, 
 and recall their first meeting, as lovers will. 
 
 "I pity us poor brides," laughed Tom, "when we 
 take our honey-moon on a Pullman, Why, the very 
 porter spots us with a fiendish grin when we come 
 aboard in our new finery, and then every one in the car 
 knows it shortly, and discusses us, and some of them 
 without the dis. I have watched such spoons myself; 
 it is immense fun! The poor souls can't steal their 
 hands into one another's, but some cold eye falls on them, 
 all their little love talk freezes on their lips, and looks 
 like this I cast on Di, go astray, intercepted by some 
 sneer of an old wretch in a back seat. If she goes to 
 lean her bridal bonnet on the shoulder of his new coat, 
 the baleful glare of an elderly man or woman stops her 
 
 240 
 
MR. BEACH'S GRATITUDE. 241 
 
 just in the act, and she straightens up and calls him Mr. 
 Jones, instead of ' darling ' or e hubby/ With you for 
 audience, spooning has a new zest, you are so sympa- 
 thetic." 
 
 " Thanks," I say, dryly, " it may be because there is 
 no escaping." 
 
 I smile kindly on them as any one would. How pretty 
 Babe has grown, so rosy and happy, so merry and eager 
 to please us both with a sort of pathetic dependence on 
 his judgment, different from her old self reliance. 
 That grave, sweet expression of her eyes has disappeared, 
 and I do not see it again until a little life lies in her 
 arms, and mother love shines in her face. 
 
 We used to go in bathing in the Gulf, and Babe made 
 great progress in learning to swim, but I stayed in shore 
 unless Tom took hold of my hand, and then the surf 
 whirled me around like I was nobody at all. It takes 
 great courage — moral courage for a thin person like my- 
 self, to wear a bathing suit and get chilled by the water, 
 perhaps the former was the reason I liked bathing best 
 after dark. The junketing we did in those days was pleas- 
 ant enough, and much happier and better than that at 
 Erin. Dear me, the more I see of married folks, the more 
 mournful it makes me, that they can't be jolly together. 
 Few of them are, after five or six years of married life. 
 The men like to get off by themselves and smoke, and the 
 women are forced to herd together likewise andtalk scan- 
 dal, because they know nothing better to talk about, and 
 some lone soul that escapes the dreary, draught-scared 
 circle, and joins the men, is looked on by her sisters with 
 
242 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 stern disapproval. Some of the dismal periods of my 
 life have been passed in the company of married folks, 
 where I became a sort of shuttlecock for their contra- 
 dictory battledoors. 
 
 In about three weeks the Colonel returned. He came 
 one evening when the young couple were out on the 
 beach, and seemed very glad to find me alone. In a 
 perturbed manner, looking quite unlike his kindly, dig- 
 nified self, he told me he had seen, in an Eastern paper, 
 a reward offered for knowledge of the whereabouts of 
 Beatrice Murphy, also an advertisement requesting her 
 to send her address to George Martin, of Erin, Colorado 
 and learn something to her advantage. 
 
 "The world is so full of meanness," said I, "that I 
 don't believe in the advantage at all, no one can do any- 
 thing for the child that I know of unless Dick Daggett. 
 There are no miracles in the nineteenth century, and I 
 doubt if he would be one and give her money if the 
 mine panned out. Besides, he would, not employ Martin 
 — he hates him." 
 
 "Mrs. Ballinger can rely on me/' said the Colonel, 
 with great earnestness, " I shall devote my life to her 
 interests, if there is anything cowardly and wrong set 
 against her. The cause of a noble woman is enough to 
 nerve any man." 
 
 "But seldom any man, save a Southern gentleman, 
 would return to a long-abandoned practice, to serve a 
 young woman, as you have." 
 
 "My dear Miss Wilder, any gentleman would. Youj 
 Northerners are more practical, perhaps, but all men 
 
MR BEACWS GRATITUDE. 243 
 
 have a chivalrous regard for a lady in trouble, and are 
 eager to help her, it is the highest privilege to be 
 allowed to do so." 
 
 You good soul, I thought, a woman would do much 
 to keep your respect and to deserve your loyalty. I wish 
 there were more of you, and then there would be less 
 sinful women, and a great deal more courtesy in a 
 world that needs it sorely. 
 
 We said nothing of the subject of our conversation 
 to the young folks, when they returned, but talked of 
 Mexico, whither we were going the following week. 
 The Colonel, much pained, suggested some of the 
 discomforts Babe would suffer in that strange country, 
 but she shook her pretty head. 
 
 "I have always roughed it," she said, <( I never was 
 a home body, and all out doors never was too big and 
 great for my soul. Why, I was brought up right in the 
 shadow of those mighty mountains and knew all their 
 lights and shades, lived in their tempests and wild 
 moods. Four walls stifle me. Then, "Miss "Wilder is 
 not weary of junketing yet, she is a regular path- 
 finder, a crusader, a very Robinson Crusoe." 
 
 "Mexico," I said, slowly, "has always been an Arabian 
 Nights to me, an enchanted land in a prosaic century, a 
 place of churches and paintings, of rare silver orna- 
 ments, of tropics cenery, of weirdly strange people, of 
 the Aztec aristocrats of this world. What I know of 
 it, that makes me talk in this moon-struck way, was 
 told me by a neighbor, Joe Dodge. He fought in the 
 Mexican war and brought back some fine paintings, 
 
244 BABE MURPH7. 
 
 silver vessels, and strange embroideries he had stolen 
 from churches; with these he had learned a wild and 
 reckless way of riding, and a love for the beauty and 
 poetry of that far country that made him a figure apart 
 in our narrow-minded village. I would see him ride by 
 on his great horse, saddleless and bridleless — Tom, don't 
 you grin, I don't mean the man, but the horse — and I 
 would stop him for a chat, and then go in and dream 
 of Mexico, and wish I could send my soul there while 
 my poor body stayed and lived in Southport. Rare 
 company he was, and strange scenes he'd lived through 
 to come at last, liked that water-logged, old tree-trunk 
 out there on the beach, with all its history of growth in 
 tropic forest, and all its voyaging on the seas, to find 
 quiet harbor." 
 
 " Was Dodge well fixed?" interrupted Mr. Ballinger, 
 "he could sell his pickings, I suppose." 
 
 "He was a married man." 
 
 "Oh," then irrelevantly, "why don't you write poetry?" 
 
 "She could, if she wanted to," said Babe, earnestly; 
 she does believe in me. 
 
 "I am sure of that," said the Colonel, politely. 
 
 "I might think it," I answered, "but, counting 
 the feet, like chopping wood with a dull hatchet, takes 
 all the poetry out of it, to me, and running over in my 
 mind the words to rhyme, like blind, find, ghind, and 
 then beginning again — no, poetry is beyond me, but, 
 goodness!" I cried, starting up, "If that man coming 
 isn't Lawyer Martin, of Erin, it's his ghost!" 
 
 The person approaching, that we had not noted, being 
 
MR. BEACH'S GRATITUDE. 245 
 
 busy talking, though all sitting on the beach near the 
 cottage, now came up to us. 
 
 "I am pleased to find you all here," he said. " My 
 name is Martin, I trust Mrs. Ballinger remembers me. 
 Colonel Latham, I believe, well, I thought best to 
 answer your letter in person." 
 
 "Sit down, Di," said Tom, flinging his arm across 
 his wife's knees — she would have risen, looking white 
 and terrified, but he pulled her back in her chair, and 
 resumed his place at her feet, "no one can hurt you, 
 dear, have you not got me?" 
 
 The Colonel got up with awful dignity, "Sir," he 
 said, frigidly, " I consider this intrusion an unwarrant- 
 able impertinence." 
 
 " I appeal to Miss Wilder," said Martin, awful pleas- 
 ant, and I thinking all the time how mean he acted 
 that day of the inquest; " I always respected Miss Mur- 
 phy highly, and my news is good news; but, dear me, 
 what a hunt I have had to find you. Perhaps you 
 remember," said Martin, addressing his remarks to me, 
 "that night when Miss Murphy assisted the deceased 
 to my house. You do; well, on that occasion, Mr. Beach 
 revoked his former Avill, giving all his property to his 
 wife. He knew she was entitled, being still his wife, 
 to half, and even if she had been divorced, I think he 
 would still have given her something. He remembered 
 all of his connections generously, even your humble 
 servant much more than he deserved. I did not write 
 the will, he wrote every line himself, and withholding 
 the reading of it from us, got Doctor Hooper and my- 
 
246 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 self to signjrt. One of the bequests was the sum of ten 
 thousand dollars to his worthy friend, Lydia Ann 
 Wilder." 
 
 "Gracious me!" I gasped, "if I ain't the luckiest 
 woman, I've gone into the legacy business, and, Babe, 
 you shall share it, you dear thing." 
 
 "I fancy Mrs. Ballinger will not need your gener- 
 osity." said Martin, with aggravating slowness, "by the 
 terms of the same will, the sum of two hundred thou- 
 sand dollars is willed, unconditionally, to Miss Beatrice 
 Murphy."' 
 
 "He hated — hated me," cried Mrs. Ballinger, "oh, 
 it can not be so!" 
 
 "It is, nevertheless; he respected you highly, and told 
 me that night when you were gone, of the delicate and 
 honorable way you tried to warn him of his wife's con- 
 duct. His rudeness to you on that occasion seemed to 
 trouble him greatly. He had also a whimsical liking 
 for Miss Wilder, whose honesty and oddity of speech 
 amused and pleased him. He says in his will, he hopes 
 Miss Murphy will accept the money in token of his 
 good will and gratitude to her, and if she has any 
 scruples at all, let her take it then as her right — her 
 lawful due, I think the words were. I fear," said Mar- 
 tin, sadly, "that the poor man had some presentiment 
 of his approaching death when he left commands the 
 will was not to be opened for two months. He spoke 
 very feelingly of you. and I am sure had you heard 
 him, you would have forgiven all the past. The world 
 did not condemn his action in taking your father's 
 
MR. BEACH'S GRATITUDE. 247 
 
 mine, but as far as the moral effect was, it was wrong. 
 Beach was not blind to that at all, and said that night 
 he would always be glad, that, from a neglected, 
 untaught child, you had grown into a gracious, noble 
 woman; but added, had you the advantages the money 
 your father lost would have given you, your life might 
 have been vastly different. I trust, Mr. Ballinger, you 
 will persuade your wife to accept this legacy, odd as it 
 is; I believe, knowing what I do of her, in that rigid 
 justice of hers she will refuse to be benefited by the 
 man her father wronged so cruelly." 
 
 " Di, why don't you speak?" cried Tom, going up to 
 his wife, " what makes you look so white and dreadful, 
 it was awfully good of the old man to remember you, he 
 would grieve in his grave if you refuse it, but it shall be 
 as you say. We don't need money to make us happy." 
 
 "I can't — can't understand it, Tom — my father's 
 enemy! "she put out her hands blindly, and he caught 
 her as she fell. Dear me, what a fuss he made ; but she 
 was not the fainting kind, only once before, I told him, 
 "that day you left her, and then what a time I had to 
 bring her too." She is a woman of great soul, of strong 
 emotions, and can suffer more in a moment than some 
 women can in a day. When she was better, and he was 
 petting and talking to her, I went outside to talk to 
 Martin about Erin and all the folks. The Colonel had 
 turned a sort of mental somersault, and was polite as 
 could be to Martin, and ended by insisting his brother 
 lawyer should become his guest, and away they went 
 together after hearing Mrs. Ballinger was much better. 
 
248 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 Before I went to bed I went into Babe's room, where 
 I found her very smiling and bright-eyed, telling her 
 husband what she was going to get him with her wealth. 
 " It's only a fellow in a novel that gives up a for- 
 tune/' said Tom, sopping cologne on his wife's head, 
 and nearly putting her eyes out, but never a complaint 
 she made; "we haven't such heroic souls, and then 
 that money is hers, anyway." 
 
 " I think so," I said, and wasn't it? " And that was 
 what made Clara mad, knowing you would have half 
 the property, and she swore to Martin you and I were 
 in New York— the little cat." 
 
 " Didn't know you could be so severe," laughed Tom, 
 "queer how people will act about money. I know 
 Clara went back there on Babe's account, liking her 
 and wishing to make her happy, but the moment she 
 finds out Babe is going to get some of the old man's 
 cash, whew! her blood's up and she does all she can to 
 prevent it." 
 
 The Colonel accompanied Martin to Erin; he would 
 not let Tom go — separating the young couple was not 
 to be thought of, and after a fortnight he returned to 
 deliver her property to his client. He had met Mrs. 
 Finnerty, and his attempts to relate her remarks and 
 blessings on us were as richly funny as anything I ever 
 heard. 
 
 "She struck me as a well-meaning, but uneducated, 
 person," he said, in apology. 
 
 With some twenty thousand of the money, Tom bought 
 a ranch about ten miles from Denver, situated on the 
 
MR. BEACH'S GRATITUDE. 249 
 
 Platte river, and as sightly a place as one could wish 
 for. The house had been recently built, and bore an 
 odd sort of resemblance to that one of Beach's at Erin, 
 but it was charming all the same and shaded by a grove 
 of cotton woods, a grateful comfort in that sunny coun- 
 try. Never yet have I looked on those burning sands, 
 glittering under a July sun, but I think of that Scrip- 
 ture phrase, " The shadow of a great rock in a weary 
 land/' and how good such a spot must be to a traveler! 
 Tom said he was fit for nothing but farming, he liked 
 it best, and that life suited us all well. Around our 
 ranch were fertile fields, our own the finest, and our 
 stock — for I say ours as if I really was one of the family 
 — was the prize sort, with pedigrees and blue ribbons at 
 fairs. They did say Tom would "bust up," in the ex- 
 pressive vernacular of the region, but he has not yet, 
 and seems to have a natural gift for making farming 
 and stock-raising pay. Mrs. Ballinger fitted the house 
 up in a most costly manner; nothing is too good for 
 her, I notice, and yet I remember when she had but 
 one gown to her back — and such a one, with its gilt 
 braid and faded skirt. We took old Drinda with us; 
 she would not be parted from Mrs. Ballinger, and she 
 is — Drinda, I mean, Mrs. B. never being an extra one 
 — a most marvelous cook. Doctor accompanied us also, 
 and is grown to be quite staid and rheumatic, awing 
 the rest of our collection of dogs by his superior wisdom 
 and, I might add, his greyhound bite, that is effective. 
 After a few months Mrs. Ballinger began to indulge in 
 a wild debauch of pets, and our kennels held a setter, a 
 
250 BABE MUBPnY. 
 
 poi nter, a large mastiff (I was mortally scared of him), 
 a skye terrier and a black-and-tan of a tireless bark 
 that seemed a target for Mr. Ballinger's temper, and 
 slippers, and other articles of wearing apparel. As if 
 there were not enough animals about, a vagabond collie 
 followed me home one day and attached himself to me, 
 and, when I did not watch him, scuttled under my bed 
 at night. Many and wearying were the battles I fought 
 with him to make him know his place, but he never 
 did, and, when I write this, is sneaking up the stairs 
 with sublime assurance, coming into the room inch by 
 inch, so pitifully meek and abject I let him stay. Mrs. 
 Ballinger had a Kentucky mare, too, very spirited and 
 saucy, and I never saw my dear girl ride off but I did 
 worry a little, though Tom was always with her. 
 
 So days pass into weeks and weeks into months, and 
 we are as happy as mortal folks can be, with only one 
 shadow over our happiness. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MRS. BALLINGER'S BABY. 
 
 I saw that botli Ballinger and his wife grieved that 
 Mrs. Howard would not answer their letters, but Tom 
 first declared he would not care; that his mother 
 was unjust, and let her act hateful then. He would 
 not allow his wife to fret about it — but there! if it 
 wasn't that, it was something else, and Babe got to be 
 a regular torment of a woman. She actually cried 
 because Tom scolded her for feeding the setter too 
 much and spoiling him for hunting, and threatened to 
 tell the Humane Society he was starving the poor 
 brute. She did not care for riding, the mare fright- 
 ened her, and driving made her weary; she developed 
 nerves, when she never before acknowledged she had 
 any, and I was mortal afraid to say a word to her about 
 her temper; only Drinda was sympathetic and kind, 
 and when that worthy old woman had given me a piece 
 of her mind, I retailed it to Tom, and then we were 
 more gentle with our darling, submissive to her light- 
 est wish. 
 
 A time came when she was very ill, and, dear me! 
 how sad our hearts were when she begged us to forgive- 
 her if she had been cross and unlike herself! And all 
 those waiting days we wandered about the house, so 
 sadly desolate without her, and knew how much we 
 
 251 
 
252 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 loved and missed her with keen anguish. I remember 
 a dreadful night when Tom drove to Denver at a gallop, 
 and two awful days when we did not know she would 
 live an hour, and strange doctors crept up the stairs, 
 and a nurse with a sober face, who scorned my inquir- 
 ies, no matter how abject I was. 
 
 " It's like a dead person was in the house," Tom 
 would say, hiding his face in his outstretched arms, 
 caring nothing who saw his grief, sitting on the stairs 
 for the doctor to fall over, or wandering into the 
 kitchen to be comforted by Drinda, and, dear me, she 
 said she'd had nine, but I don't believe her. I pitied 
 that poor young fellow, though; he neither ate nor 
 slept, sitting outside her door, asking the last news, 
 hardly daring to cross the threshold. She knew none 
 of us; she was back in her mountain home, riding 
 her broncho (that Tom had brought to the ranch to 
 please her, though the animal was worth nothing at 
 all), or babbling of the mountains, the brooks, the 
 people she knew in her childhood — never a word of us. 
 She called often on her father, always with the sweet 
 affection of a child, and once or twice screamed, as if 
 in terror, some recollection of those wild scenes of her 
 youth coming to her. 
 
 One morning Drinda came creeping into my room, 
 looking uncanny enough in the gray light. " It's a 
 fine boy, Miss Wilder, and she's asking for you." I 
 wasn't asleep nor dressed for bed; I don't think I had 
 my clothes off for a week, so I hurried in. I took her 
 dear head in my arms. 
 
MRS. BALLINGERS BABY. 253 
 
 " Hold me, Ann, like you used to," she said, such a 
 ghost of herself. "I think if I die I would like to 
 drift away with your arms about me; you'd give me 
 courage to go that lonely journey." 
 
 " To get well, my darling, my poor, sick girl," I said, 
 " surely no woman has more to live for. than you have 
 now." She went quietly to sleep, and Tom, coming to 
 see her, stopped at the door not to wake her. How worn 
 and haggard he was, with sleepless eyes, unshaven chin 
 and neglected clothes. " I — I don't wonder she hates 
 me," he groaned; and I did have to smile a little bit, 
 if he was so wretched. Then that majestic nurse 
 brought in a red flannelly bundle and put it in his 
 arms. 
 
 11 Hold it so," she said, unbending at his awkward- 
 ness. 
 
 " What a queer little beast," he said, "and to think 
 it's hers and mine — a life just begun, to end how many 
 years from now, and how! Poor little beggar — oh, I 
 say, take it; it's going to cry." 
 
 " You must get used to that," I said, cruelly; "and 
 now do go get some sleep; you look awfully miserable, 
 enough to scare any one." 
 
 He obeyed me like a lamb. He was very meek, for 
 him, and I inwardly smiled at it. When he came back, 
 it was a good six hours, and Di was awake, feeling 
 much brighter and better, I sitting by her side, that 
 hateful nurse down stairs. He had shaved and changed 
 his clothes, and looked like his old self. With elabo- 
 rate caution, he tiptoed over to the tiled hearth, where 
 
254 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 the flickering fire Babe loved to watch was burning. 
 Dear me! I ought to break myself of using that nick- 
 name, but it is hard to do it. 
 
 " Tom," she called, softly, he turned and went toward 
 her, "I am afraid to come near you, I'm so clumsy/' he 
 said. 
 
 She gave him the ghost of a smile, " Isn't he lovely?" 
 she said, lifting the sheet off that red face on her arm. 
 He was not lovely at all, but Tom said it, with admir- 
 able grace and quite the appearance of thinking so, and 
 still with that awed look in his handsome, brown eyes, he 
 knelt beside her, his head close to hers, and then I stole 
 away and left them. 
 
 We had a happy summer when Di was well, and I never 
 saw a finer baby than our little Neil Latham — there I 
 say our, again, but I do claim some right to that child; 
 and wasn't the Colonel pleased because Neil was his 
 namesake? 
 
 " It would have been Lydia Ann, if it had been a 
 girl," said Mrs. Ballinger, " but I do like boys best." 
 
 "A fault of your sex," I said, "but please remember 
 you were a girl yourself." 
 
 v '* A very lovely one," smiled the Colonel, looking per- 
 plexedly pleased. It was fun to see him hold the baby; 
 baby screaming and clutching at the Colonel's whiskers, 
 and that stately gentleman trying to extricate himself 
 without offending Sir Baby. 
 
 A pretty scene I' remember was in April when Neil 
 was a year old, he was an April boy, like his mother, all 
 smiles and tears. Tom had gone for a ride, but his 
 
MRS. BAL LINGERS BABY. 255 
 
 wife was entertaining the Colonel, who was making us 
 a visit. We were sitting on the veranda, the baby asleep 
 in his mother's arms. 
 
 " Colonel/' said my dear girl, softly, "You know — 
 know Mrs. Howard?" 
 
 "Yes," uncomfortably. 
 
 " She knows very well we are married, we wrote her, 
 but does she know of this?" 
 
 "If you refer to the baby," said the Colonel, " I — I 
 think I told her." 
 
 "You know it, you kind heart, and she said some- 
 thing dreadful, isn't that so?" 
 
 " I did not tax my memory with it, if she did," very 
 stiffly. 
 
 " I shall not give her up," went on Mrs. Ballinger, 
 "no, indeed; because," convincingly, "she has never 
 seen Neil. I did not know" — bending her beautiful face 
 to brush baby's forehead lightly with her lips, "how 
 much I loved or could love, until my baby came. A 
 mother can never forget, I will not believe it, she must 
 remember when her baby was given to her, and how he 
 loved her best, his first, dear love, so innocent and beauti- 
 ful. Colonel, I ask you to help me when I shall call on 
 you, no matter how or when, to soften that unnatural 
 mother's heart and make her forgive my husband for 
 marrying me." 
 
 "Whatever you ask I will do," he said, solemnly, 
 "knowing that it will be just and right," He took the 
 hand she held out and raised it to his lips, and they 
 registered that vow then, that afterward I saw carried 
 out to a happy finish. 
 
256 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 Dear me, after writing of Mrs. Ballinger as a most 
 angelic woman, I should have to tell what I must on her 
 and to justify myself, as I have the right, and show her 
 her heartless conduct. After various experiences with 
 nurses, the last one being found intoxicated in the cel- 
 lar, Neil playing with a broken bottle beside her, we 
 decided on making Drinda nurse, and getting another 
 cook; but most of baby's toilet was performed by his 
 mother or me, frequently by both of us. And this all 
 led to a day that was a very Sahara to me. Perhaps I 
 did monopolize baby too much, and may be he did like to 
 go to me pretty well. I think our first quarrel was over 
 taking off his flannels, when I insisted it was too soon. 
 
 "He is my own baby," Mrs. Ballinger cried, in a fine 
 temper, "he shan't be roasted to death." 
 
 "He will get his death from cold, and it will be your 
 fault," I said, stubbornly. Then, like most silly women, 
 she said: 
 
 "I'd like to know how you know anything about 
 babies, anyway." 
 
 " It will be murder if they go off before the first of 
 June," I muttered, stalking out of the room. They did 
 come off, and a storm came up, and a cold, drizzling 
 day set in, and that night, at twelve o'clock, a scared, 
 white figure came to my bed and gasped, she just 
 knew baby was dying, he was breathing so, and wouldn't 
 I come and see ? 
 
 •"Those fat babies are always croupy," I said, coolly, 
 acting as if I wasn't scared, mean enough to aggravate, 
 her distress, and then I fixed the poor little fellow more 
 
MBS. BALLINGERS BABY. 257 
 
 comfortable, and got him some medicine the doctor had 
 left, and he was all right in no time. Mr. Ballinger, 1 
 was pleased to hear, gave his wife a fine scolding on the 
 flannel question, and mostly for not taking my advice. 
 
 About a fortnight after that, Mr. Ballinger came into 
 my room and found me packing my trunk. 
 
 " Thunder," he says, standing looking at me, his 
 hands in his pockets. " What's up? Di is in there cry- 
 ing over the cub, and here you are, white as a ghost, 
 your eyes snapping, your poor little self all trembling, 
 gathering your duds together. Come, speak out, what's 
 the matter? I know it's her fault." 
 
 " I won't say one word, Mr. Ballinger," I says, trem- 
 bling all over, "not one word. Your wife is very dear 
 to me. You know that, and I have presumed too much, 
 I know I have. I'll just go quietly away, and here's his 
 blue silk socks not finished yet, I been knitting 'em for 
 him, I suppose she'll let me send 'em by mail, and you'll 
 write me a line once in a while that he is well, and his 
 croup syrup is most out, that third bottle in the bath- 
 room., I mean, on the third shelf, and, dear, I don't 
 know what I am talking about." 
 
 Then I just cried as hard as I could, and he sat there 
 on the table, swinging his long legs and whistling under 
 his breath with some profane words — shames and such. 
 Then in she came, very white and red-eyed. 
 
 "The truth was," says she, "Tom, you shan't look 
 at me like that — but the ba — baby liked her best. He 
 did, of course, he liked me in a selfish way, he had to 
 have me (actually a look of triumph in her eyes), but 
 
258 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 he would crow and call for her and try to go to her, and 
 she has just stolen my own child's affection. So there, 
 now ! " 
 
 " I am going right away," I says, "you shan't never 
 see me again." 
 
 "You two, silly things," says Tom, looking at us in 
 great scorn, "yoa seem to think, Di, that young one is 
 an angel; I should think you'd be glad she loved it. 
 Aren't you ashamed, with all you've got to care for, and 
 Wilder so little, and then acting like a spiteful cat." 
 
 "You are hateful and rude," she said, swiftly. " You 
 shan't talk like that, and that baby's all mine, every bit. 
 I guess I suffered for him. I am jealous, and I don't 
 care if you do know it." 
 
 "You seem to forget all she has done for you, a true 
 friend when you needed one most. I am ashamed, if you 
 can not be. You were meek enough when the cub had 
 the croup, your fault, too. Oh, I like the way you are 
 acting, I do, I'm proud of you." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Tom, don't let me be the cause 
 of your first quarrel," I cried, getting up and putting on 
 my bonnet with shaking hands. " I never will forgive 
 myself, now you send for the wagon and get me to town, 
 the trunk can go, Drinda will finish it for me." 
 
 "I won't order the wagon," Mr. Ballinger getting 
 sulky now. 
 
 "I can walk, then." 
 
 At that moment Neil, who evidently wanted a voice 
 in the conflict, began to cry; his mother paid no heed, 
 looking very white and determined. 
 
MRS. BALLiyQERS BABY. 259 
 
 "Why don't you go get him?" says Tom, glaring 
 angrily. 
 
 " Let Miss Wilder get him," she answered, with that 
 rebellious look I knew so well. I went right in and 
 fetched him out of his crib, he refusing to be comforted, 
 crying for his mother in a real, pitiful way, and she 
 would not even look at him. 
 
 " Why don't he stop yelling?" said Tom, stupidly. 
 
 " He wants his unnatural mother," I says, shortly, 
 l( and yet she says I've got him away from her." 
 
 " Give him to me," she cried, suddenly, and then ran 
 off with the baby, slamming the door behind her. Tom 
 resumed that irritating whistling, and I began to fairly 
 hurl my belongings into my trunk. As a consequence, 
 the lid wouldn't shut, and he rudely refused to sit on it, 
 to force it down. I fixed it, finally, and got my shawl 
 out of the cupboard, and then in she came, radiant and 
 smiling, the baby crowing and dancing in her arms. I 
 turned my head away. 
 
 " Do take him, Ann," piteously, " oh, I did not mean 
 to be ugly, please, please, forgive me. You shall have 
 half of him, only love me like you used to; if you go 
 away, it will break my heart." 
 
 I never could resist her, and so, poor, meek, old soul 
 that I was, I sat down on my trunk, and took the baby 
 — I will say he was mighty eager to come to me — and 
 he crowed and pulled at my curls, and Tom took my 
 bonnet and laid it on the bureau, lit a cigar, offering it 
 to both of us, to smoke for a pipe of peace, and then 
 hugged his wife. 
 
260 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 " You act like a person of sense now," he said, gra- 
 ciously, giving her that sweetest look of his. "Let 
 Wilder have Neil, we may have plenty more." 
 
 U I am ashamed of you," I said, but they both ran 
 out, and left me, and I heard her racing down-stairs 
 with him like a girl again, and ordering Drinda to get 
 up a fine dinner, the best she knew how. 
 
 That night Mrs. Ballinger trailed into my room with 
 a white lump of humanity in her arms, and in a gust of 
 generosity and forgiveness, laid little Neil in my bed. 
 
 " He can sleep with you till he cries," she said, ur- 
 banely, and pleased with that sop, I fell asleep, as happy 
 as a lamb. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A FALSEHOOD FOR LOVE. 
 
 The following June, Mrs. Ballinger, Baby and I 
 started East. We were accompanied by divers trunks, 
 filled with finery, and by Drinda, resplendent in fine 
 calico, with lace-trimmed aprons and a lace cap on her 
 white hair. Mr. Ballinger was to come shortly after 
 various cattle deals had been consummated. We went 
 direct to Old Orchard Beach, much to my disgust, for 
 I wanted to splurge at Mt. Desert. 
 
 "Oh, you vanity," laughed Mrs. Ballinger, when I 
 told her, "but I have an object in coming here, it's 
 very stylish too, so let that content you, and isn't the 
 wide, blue sea and the rolling waves on the sand enough 
 to make any one happy? We have left such a dry, dry 
 land, that just to breathe the salt sea air puts new life in 
 one." 
 
 It certainly did, and as we had fine rooms, com- 
 manding a view of the ocean and received great atten- 
 tion, I found myself quite happy. Mrs. Ballinger is a 
 very handsome woman, and, I regret to say, flirted a 
 little; the men went wild over her. I did not care at 
 all, I think I am something of a Pharisee, I would 
 rather go about my business than bother with sick 
 travelers by the wayside; Hike a quiet life, and, I may 
 add, his mother's galivanting gave me more of Baby's 
 
 261 
 
262 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 society. Not that she did not always behave perfectly 
 proper, she is a pattern woman, but she did not act the 
 reclnse because Tom was absent. I trust I have 
 smoothed that over in case his eye ever falls on it. 
 
 How times had changed for me, here was I, worth 
 over ten thousand dollars, living at a fine hotel, trail- 
 ing in black silk every day and wearing a diamond pin 
 in the costly lace at my neck. I had plumped up with 
 prosperity as most folks do. I remember a girl poet 
 who drifted into Southport and wrote little pieces about 
 the sea and fishermen and was sad and wistful, like 
 Cassius having "a, lean and hungry look ;" she went 
 away, hardly having money enough to pay her board 
 bill; three years after I met her, and then she w 7 as a 
 gracious and beautiful woman, a success herself, advis- 
 ing other people how to bear their trials. 
 
 Mrs. Ballinger, Baby and I took a run down to South- 
 port, and how small that town did look to me; it seemed 
 to have shrunk, and how unchanged the folks who had 
 not been junketing. 1 put on some airs maybe, caught 
 myself saying, with a queer sense that I was an old goose 
 and they knew it, that I wondered how I existed so long 
 in such an isolated place. I fancied how they would talk 
 me over when I was gone and say, "la, ain't Lyd Ann 
 Wilder set up sence she went out West, she furgits 
 when she taught our youngones and was glad of the 
 chance, and Pve known her when she was a bare-footed 
 brat driving the cows home from pastur." One can 
 never outlive those recollections. 
 
 Mrs. Ballinger was never tired of talking about the 
 
A FALSEHOOD FOR LOVE. 263 
 
 quaint fishermen and the town; "It's so like Corpus 
 Christi, where Tom and I were so happy," she said 
 once, with shining eyes. 
 
 "Hm, Missus," says I, "it seemed to me at Old 
 Orchard you forget there was a Tom. 
 
 "What do you mean, you cross old thing? " with a 
 pout. 
 
 "A married flirt robbing the poor girls of the few 
 male creatures found at a seaside hotel." 
 
 " A man is a great deal more in love with his wife if 
 the world calls her charming, as you should know, Madam 
 Macchiavelli, and I wanted Tom to know how lovely I 
 am. In the commonplace ways of married life he 
 might forget to admire me." 
 
 " Of all vain women," I gasped, but she only laughed 
 and went out to sit by the sea with a dude from Boston, 
 whose only charm, I found afterwards, was that 
 he was in college with Tom. I remember one night 
 after we returned from Southport, that Mrs. Ballinger 
 got herself up in fine style; I saying to my conscience, 
 take care, my lady, you may go too far when you 
 get to dressing up to please somebody. She is a mag- 
 nificent woman, matured now, and no longer scraggy, 
 her eyes are brighter than ever, .lie has a faint rose tint 
 in her cheeks, and all her pretty ways are intensified by 
 our happy life. I think she had on a soft cream-colored 
 gown with a big bunch of red roses on her breast, her 
 waist open at the throat, showing a fair, white neck, 
 with no collar bones to speak of. I watched her put- 
 ting her diamond earrings in, in grim silence. "What 
 
264 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 is this toilet for?" I said, severely. " One would think 
 your husband was coming." 
 
 "You mean some one else's husband. Well I do 
 expect the most delightful man, and you shall know 
 him, dear." 
 
 " I will not, my lady, no more being accessory for 
 me. Go your flirtatious ways in peace and leave me 
 out, I won't be inveigled into any more surreptitious 
 junketings." 
 
 " Well, only come down on the porch and look at 
 him, and then you can tell Tom, you know," she 
 dragged me away, and, unwillingly, I went, too, being 
 tired of that sort of thing. 
 
 "There he is now," she cried, a happy light on her 
 face, "a soldier sans penr et sans reproche" 
 
 There, coming toward us, a smile in his kind, weary 
 eyes, was our Texas Colonel, with his stiff and military 
 walk. He greeted us warmly, inquired after Thomas, 
 and then said, remorsefully, 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Ballinger, must I play a part so foreign 
 to my nature, is there no other way?" 
 
 " You know there is none, and this is so plausible — 
 so easy. Wilder, my dear accessory, the Colonel and I 
 are in a deep plot, and he has prepared the way by 
 dwelling on the perfections of his friend Miss Moore, 
 a young Galveston heiress, to Mrs. Howard, who lives in 
 that pretty cottage under the evergreens. You were 
 admiring it the other day. She is very exclusive, 
 knows few people here, and has been ill recently, so in 
 no possible way can she have learned Mrs. Thomas 
 
A FALSEHOOD FOR LOVE. 265 
 
 Ballinger is registered at this hotel. I intend to 
 become a single woman again and win her affections, 
 as the Colonel thinks I can, and you are to take care 
 of Neil, a position that will delight your jealous soul." 
 
 " I fancy what it will be to your jealous soul," I said, 
 "but I accept my share in the plot with joy, and, 
 seriously, my dear, I hope the Lord will bless your 
 errand, and bring about that meeting between mother 
 and son you have always hoped for." 
 
 When she departed with the Colonel to call at the 
 cottage, I ran up to my room after Sir Baby, dressed 
 him in his very best frock, and paraded up and down 
 • the porch with him, where everybody said he was the 
 handsomest child they ever saw. I felt like a small 
 sister fallen heir to a big sister's doll. What rides I 
 took him in our hired carriage, Drinda holding him 
 in much state, what walks on the beach, and the tricks 
 I taught him. He thought there was no one like 
 "Nan," the nearest he could say auntie, and would cry 
 to come to me from his mother; so had time revenged 
 me. But Mrs. Ballinger did not care, she spent all 
 her time at the cottage, and talked of nothing but 
 lovely Mrs. Howard. 
 
 " She said to me," said Babe, after this visiting had 
 been going on for a fortnight, "that she wished her 
 son had known me, and that she would be the happiest 
 woman in the world, if he could have married me." 
 
 " f Is he married unhappily ?' I ventured, s feeling 
 how much I would give to tell her the truth, but not 
 daring to yet/ 
 
266 BABE MVBPTTY. 
 
 " ' I do not know/ she answered, sadly, ' but very 
 much beneath him, and such marriages can not be 
 happy. Until this moment, I have not mentioned his 
 name, nor allowed it to be mentioned in my presence 
 since he wrote me he intended marrying a person named 
 Murphy, the daughter of a gambler. I am not so angry 
 as I was; I think as we grow old, our aversions and 
 hatreds become indistinct, and we put them away in 
 the past. I only dread now the shock of seeing that 
 person or her children, and to know they are a part of 
 our family that the world recognizes. We have had a 
 great many troubles lately; my only sister, ten years 
 my junior, has become an old and helpless woman from 
 grief. She is abroad with her daughter; a very sad fate 
 the daughter had, not fit for your young ears, but my 
 sister writes me Clara is very kind, and her own nature 
 has grown tolerant and forgiving. She realizes she may 
 have forced Clara into a life that led to such a tragedy, 
 I dread even to think of it/ Just think, " cried 
 Babe, with quivering lips, "how I could sit and listen 
 to that, knowing that tragedy, oh, so terribly well! 
 
 " ' The person my son, married/ continued Mrs. How- 
 ard (she is such a stately, lovely lady, Wilder), 'was 
 the daughter of a man instrumental in the grief and 
 shame that came upon our family, and that itself 
 would forever bar her from my doors. It is too horri- 
 ble. Imagine, too, my dear Miss Moore, she was brought 
 up in a mining camp, had no education, and the house- 
 keeper, or rather the wife of her father's partner, was a 
 dreadful woman, the kind you and I can not even men- 
 tion/ 
 
 
A FALSEHOOD FOR LOVE. 267 
 
 ".OV cried Babe, "I felt like bursting in a fit of 
 wild laughter at the mockery of it, but I only said, 
 ' Mrs. Howard, do you not think the good is in the 
 person, not in the surroundings?' 
 
 " ' I fear the latter hel]3 to form character; my own 
 niece was a sad illustration of it. She was brought up 
 in a railroad town in the West, and though I tried my 
 best when she came to live with us, to elevate her to 
 our station, and teach her to be a lady, it was impossi- 
 ble. She was hopelessly common, would not change 
 her ways with a fatuous vanity, and Thomas insisted 
 she should be sent home. Her mother was one of our 
 housemaids, and my brother's life was wrecked when he 
 married her/" 
 
 One day when I was walking on the beach, Drinda 
 wheeling Baby, I saw the black horses of Mrs. Howard's 
 fine carriage approaching, and as Babe and I had agreed 
 on this move, I stopped until they came up. I saw Mrs. 
 Howard then, for the first time; a tall, handsome 
 woman, with those brilliant, brown eyes, Tom's only 
 good feature, and a high-bred air that words can not 
 do justice to. She was dressed in mourning, a widow's 
 veil over her snow-white hair. Mrs. Ballinger was with 
 her in gorgeous raiment, as usual, this time I think 
 some sort of a figured silk in soft pink and blue with a 
 wide Gainsborough hat. 
 
 " Mrs. Jones," (the first time I was ever called Mrs., 
 the saucy thing) said Mrs. Ballinger, " let us take your 
 grandchild for a drive, we will take the best of care of 
 him, and Mrs. Howard is so fond of babies." 
 
268 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 "What a beautiful child?" said Mrs. Howard, bow- 
 ing to me. "I should be delighted to take him, the dear 
 little thing, see he wants to come. My only child was 
 a boy, and I have always loved boy babies best." 
 
 Mrs. Ballinger lifted Neil into the carriage in a real 
 handy way for a supposed single woman, and away they 
 went, Neil tickled to death at seeing new people and 
 his mother's pretty gown. 
 
 After that they frequently borrowed the baby, once I 
 remember Mrs. Howard asked me how his mother could 
 be parted from such a darling, and, with a meaning 
 look at Babe's laughing eyes, I said, solemnly, "She's 
 quite an invalid, ma'am," finding myself a ready liar 
 when occasion warranted. One evening, not long after 
 that, I was driving by the cottage, and Mrs. Howard 
 insisted I should come in, the Colonel and Mrs. Ballin- 
 ger were on the porch, and the latter gave me a look to 
 come, which I did, making myself comfortable in a 
 rocking chair. Our poor Colonel, he was nearly dis- 
 tracted in his attempts to keep the names right and to 
 avoid Miss Wilder or Mrs. Ballinger, or any references 
 to Colorado. 
 
 "I wonder," he said, abruptly, after a desultory con- 
 versation on Boston and culture that kept us in beaten 
 tracks, and avoided dangerous topics, "whether there 
 are ever cases where untruth and deceit are perfectly 
 justifiable." 
 
 " You a lawyer, and say that," smiled Mrs. Howard, 
 " but you were always so, in dear Nelly's lifetime (his 
 wife's, who had been a schoolmate of Mrs. Howard's). 
 
A FALSEHOOD FOR LOVE. 269 
 
 She used to tell me of your struggles will) the harm- 
 less fibs society requires. I fear I have erred fre- 
 quently against the truth; sometimes a lie is kinder far 
 than the truth." 
 
 " I hate deceit," said Mrs. Ballinger, blushing furi- 
 ously, " but if a falsehood is for love, to win forgive- 
 ness, surely it might be forgiven." 
 
 "I think so," said Mrs. Howard, looking affection- 
 ately on that lovely face, with its eager eyes and trem- 
 ulous mouth, " one might forgive a great many wrong 
 stories from you, my dear." 
 
 " Mrs. Howard," she cried, quickly, the roses on her 
 breast quivering with the wild throbbing of her heart, 
 " will you listen to me, then, and let me tell the truth 
 that has been on my lips so long?" She went swiftly 
 to the elder woman, knelt down in that loving way of 
 hers, and holding Mrs. Howard's hand tight, began the 
 story of a girl's life with all its shadows and weary days. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 PATHS OF PEACE. 
 
 The Colonel, very pale and nervous, gave her a reas- 
 suring smile. I held little Neil, who crowed and pulled 
 at my curls, and rippled into baby laughter. Before 
 us lay the shining sea, and the soft plash of waves 
 chimed with my dear girl's voice. With infinite pathos 
 she told the story of her childhood, the struggles of her 
 girlhood, and all that strange history that led up to a 
 noble womanhood. Only once did the lips of the elder 
 woman speak. " Whose cause are you pleading?" she 
 asked hoarsely, and Mrs. Ballinger cried piteously: 
 "Oh, listen in patience, let me have courage to go on 
 to the end!" 
 
 With great delicacy and sweetness she told the story 
 of her temptation, of Tom's departure, her heart-break, 
 and then of the murder up there in the awful shadow 
 of the mountains, and that poor man's sad, blighted 
 life. Then of our flight and Con Murphy's death, then 
 on to happier days, her meeting with her dear love, 
 their wedding, and, at last, of the child born to them, 
 and how at that time both their hearts ached for Mrs. 
 Howard, and longed more than ever before for her for- 
 giveness and love. She spoke of my friendship for her 
 that had made her life pure and good, and oh, rated 
 me far higher than I ever deserved. I hid my face 
 
 270 
 
PATHS OF PEA^ 
 
 behind Ba iriy head, and knew my eyes were dim. 
 
 The Colonel coughed once or twice, and drummed 
 noiselessly on the arm of his chair with his trembling 
 fingers. When she finished, and a hush fell on us all, 
 little Neil, the only unmoved person, he looking at us 
 :i innocent, happy Byes, I saw my dear girl's head 
 droop as if she dared not look in that stern face above 
 her, and then I saw, more beautiful than any diamond, 
 ; : :/ from Mrs. Howards eyes down on my dar- 
 ling's dark hair. 
 
 "And then," cried Mrs. BaUinger^ rokenly, "I 
 persuaded that high-minded, noble gentleman to aid 
 me in deceiving yon, to let me know you when you 
 could like me without prejudice. Yon are my dear 
 husband's mother, he lay in your arms as my baby lies 
 in mine — my baby that has your beautiful eyes. Had 
 f ou been asked when your baby lay helpless in your 
 young arms, tcrcast him from you, to refuse ever to see 
 his dear face, would you have done it? could you? Oh, 
 it is woman's duty to forbear and to forgive, we are of 
 finer clay that can be moulded, and our children are our 
 very life." 
 
 Still Mrs. Howard did not speak, looking down on 
 my girl with white, strange faqe, and inscrutable ex- 
 pression* 
 
 " If yon will not listen to me," cried Mrs. Ballinger, 
 "let your son's child plead for his mother." 
 
 She laid ]£eil in his grandmother's lap, then stood 
 there with heaving bosom and tearful eyes, waiting the 
 verdict. 
 
372 BABE M U It P IIY. 
 
 "My dear, dear child," said the stately lady, a very 
 tearful, womanly creature, after all, "1 can not realize 
 it. I only see my cruelty, my injustice. I only know 
 I loved you before, and now I care for you more than 
 I could believe possible. You beautiful, winsome 
 creature, ah! Colonel, she was worthy the sacrifice of 
 your truth — you flower of chivalry and courtesy; to her 
 noble womanhood all aid must be given, and you 
 acted the honorable, high-minded gentleman you have 
 always been. In this kindly way you have opened the 
 eyes of a bad-hearted old woman to her blindness, her 
 sin; you have made me see myself, and hate myself. 
 Oh! my daughter, kiss me again! let us be friends, and 
 tell me you can forgive, as a woman like you can 
 without thought of the past, with loving joy in the 
 present. And my son's baby in these poor arms, close 
 to this poor heart, starved for love so long! Can it be 
 real? be possible? " 
 
 She was almost in hysterics, as near as people of that 
 nature could get, so I fetched her smelling bottle out, 
 and took the Colonel away, knowing Mrs. Ballinger and 
 baby could bring her to calmness best. I saw as we 
 went down the steps, that the young wife was still 
 kneeling by Mrs. Howard, and Neil lay in his grand- 
 mother's lap, pulling at her watchchain, crowing Avith 
 delight as she bent over him, doing more with his 
 baby dimpled hands to bring those two women into 
 love and happiness than all the wise counsellors in the 
 world. 
 
 " I have perverted the truth," said the Colonel, offer- 
 ing me his arm with stately courtesy. 
 
PATHS Or PEACE. 273 
 
 "In a good cause, Colonel." 
 
 "Indeed, yes; I do not regret it, nor ever will." 
 
 " Certainly not," I said, promptly, "the end justifies 
 the means." 
 
 " Hardly, in most cases, I think, especially politics. 
 How unfair and ungenerous are the methods employed 
 in elections now! I would not accept the highest office 
 offered me in the land to-day, if to reach it I must wade 
 in the mire of ill-natured comment, absolute slander and 
 untruth that surrounds every candidate. Nor could I 
 exist, in the most exalted position were I constantly 
 denounced and cried down as most officials of the pub- 
 lic service are. The wise men to-day keep away from 
 the political arena." 
 
 " When he should be a Hercules sweeping out those 
 stables I never can remember the name of. He ought 
 to be fighting for protection of everything American, 
 honest wages and labor, honest men in office and the 
 old spirit of '76, tliat the world has not improved on 
 yet. When the world can write a better Declaration of 
 Independence than this country has, and has lived up 
 to, America will be no more." 
 
 " You are quite eloquent, Miss Wilder, but you and 
 I can never agree on protection; we Texans want free 
 trade." 
 
 " Because," I said, viciously, "you are all too lan- 
 guid down there in that beautiful climate to work; you 
 need Northern grit, that goes with a cold country; you 
 want to buy cheap someone else's work, and get appro- 
 priations for deep-water harbors, for ships to bring 
 those goods right to your doors." 
 
274 BABE MUBPITY. 
 
 " I never can argue with a lady/' he said, irritatingly, 
 but so dreadful polite I was silenced, "but that person 
 coming has a familiar look — perhaps your eyes are bet- 
 ter than mine." 
 
 '•In this case, yes, for I expected him. I had a little 
 plot of my own, and telegraphed for that young man." 
 
 We were talking of Mr. Ballinger, who was coming 
 rapidly toward us with that springy gait of his, wear- 
 ing a light summer suit, and the sombrero he affected 
 to give him the look of a cowboy, though perhaps I 
 ought to say ranchero. 
 
 "Wilder/' he says, grasping both my hands, then 
 turns to greet the Colonel. I see he is looking pale 
 and anxious. 
 
 "Is my wife well and the baby?" he says, nervously; 
 "you only said, ' Come at once/ I've been nearly crazy 
 about them." 
 
 "Go see," 1 said, pointing to the cottage, for he never 
 knew his mother was at Old Orchard, at all, she only 
 having bought the cottage the past summer. " They 
 are both well," I called, to comfort him, "but your 
 wife has been masquerading as a single woman." 
 
 "How, with a baby?" he turned back to say. 
 
 "Oh, I passed Neil off as mine," I answered, and he 
 went on, laughing merrily, and the Colonel looked a 
 bit shocked, and we resume our conversation on the 
 tariff, which we know as little about as anybody else, 
 and which is, it seems to me, the great fifteen puzzle of 
 the nineteenth century. When we return to the cot- 
 tage we find Neil asleep on his grandmother's lap, and 
 
PATHS OF PEACE. 275 
 
 Tom and his wife walking up and down with their arms 
 about each other, like two young lovers, as they have 
 always been. We had a happy walk to the hotel later, 
 after a pleasant chat, when Mrs. Howard promised to 
 spend the winter at the ranch, seeming delighted at the 
 idea, and that fall we were to stop in Boston at her 
 house. At last was I to enter the charmed precincts of 
 a Beacon street mansion, one of those high, narrow 
 houses I had looked at so often, wishing, enviously, my 
 ancestors had come over in the Mayflower, or been gov- 
 ernors of Massachusetts or modern millionaires, able to 
 buy a mansion, portraits and pedigrees from some ex- 
 tinct family, degenerating as "the property of such and 
 such estate." Though aristocracy to me is only the 
 gang that got there first — I don't mean slang at all — or 
 that drove out the other people as William the Con- 
 queror did, and, as Con used to say, they are all skele- 
 tons, anyway. Still I do think, looking out of the plate- 
 glass windows of a Beacon street mansion, my counte- 
 nance will assume a look of pensive pride, as if I 
 belonged there. 
 
 That night, Ballinger, junior, being agreeably weary, 
 retired early — he occupies a crib in my room and sleeps 
 there, unless, when she retires, his mother comes to take 
 him into her bed. I sit up a bit to write my " thorts," as 
 my brother Bill used to say, when he told the neighbors, 
 "Lyd was going to be an arthur," and half of 'em, not 
 understanding his pronunciation, used to say, "Wanter 
 know, and is she cal'latin' on making a livin* on't? " 
 
 Then Mrs. Ballinger trailed in, in her white lace wrap- 
 
276 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 per, very lovely and rosy, to kiss little Neil, and to say 
 she guessed she would leave him in his crib, he was 
 sleeping so sweetly, and I must be sure to keep the cov- 
 ers on him, he did kick so. Tom, in his shirt sleeves, 
 for the night is hot, comes in and looks at Babe, fondly. 
 
 " The sweetest wife in the world, isn't she, Wilder, 
 May I come in, you are a Bohemian and you've got your 
 dressing sack on, and I have always wondered if you did 
 your hair up in paper or if it curled 'natural.* I am 
 glad to see it's natural, Di's ain't, she has curling tongs, 
 another piece of deceit. Oh, I forgot, here is a letter 
 for you, from Clara, I think." 
 
 Mrs. Ballinger, who has been kneeling by the crib, gets 
 up with a little frown on her bright face. I take the 
 letter, and Tom goes to his wife laying his hand on her 
 shoulder, "Are you going to be a narrow-hearted woman, 
 my love? " he says. "Did we not agree to think that men 
 and women are equal, is that not our creed? Can you 
 shut your heart to what I can forgive?" 
 
 "She said I deceived her," said Babe, uncomfortably. 
 
 " She don't here, she knows now," I said, running my 
 eye over the letter, " shall I read it ?" 
 
 "Dear old strait-laced Wilder, (H'm, flattering, I am 
 sure) you precious, old saint and would-be-sinner, 
 how often I think of you. You had soul enough for a 
 dozen women. Oh me, what a life I lead, my conscience 
 ever present in the sad face of my mother, her fervor 
 for religion and her prayers for my guilty soul. Jones 
 is my faithful servant yet, I dress him in gorgeous livery, 
 for I am very swell and he drives my ponies. I thought 
 
PA THS OF PEA CE. 277 
 
 then, of that white-faced bay Conused to ride, I hunted 
 him up in Denver and kind people own him, much, much 
 more respectable folks than he ever knew in his horse 
 life. I have considerable company, the men agreeable, 
 the women shady. I am out of the pale of good society 
 and good women. I suppose I ought to be thankful 
 that anyone comes. Still I do think I find the men 
 more witty and entertaining, than those do who make 
 the home life, for most men keep their dull-wittedness 
 and ill tempers for their wives. I am good, Wilder, 
 dear, if I do talk like a wretch. I never cared but for 
 one man, I lost all for him — and he is dead. 
 
 "I mourn in a queer way though, with gayeties 
 and ' junketings/ as you used to say. Fve taught the 
 men (most of them knew) poker, and I win from their 
 dull, English brains, and their pocket-books, but I will 
 say they are never cads. Like Con, they can lose 
 'big money ' and look calm and quiet, perhaps a white 
 line about the mouth — or nothing of the sort. 
 I have camped in London for a time, weary of traveling. 
 I have gambled at Monaco, flirted with a Russian prince in 
 his own land, and, dear me, princes are as common there 
 as colonels in Texas, and not half so nice. I have done 
 Europe and climbed the Alps, and am going up the Nile 
 this winter. My mother, who makes life a penitential pil- 
 grimage like those duffers who wore hair-shirts and visited 
 holy pools (was going to make a joke, but won't on poor 
 ma), accompanies me. I think she enjoys the beautiful 
 scenes we visit, and the luxury of our life, but she would 
 never tell me so. Jones has married a pretty mulatto 
 
278 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 girl, who came over in the steamer with us. She was 
 maid to an actress, and often asks me why I don't go on 
 the stage. I have played one star part in a tragedy, and 
 that is enough, and I could not start with a scandal par- 
 ticularly new, or a divorce. Sometimes I think of that 
 poor man, whose life I ruined, and I am sorry; and the 
 few times in my wanderings I have been near death, I 
 thought of him with terror, and that my hand took 
 from him that dear life we cling to at the end. 
 
 " I am not well, as health goes, very thin and feverish, 
 and soon, I think, I shall come home in a narrow box, 
 shunned by sailors when they see me aboard, and the 
 terror of that poor wretch penned up with me in the 
 baggage car. I shall lie beside my love in the sandy 
 land by the sea, for Tom has promised that, and I 
 believe he will respect my wishes. I would not trust 
 my mother, for she would twist my last wish into a 
 sin. 
 
 " Martin wrote me about Babe's coming to her own, 
 and knowing all the circumstances now, I see I was 
 cruelly wrong in hating her and thinking she made the 
 price of her warning half my husband's fortune. Now 
 I know fate led me on. Tom wrote me she laid her 
 bridal bouquet, her dearest gift, on her father's grave, 
 going there on her wedding night. I know she has 
 forgiven him, then let her think as kindly of me. 
 Because I am a woman and loved, must I be blamed 
 the most? Oh, pure, noble-souled woman, oh, jas- 
 mine of gifts, take from my sinful lips an eager prayer 
 for your happiness, and for your forgiveness. If some- 
 
PA THS OF PEA CE. 279 
 
 time a daughter lies in your young arms, resolve then 
 to be fair and kind to her, to bring her up to your 
 goodness, or if she go astray, to forgive and shield her. 
 The world is not just, nor fair, to make us women and 
 give us women's hearts, and then ask so much, so much 
 more than it does of men. 
 
 " Tell this to her, Wilder, or read her my letter, and 
 tell dear Tom I am glad he is happy in the good, hon- 
 est, old-fashioned way. And good-bye to you, Wilder, 
 you honest old maid, you cup of cold water that I have 
 never seen equaled. The people, I know now, are only 
 skeletons — poor Con's skeletons to me. Strip off your 
 flesh, my stately lady, my bloated prince, my matronly, 
 old dowager, with your red, English face, and your 
 brood, your bones are no different from mine. Back 
 to the earth to rot, who shall know you from me. Is 
 dust any better in Westminster, or the potter's field? 
 So I think, and wish my life away, nor care how low 
 the world holds me, for I never can rise to better things 
 here. I only know my heart will not die till it meets 
 his. Pray for me, in your good, old-fashioned prayers, 
 in your skimpy night-gown, trimmed with tatting, with 
 your queer, little curls over your shoulders; some day 
 we will meet out of the skeleton stage, and, till then, 
 farewell. Clara." 
 
 "Poor soul," I say, with quivering lips, "Poor, 
 lonely creature." 
 
 " We have been blessed," says my dear girl, solemnly, 
 looking down on her sleeping child, "and knowing 
 this and all that past, my heart does ache for her, 
 
280 BABE MURPHY. 
 
 none the less, because I pity that poor, wronged husband, 
 or my dead father. We can not condemn now, it is too 
 late, we can only say forgive. When you write to her, 
 tell her if ever my home can be a refuge to her, a place 
 for her to lay her weary head, to be sheltered from the 
 world, my doors are open to her." 
 
 "My love, my life," cried her husband, passionately, 
 "my noblest among all your sex, a good woman who 
 can forgive." 
 
 And then, forgetful of all, but .he dear love they bore 
 each other, they went away and left me. I looked 
 across to see if baby were sleeping comfortably, stooped 
 to kiss his dimpled hand, and then return to close my 
 book, glad at heart, that "all our ways are ways of 
 pleasantness and all our paths are peace." 
 
 THE END 
 
BOOKS BY GREAT WESTERN WRITERS. 
 
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