m& 
 

 / 
 
 CANDALARIA, 
 
I will come back in about an hour, Carrie.' " — rage 63. 
 
ft v 
 
 CANDALARIA: 
 
 A HEROINE OF THE WILD WEST. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. A. OWEN, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "OUR HONOLULU BOYS," " UNDER PALM AND PINE, 
 "SEA BLOSSOM." ETC. 
 
 WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALFRED yOHNSON. 
 
 $tm)m : 
 
 HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 
 
 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXVII. 
 
 \AU rights reserved.'] 
 
butler & tanner, 
 
 The Selwood Printing works, 
 
 Frome, and London. 
 
 • « * 
 
g^bita&m. 
 
 I WISH TO DEDICATE 
 
 THIS STORY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, 
 
 WHICH IS FOUNDED ON FACT, TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF 
 
 MY DEAR MOTHER, 
 
 AT WHOSE SIDE MOST OF IT WAS WRITTEN, 
 
 AND TO WHOSE BRIGHT AND LOVING INFLUENCE 
 
 WHAT IS BEST IN IT IS DUE. 
 
 M13833& 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A Motherless Lamb 9 
 
 II. A Good Shepherd 29 
 
 III. The New Name 49 
 
 IV. Tears and Laughter 65 
 
 V. The Round-Up 95 
 
 VI. "On Sunday Heaven's Gate Stands Ope" . 105 
 VII. "The Sweets of Love are Mixed with 
 
 Tears" 119 
 
 VIII. Under the Pines 133 
 
 IX. "A Wounded Spirit who can Bear?" . .143 
 
 X. Under the Quivering Aspens . . .153 
 
 XI. "I Know their Sorrows" . . . .165 
 
 XII. "Man's Extremity is God's Opportunity" . 179 
 
 XIII. The Garden of the Gods . . , .193 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XIV. Phil .203 
 
 XV. Within the Gates 215 
 
 XVI. A New Friend 225 
 
 XVII. "Take Joy Home" 237 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 A MOTHERLESS LAMB. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 A MOTHERLESS LAMB. 
 
 " F7 LEANOR ! " said Stephen Warner one evening 
 ■* — ' to his young wife, " I saw something on my 
 rounds to-day which vexed me terribly, and I cannot 
 get it out of my mind." 
 " What was it, Steeve ?" 
 
 " I was riding past those wretched Mexican huts on 
 the other side the river, and when I got to the last 
 of them, which is some little distance from the rest, I 
 saw what seemed to me at first a shapeless bundle, 
 hanging half-way up the side of the hut. Most 
 piteous sounds were coming from it. Feeling curious 
 to see what it could be, I went nearer, and found it 
 was actually a child about two years old. It was 
 slung up by a rope fastened to the poor little 
 creature's body with a band ; the other end of the 
 rope, which went over the roof, was tied to a tree so 
 as to suspend the child a few feet above the ground, 
 
1 2 Candalaria. 
 
 out of the reach of dogs and other animals. It looked 
 such a pitiful, helpless little object hanging there ; 
 and it was crying terribly, probably from hunger. No 
 one was to be seen about the place, and I could do 
 nothing for it, as I had to ride on to the stockyard 
 to see that the herd of cattle I bought last were in 
 order for starting east to-morrow. I came back by 
 Argenta Creek, and the child is perhaps out of its 
 misery by this ; but I cannot get it out of my mind. 
 What do you say to having the span put to the 
 ambulance, and going over the river with me ?" 
 
 " To-night, Stephen?" 
 
 " Yes ; why not ? The moon will be up soon. You 
 have not been out to-day ; the drive would rouse and 
 do you good." 
 
 " I shall never feel roused in this awfully dull place, 
 Stephen ; it seems hotter and more wretched than 
 ever." 
 
 " You know I cannot leave it for a year or two, 
 Nell. Perhaps I made a mistake in asking you to 
 marry me, after taking up these army contracts ; but 
 it is done now, Nell, and you must try to endure this 
 life a little longer, until I can see my way to going 
 into civilized parts again." 
 
 Nell made no answer. She did not go up to her 
 
A Motherless Lamb. 13 
 
 husband, as many women would have done, and show 
 him she was sorry to have appeared impatient and 
 dissatisfied — that she loved him, and would put up 
 with want of society and a rough frontier life for his 
 sake : she began to play with the large fan she held, 
 and said nothing. 
 
 Stephen felt hurt. 
 
 ft Strange that she cannot enter into my interests ! " 
 he thought to himself. " If she only had a child, per- 
 haps she would be happier and more contented." 
 
 Presently he made an effort to overcome his annoy- 
 ance, and said, in a kind but firm tone, — 
 
 " I mean to go, Nell ; say, will you come with me 
 or no ? " 
 
 " I suppose I must, Stephen ; I have been quite 
 long enough alone to-day " 
 
 " That's right, wife," he said cheerily. " Get your 
 wraps — the evening is cool ; and, Nell, can you not 
 put up some biscuits and a bottle of milk ? Who 
 knows but the miserable little thing may be hanging 
 there, hungry, still." 
 
 Mrs. Warner was apathetic, and had grown selfish. 
 She had been somewhat spoilt, too, by the flattery of 
 the officers who were stationed at Fort Marshall, on 
 the Arkansas, in Southern Colorado, where she and 
 
1 4 Candalaria. 
 
 Stephen had made their home ; but she was not 
 exactly hard-hearted, if managed with tact, and, see- 
 ing that her husband was determined to have his way, 
 she put up what he suggested, got ready, and the pair 
 were soon on their way to the Mexican village across 
 the river. 
 
 " I declare, Nell, it hangs there still I" cried 
 Stephen. 
 
 He jumped down from the ambulance, quickly un- 
 tied the rope, and lowered the small bundle of suffer- 
 ing humanity. 
 
 It was a sight to make a woman's heart bleed, and 
 even Eleanor Warner could not turn away from it 
 without doing what she could to relieve the poor 
 infant. 
 
 It had only a few rags wrapped about its body, 
 which was thin and wasted. Evidently its mother 
 had no love for it, if, indeed, it had a mother. It 
 would have been kinder to the babe to have thrown it 
 into the Arkansas as soon as it was born, than to 
 have let it live to be treated thus. It was Stephen, 
 however, and not Eleanor, who took it in his arms, 
 not minding its dirt and its rags, and tried to quiet 
 the poor babe, which was now frightened at the 
 strange faces, and cried louder than ever. Eleanor 
 
A Motherless Lamb, 15 
 
 got the biscuits and milk, and whilst the two were 
 busy soothing and feeding the child, the mother 
 returned. She seemed perfectly indifferent to their 
 remonstrances, and greedily partook of the food. 
 Stephen tried to make her promise not to treat the 
 child so any more ; but on the two following days, 
 having to pass that way, he again found it hanging 
 there alone. 
 
 " I really cannot stand this, Nell," he said ; " the 
 child will be injured for life, besides the misery it 
 must be enduring. Suppose we offer to adopt the 
 poor little mortal ; the mother has evidently no love 
 for it?" 
 
 " Oh no, Steeve ; I do beg you will not think of 
 doing that." 
 
 " But you complain of being lonely, Nell ; and the 
 care of the child would amuse you, perhaps." 
 
 "Amuse me ! the dirty little child of a low Mexican 
 woman ! " 
 
 " Have you no compassion, Nell ? " 
 
 " Get some one to compel the woman to treat the 
 child differently, Steeve." 
 
 The woman was hard as a stone, however. She 
 was poor, too, and said she was obliged to go out to 
 work without the child, and there was no one with 
 
1 6 Candalaria. 
 
 whom she could leave it. It was safe enough hang- 
 ing up there, she considered. 
 
 At last Stephen persuaded his wife to have the 
 little girl. When the cunning and greedy mother 
 saw what his intention was, she said he must give her 
 money for it. 
 
 Again Mrs. Warner remonstrated with her husband ; 
 but he was now determined to have his way ; arranged 
 to give the mother fifty dollars as the price of her 
 child, and brought it home, almost triumphantly, one 
 evening in front of his saddle. 
 
 " You would not be so cheerful if you were going 
 to have the charge of it yourself, " said the wife im- 
 patiently, as he handed it down to her. 
 
 Poor little mortal ! It looked most unattractive, 
 certainly. Except for the bright, large dark eyes, its 
 face was very plain ; but these had a most pathetic 
 and appealing expression, as though trying to pro- 
 pitiate the heart of the woman to whom it now 
 belonged by reason of purchase. Even Eleanor, who 
 was not naturally fond of children, however pretty, 
 felt a little touched, and carried it into the house 
 without any more complaints. 
 
 It ought to have been able to walk, for it proved 
 to be full three years old ; but the army surgeon, 
 
A Motherless Lamb, 17 
 
 who came to inspect it, said that the cruel way in 
 which it had been treated had weakened the child's 
 spine, and it would require much care and good nurs- 
 ing to make a strong girl of the neglected and ill-used 
 baby. 
 
 " A pretty burden you have imposed on us both, 
 Steeve ! " said Mrs. Warner. 
 
 Stephen was not often given to quoting Scripture, 
 but his only answer just now was, " 'Take this child, 
 and nurse it for me ; and I will give thee thy wages.' " 
 
 When they asked the mother what the name of 
 her child was, she said, " Candalaria." 
 
 "What a name!" cried Nell. "It might as well 
 be Candelabra." 
 
 "I don't dislike it," said Stephen ; "but give it any 
 name you like." 
 
 The wife was too indifferent to fix on any other, 
 however, so Candalaria it remained— a most imposing 
 and high-sounding name for so puny and forlorn a 
 little object. 
 
 Happily for the health of the child, Eleanor was a 
 particularly orderly woman, who could bear nothing 
 that was not proper and clean near her, so that it was 
 washed and tended well ; and in the course of a few 
 months, by dint of much bathing, nourishing foody 
 
 B 
 
1 8 Candalarta. 
 
 and lying quietly on a padded little board inside a 
 hammock under the trees in the open air, Candalaria 
 began to look quite a different child, and was soon 
 able to use her feet a little. Eleanor seemed unable 
 to love her, although she took good care of her, and 
 by degrees got accustomed to what, at first, had been 
 only a trouble and burden. 
 
 The little girl soon found out who was the most 
 kind to her, and as soon as she was able to run about 
 well, would follow Stephen round the house and yard 
 like a little dog, or sit at his feet watching him with 
 her large dark eyes so fondly, that he grew quite to 
 love the child he had rescued from pain and misery, 
 and often vexed his wife by playing with her too 
 much. 
 
 This might have caused much irritation if a son had 
 not come to fill Eleanor's heart and arms when Can- 
 dalaria was five years old. By-and-by a second made 
 its appearance, and, after two more years, a third. 
 When the last boy was born, the girl was ten years of 
 age, and quite a little woman in many of her ways. 
 The weak bent back had grown straight and strong, 
 and her dark hair long and thick. If Stephen had 
 spoiled her at first, no one else ever did so, and she 
 soon became a good and patient little nurse to the 
 
A Motherless Lamb. 19 
 
 three boys, who were as wild as most boys are when 
 born in outlandish regions, accustomed to much life 
 in the open, and the companionship of horses and 
 cattle. 
 
 And yet she was by no means a very good girl. 
 She showed a great tendency towards telling untruths 
 — a trait inherited, perhaps, from her mother, but 
 fostered by the intuitive knowledge she had that Mrs. 
 Warner never looked on her with much favour ; on 
 the contrary, she felt that she was regarded with dis- 
 trust and suspicion. Sometimes, too, she was jealous 
 of the affection shown by the mother to her boys ; 
 and then she became obstinate, and would often hide 
 herself for hours when anything had vexed her, and 
 cry until her head ached and she was utterly weary ; 
 waiting till her friend Stephen came home, and creep- 
 ing in after him, soothed and comforted by his gentle, 
 kindly greeting. 
 
 The settlement at Santa Anna, near Fort Marshall, 
 had been broken up after a few years, and Mr. 
 Warner had removed his family to San Juan, a 
 flourishing little town, also on the Arkansas, where 
 they had more society, and where they would be 
 able to find a school for the boys by-and-by. He 
 was still unable to go East, as times had been very 
 
20 Candalaria. 
 
 hard, and, although he had much land, he had little 
 money. 
 
 One day Mrs. Wilson, a neighbour, came to pay 
 Eleanor a visit, and whilst out lost a gold locket, 
 although she did not miss it till she got home. The 
 following morning she came to ask Mrs. Warner if 
 she had seen anything of it. A thorough search was 
 made, but in vain ; and Mrs. Wilson concluded that 
 it had been dropped on the road. 
 
 A few weeks later, Ronald, the youngest boy, who 
 always slept with Candalaria, said, — 
 
 "Mamma, Ronnie wants Candy's pretty-pretty." 
 
 " What do you mean, Ronald ? " asked his mother, 
 who never denied him anything he asked for. 
 
 "What Candy has on her neck," said the child. 
 
 Candalaria became very red and was going out of 
 the room. 
 
 " Ronnie wants it, and Ronnie will have it," cried 
 the boy ; and he ran up to her and made a grab at 
 her neck. 
 
 The girl looked so troubled and confused that Mrs. 
 Warner felt sure something was wrong. 
 
 " Tell me at once what he means," she said sternly. 
 
 " I don't know," answered the girl. 
 
 "Yes you do know, Candy — the pretty thing 
 
A Motherless Lamb. 21 
 
 Ronnie was playing with this morning in bed, and 
 Candy was angry, and scolded Ronnie." 
 
 The girl's hand went involuntarily to her bosom, 
 but she said nothing. Suddenly an idea struck Mrs. 
 Warner. She went up to Candalaria and unfastened 
 her dress at the throat. There was the missing orna- 
 ment, hung round her neck by a bit of scarlet braid ! 
 
 Poor little Mexican ! She loved bright colouring 
 and glittering ornaments instinctively — another in- 
 herited weakness. Often she had longed to have 
 something gay and pretty ; and when temptation 
 came in her way, it had been too much for her. 
 
 " I knew you were a story-teller, but never sus- 
 pected you of being a thief," said her mistress, in a 
 hard, stern voice, taking off the locket from the neck 
 of the girl, who looked dark and sullen, but neither 
 spoke a word nor shed a tear. 
 
 " Now go to your own room till your master comes 
 home, when we shall see what is to be done with you. 
 What will he say when he knows you are a thief, do 
 you think ? Go, bad girl ! " 
 
 ^ ^ * ^c * 
 
 Mr. Warner always made the child he had rescued 
 call him " father," but when Eleanor was angry she 
 spoke of him to poor Candalaria as " your master " ; 
 
2 2 Cauda laria. 
 
 and the girl soon got into the habit of calling her 
 " Mrs. Warner," when, as she grew older, she began 
 to understand the light in which she was regarded by 
 her mistress. 
 
 She did not need telling twice. With a shamed 
 yet dogged look on her face, and misery in her heart 
 —for she loved her master, and could not bear to 
 grieve him — she went to her little room and flung 
 herself, hopelessly, on the floor. 
 
 Half an hour later, Tom, the eldest boy, who was 
 now seven years old, came running in, and found her 
 still lying there. 
 
 " Candy, I heard mamma tell Mrs. Wilson you are 
 a very bad girl, and that she should ask father to 
 send you away to live somewhere else, because you 
 are a thief, and will teach us to steal." 
 
 The girl moaned, but said nothing. 
 
 Tom was an affectionate little fellow, and could 
 not bear to see any one in trouble. He sat down on 
 the floor beside Candy, and tried to make her look 
 up, but in vain. 
 
 " Why don't you ask mamma not to be angry any 
 more ? Tell her you're sorry, and will never do it 
 again." 
 
 Still Candy did not speak. 
 
A Motherless Lamb. 23 
 
 " Oh, Candy, do get up quick, before father comes 
 home. Don't you know it's awfully wicked to steal ? 
 Jack Wilson says they hung a man up to a tree once 
 for stealing a blanket ; he saw him hanging, quite 
 dead." 
 
 Candalaria's heart seemed to stop beating for a few 
 moments. It was only too true what Tom said : she 
 had heard the noise of the wild, angry men as they 
 hurried the thief away to be lynched. If the father 
 said she must go away, and people got to know why, 
 they might fetch her and hang her up too. How 
 awful ! 
 
 Tom, not being able to make her speak, soon 
 left her. 
 
 " Send me away ! " she kept repeating to herself. 
 " Send me away ! Where to ? Never to see the 
 father and the little boys again ! " 
 
 And even if they did not hang her, she would have 
 to be a " hired girl " somewhere, like Anna, over at 
 Stokes's ranch, who had a cruel, drunken master, and 
 was beaten and ill-used sometimes ; and who talked 
 often so wickedly that it frightened Candalaria to 
 hear her. No ! if they were going to send her away, 
 she would run away now, and then she should not 
 see the sad, grieved look that came into the father's 
 
24 Candalaria. 
 
 eyes whenever she was naughty and told a lie. How 
 would he look now, she wondered, when he heard she 
 was a thief? 
 
 The girl jumped up, seized her sun-bonnet, and 
 slipped out through the window — the house had only 
 the ground floor — and, unnoticed by any one, began 
 to run, she knew not whither, straight away across 
 the vast plains. She would sit down and think, she 
 said to herself, when she got a long way over, to 
 where the great clumps of pear cactus grew, where 
 they could not see from the house. 
 
 It was about three in the afternoon when Can- 
 dalaria took flight. Mrs. Warner had lain down for 
 her usual afternoon's nap, with her youngest boy 
 beside her, and Tom and Alick had begun a game 
 with Jack Wilson inside the corral ; the hired man 
 was busy, so she had time to get far enough away 
 before any one thought about her at all. 
 
 It was much farther than she thought to the cactus 
 plants ; but Candalaria reached them at last, and sat 
 down, heated and breathless, behind the largest of 
 them. When she was a little rested, she tried to 
 think what she could do with herself. It may sound 
 strange, but the girl had never been so far from 
 home, all alone, in her life before. The farthest she 
 
A Motherless Lamb. 25 
 
 had been was to some of the neighbouring home- 
 steads, which were all nearer the centre of the settle- 
 ment than Mrs. Warner's. It was not safe for a girl, 
 or even a woman, to be alone in these wild regions. 
 She must get to some shelter before night came. 
 The Indians might get hold of her, and carry her 
 off, she thought. She was not afraid of the poor 
 Mexicans, who had some huts near the town ; but 
 although she could not remember her mother or her 
 miserable state as a little child, she always had 
 disagreeable sensations when she passed one of these 
 huts, and never could bear to look at them, from 
 some instinctive aversion. She was afraid of the 
 rough miners, who rode in to buy at the stores, from 
 the mining camps ; their language and looks were 
 savage and wild compared with Mr. Warner's, and 
 those of the few men with whom he was acquainted. 
 Where should she go ? 
 
 The sun was sinking ; the two Spanish peaks 
 became darker and more distinct across the plains, 
 and everything seemed so still and lonely that the 
 girl's courage failed, and she began to cry bitterly ; 
 but after a time her tears ceased, and she was 
 conscious of a sensation of hunger. The little prairie 
 dogs, too, were beginning to think it was supper- 
 
26 Candalaria. 
 
 time, and they came popping out of their holes quite 
 near to Candalaria. 
 
 Suddenly she remembered that there were some 
 French people living on the banks of the Arkansas 
 River, only a few miles from San Juan. They had 
 called once to see Mrs. Warner; and the wife, 
 Madame Dupuis, had looked so bright and lively, 
 and was dressed so gaily, that the little Mexican 
 girl quite fell in love with her, and madame had 
 praised her, and said she would like to have a smart 
 little girl like Candalaria to help her at home. Mrs. 
 Warner had one day pointed out the clump of cotton- 
 wood trees where they lived, beside the river ; it was 
 only a few miles farther on ; she could just distinguish 
 it in the twilight. She would go and beg madame to 
 let her stay there. Perhaps she would not be so 
 angry as Mrs. Warner was, if she told her she would 
 never steal any more, and she would work very 
 hard to please her. 
 
 So away Candalaria started again — so quickly, 
 that the little prairie dogs were all scared, and ran 
 down into their holes in a hurry. It was a long way, 
 after all, to the French ranch, and the darkness 
 crept over everything before the poor little fugitive 
 could reach it. At last she could see no longer, and 
 
A Motherless Lamb. 27 
 
 then she sat down again in despair. Her feet, too, 
 had stumbled over some of the smaller cacti, and 
 their dreadful little thorns had penetrated her slight 
 shoes, which were only intended for the house. 
 Those who have made the acquaintance of these 
 same little thorns know what exquisite annoyance 
 and pain they cause. At last the weary child could 
 go no farther ; she sat down in despair. And then she 
 heard the sad hooting of the owls, and, later on, the 
 more dismal howling of the coyotes — the wolves of 
 the prairies. It was very awful to be all alone in this 
 great solitude ! 
 
 How she got through the two long hours before 
 the moon rose, she could not afterwards tell. When 
 it became a little lighter, and she could distinguish 
 anything, she found she was close to a good bridle- 
 track. Later on she was able to make out the river, 
 which soon shone before her like a broad band of 
 smooth molten silver. It was not far away ; but she 
 could not see the grove of cotton-wood trees to tell 
 her where the ranch lay. At last, in the distance, 
 appeared a man on horseback, riding swiftly towards 
 her along the track. His horse's hoofs sounded 
 through the silence of the night on the soft, springy 
 turf. He was coming from the direction of the river, 
 
28 Candalaria. 
 
 perhaps from the ranch. In her light cotton dress 
 he would be sure to see her, even though she lay 
 quite still. 
 
 Suppose it should be an Indian— one of those wild 
 cruel ones, who still appeared from time to time — or, 
 what she feared quite as much, a rough from the 
 mining camp up in the mountains ! Her heart beat 
 frightfully as he came nearer and nearer; she dared 
 not raise her eyes when the man drew rein close to 
 her. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 A GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 H^HE horseman dismounted and went close up to 
 ■*■ the crouching figure of poor Candalaria. Then 
 she gave a frightened glance upwards to learn the 
 worst. 
 
 Oh, joy! It was the kind minister of -the little 
 church at San Juan, where Mr. Warner's family 
 attended service every Sunday morning. No need 
 for fear now. Although he had never spoken to her, 
 as he had only been a very short time in the town, 
 and Candalaria was always sent out of the room 
 when her mistress had visitors, yet the girl knew 
 almost every expression of his face. She had loved 
 to look at him in church, and she had listened to the 
 tones of his voice without thinking of the meaning 
 of the words, but as "one who hears a pleasant 
 song." With that intuitive perception of character 
 common to the child and the savage, she felt he was 
 
 31 
 
3 2 Candalaria. 
 
 good, and that only what was kind and gentle might 
 be expected from him. 
 
 Mr. Grahame uttered an exclamation of surprise 
 when he saw the pale little face with the large black 
 eyes, on which the rays of the moonlight fell as they 
 were lifted timidly towards his. 
 
 "Whatever are you doing here at this time of 
 night, my child ?" he asked. 
 
 Candalaria did not know what answer to make, 
 and for that reason, no doubt, and also from a feeling 
 of reaction after her great fear, she began to sob in a 
 way that quite alarmed the kind man. 
 
 " Nay, nay, do not cry so ; but tell me what it 
 all means," he said, as he took hold of the girl's hand 
 and drew her towards him. " How did you come 
 here, and what are you thinking of to stay on these 
 lonely plains in the night-time ? " 
 
 " I don't want to stay here," sobbed the girl. " I 
 wanted to get over to the French people's ranch 
 down by the river." 
 
 " What did you want there ? I know your face 
 now that I see it better : you are the little Mexican 
 girl who lives at Mrs. Warner's. They would surely 
 not think of sending you such a distance all alone." 
 
 Should she tell an untruth again ? thought Canda- 
 
A Good Shepherd. 33 
 
 laria. Should she say that Mrs. Warner had sent 
 her there, and that she had lost her way ? They 
 could not be very far from the ranch, and he would 
 perhaps offer to take her to it on his horse. If she 
 were once safely there, she thought she could per- 
 suade Madame Dupuis to be a friend to her, and to 
 let her stay with her. As Mrs. Warner did not seem 
 to want her, it could easily be arranged ; and after 
 that she would always be good, and not tell an 
 untruth again as long as she lived. 
 
 Mr. Grahame noted the hesitation on the girl's face, 
 and guessed that something was not as it should be. 
 
 "Answer me at once, child, and tell me Only the 
 truth." 
 
 Then, with much sobbing and many pauses, Can* 
 dalaria told him the whole case. She did not conceal 
 her wrong-doing; she said, too, that she was afraid 
 she never should be good so long as she lived with 
 Mrs. Warner — that the father was kind to her, and 
 that she loved him and the boys ; but Mrs. Warner 
 had never liked her, and that made her feel wicked 
 and do naughty things. 
 
 The minister listened patiently. He had seated 
 himself on the turf beside Candy, holding his horse, 
 which was less patient than its master, by the bridle. 
 
 c 
 
34- ■ Caudal aria. 
 
 " See," he said, in a cheerful tone, " Bob wants to 
 get home ; we have been many miles to-day, over 
 to Big Gulch to see a poor miner who lies there 
 dying. Bob is hungry, and so am I ; you are, too, I 
 am sure. You shall ride behind me, and we will talk 
 a little more, if the horse will let us, on the way 
 home." 
 
 " But I am afraid to go back home," said Candy. 
 
 " Not with me, surely ? " 
 
 " Will you let such a bad girl ride with you ? And, 
 oh, will you ask father to forgive me, and not to let 
 Mrs. Warner be too angry with me or send me 
 away ? " 
 
 " Indeed I will, my poor child. Now let us make 
 haste ; it is very late, and my wife will be looking 
 anxiously for me, and so will those at home for you ; 
 and when you say your prayers to-night, ask God in 
 heaven to forgive you, too, and to make you a good 
 girl — a brave, truthful girl — so that everyone shall 
 love and trust you." 
 
 Whilst Candalaria is riding back to San Juan 
 behind Mr. Grahame, we will return still more quickly 
 to the home from which she had tried to fly, and see 
 "what effect her disappearance had caused. 
 
 At five o'clock Mrs. Warner had risen from her 
 
A Good Shepherd. 35 
 
 siesta, and called for Candalaria to take Ronald to 
 make him tidy, and to see where the other boys were, 
 and that they were all ready for supper, which she 
 herself usually assisted in preparing. The girl was 
 nowhere to be found. 
 
 " She is afraid, and has hidden herself, " said Mrs. 
 Warner. " She cannot, however, be far away ; we 
 must find her, and we will say nothing about her 
 naughtiness until after the children are in bed." 
 
 The outhouses were searched thoroughly, the hay 
 ransacked, and cries for Candalaria sounded every- 
 where ; but in vain. 
 
 M Where can the girl be? " cried Mrs. Warner. 
 
 Denis, the hired man, had not seen her since the 
 morning, he said. 
 
 Tom was greatly troubled. He told how he had 
 found Candy lying on the floor in her bedroom, and 
 that she would not speak to him when he asked her 
 to tell his mother that she was sorry. 
 
 Mr. Warner came in whilst the search was going 
 on, and was told what had happened. 
 
 il What can the poor child have done with her- 
 self? " he wondered. 
 
 " Poor child, indeed ! She is a bad, deceitful girl, 
 and she will ruin the boys if she stays with them. It 
 
36 Candalaria. 
 
 is all in the blood, Steeve, and the older she gets the 
 worse it will be." 
 
 " Let us find her first, Nell, before we think of 
 punishment. If she has run away in her fear, it may 
 go ill with her." 
 
 " She has often hidden herself before, and is pro- 
 bably over at Stokes's ranch, or somewhere in the 
 town. She is too frightened to go far away. Let us 
 have supper, and then Denis can go and look for her 
 in one direction, whilst you go in the other. I shall 
 have to put the boys to bed to-night myself, I 
 suppose." 
 
 By the time supper was over and inquiries had 
 been made all about the scattered township, it was 
 quite dark, and Stephen came home feeling very 
 unhappy about Candalaria. He always considered 
 that his wife did not manage her properly, and he 
 feared that now, in her distress and terror, she had 
 done something desperate. It did not occur to him 
 that she might have struck across the plains ; there 
 seemed no object in her taking that direction. He 
 had his horse saddled, however, and rode off along 
 the river-side, sending Denis away on another track. 
 They took every way but the one in which they 
 would have come on the fugitive, or have met her 
 
A Good Shepherd. 37 
 
 riding behind the minister, and she and Mr. Grahame 
 had been at home an hour before either of them 
 returned. 
 
 To do Mrs. Warner justice, she was glad to see 
 Candalaria back. After the boys were in bed, whilst 
 sitting alone, she had come to better thoughts con- 
 cerning the matter. Where could the girl go to, after 
 all ? and, having adopted her, they must keep her 
 now, for better or for worse. Still, she was greatly 
 annoyed and much exercised to know what would be 
 the best course to adopt with her. It never occurred 
 to her that she ought to ask Divine guidance in the 
 matter. She had never been in the habit of casting 
 her cares on a wise Father, who cares for all His 
 children, and she had never tried to teach the little 
 Mexican by any other law than that of fear. 
 
 Her feelings had so far relented that she thanked 
 Mr. Grahame for his kindness, asked him to come in, 
 and told Candalaria, not unkindly, to eat some supper 
 and then go to bed. 
 
 " I will come and call on you to-morrow, Mrs. 
 Warner," said the clergyman. " I should like to have 
 a little chat with you, but my wife will be anxious. I 
 was detained over at Big Gulch longer than usual, and 
 this meeting with your little maid has made me still 
 
8 Candalaria. 
 
 later. May I ask you to deal leniently with her ? 
 She has told me of her faults, and how she has 
 displeased you ; but I hope that she will not give you 
 cause to be so troubled about her again." 
 
 " She has been a trouble to me from the first, Mr. 
 Grahame." 
 
 With the hope that he might be of service to 
 Candalaria, for whom he felt the sympathy a good 
 man always does for something weak and suffering 
 which he has rescued or helped, the new friend did 
 not try to excuse or palliate her offences, but answered, 
 with tact, — 
 
 " She must have been so, Mrs. Warner ; these half- 
 savage races are always difficult to deal with, and 
 require a great amount of patience and forbearance. 
 Let us hope that she may yet do well, and reward you 
 and Mr. Warner for all your kindness to her." 
 
 Candalaria did not eat much supper, and she had 
 crept off silently to bed before the father returned, 
 discouraged, after a long, fruitless ride down the 
 river-side and back over the plains. 
 
 " Back at last ! " cried Eleanor, as he entered the 
 house. 
 
 " Yes, but no news of the poor child, Nell." 
 
 " Oh, she is here, safe enough, Steeve, and gone to 
 
A Good Shepherd, 39 
 
 bed, where I hope she is feeling sorry for all the 
 trouble she has given to-day." 
 
 " Thank God ! " cried Stephen. " But don't be too 
 hard on her, wife. Tell me how she got home, and 
 where she has been." 
 
 "Really, Steeve, I hardly know. Mr. Grahame 
 found her somewhere out on the plains, and brought 
 her back on his horse. He is coming to see us to- 
 morrow, and will give us the history. She has pro- 
 bably given him a full account of herself on the way." 
 
 Stephen sighed, and looked worried. Perhaps, from 
 having no daughters, only sons, he felt the more kindly 
 towards the little Mexican girl ; and it really vexed 
 him that Eleanor had so little affection for her. 
 
 " I will talk to her very seriously to-morrow, Nell," 
 he said, presently. " Let us get to bed now ; I am 
 tired, and have to be up early to see that the men get 
 off in good time with the cattle." 
 
 The boys were all delighted to find Candy at home 
 when they awoke the next morning. 
 
 " I could hardly get to sleep for thinking about 
 you!" said Tom. "And then I dreamt that Jack 
 Wilson had told about you, and that you were being 
 hung up under one of the cotton-wood trees." 
 
 Candy shuddered and turned pale. 
 
40 Candalaria. 
 
 " Did you go far, Candy?" asked Alick ; "and did 
 you see any Indians — I mean real wild ones — out on 
 the plains? " 
 
 " No, Alick ; but don't ask Candy anything about 
 it. Candy's head aches so badly." 
 
 " Poor Candy ! " said impulsive but loving little 
 Ronald. u Ronnie's so sorry. Candy shall lie down 
 and have Ronnie's picture-book." 
 
 She put her arms round the boy, kissed him warmly, 
 and then, after having finished dressing him, went 
 downstairs, with an anxious, timid face, to meet Mr. 
 Warner. She dreaded his being grieved with her far 
 more than she feared the anger of her mistress. 
 
 He was out by the corral, however, and she began 
 to help in the kitchen, where Mrs. Warner was ; Denis 
 being the only " help " they had both for the house 
 and the yard. 
 
 "Now, be quick, Candalaria," said she, "and let 
 me see by your good behaviour that you repent of 
 your wickedness. If you can show me that, I will try 
 to forget what has passed, and not make an example 
 of you, as you deserve." 
 
 This day, which began so heavily for Candalaria, 
 was to be a more eventful one than any in her short 
 life before, except, perhaps, the one on which she was 
 
A Good Shepherd. 41 
 
 found hanging — poor little mortal ! — like a sign of the 
 lamb one sees often over a hosier's door. 
 
 Whilst she went about the house, sadly, and yet 
 meekly trying to do her best, because of her promise 
 to Mr. Grahame — wondering now and then whether 
 he would remember to come and ask Mrs. Warner 
 to allow her to go to the Sunday-school — the old 
 Mexican woman who had sold her lay dying in her 
 miserable hut at Santa Anna, and a messenger came 
 to beg Mr. Warner to come to her at once, as she had 
 something of importance to say to him before she 
 became speechless. 
 
 No wonder she had felt no love or pity for the poor 
 babe ! It was not her own, but the child of a Mexican 
 lady of good family, who had died on a journey when 
 her little daughter was born. The father, an officer, 
 had perished during the last war ; and no one was 
 there to care for the orphan, or to find out whether it 
 had any relations left who would adopt it. 
 
 The dying woman told Stephen that the lady had 
 stopped to rest in her hut at Santa Maria, where she 
 was then living ; that a man-servant who had been in 
 attendance on her had gone on to find help for his 
 mistress, but had never returned. Some money and 
 a few jewels which the lady wore, and which she 
 
42 Candalaria. 
 
 thought she had hidden away safely, had been after- 
 wards stolen from her — all except a small gold heart 
 which she had transferred from the poor lady's neck 
 to her own, intending, she said, to give it to the child 
 when it was older. 
 
 " Take it," she littered, feebly, uncovering her poor 
 shrivelled throat. 
 
 Stephen cut the string to which it was attached. 
 On the surface were engraved the letters " A. G." 
 
 " Were there no letters or papers about the lady ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Yes ; but I burned them." 
 
 " Why did you do that ? " 
 
 The woman did not answer at once ; she seemed to 
 struggle with physical as well as moral weakness. 
 
 Stephen kept his eyes fixed on hers, and repeated 
 the question. 
 
 " I wanted the money," she gasped at length. 
 
 Seeing that the wretched woman had nothing 
 more to tell, and that she was fast sinking, Stephen 
 called to a girl who was near the hut to come to her, 
 bade her stay there, and he would send some one 
 else as soon as possible, who would do all that was 
 left to be done for the dying ; and then he rode 
 away. 
 
A Good Shepherd. 43 
 
 " What will Eleanor say to this ? " he thought. 
 " She will perhaps feel more mercifully inclined to- 
 wards Candalaria as the child of well-born people 
 than she did to the despised and ill-treated little out- 
 cast. Candy's affairs have certainly come to a crisis, 
 and please God they shall take a turn for the better." 
 He took the heart out of his pocket : " A. G." The 
 letters told him nothing. " They may serve as a clue 
 some day, however," he said to himself, as he urged 
 his horse on more quickly. 
 
 Candalaria was dusting in the parlour when he 
 reached home. Her heart was very heavy, and the 
 duster went up to her weeping eyes almost as often 
 as it did to the chairs. She heard the father's horse 
 approach, then his steps on the veranda, and she 
 trembled with nervous anticipation of what his greet- 
 ing would be. 
 
 Stephen went at once to his wife, and told her of 
 his strange interview with the dying Mexican. 
 
 "Let us forget all about the poor girl's misdeeds, 
 Nell," he said, in conclusion, " and adopt her afresh. 
 She does not come of the low set you disliked so 
 much, after all ; and, with some patience and some 
 instruction that I mean her to have, she may yet be 
 a great comfort to you." 
 
44 Candalaria. 
 
 Mr. Grahame arrived before Mrs. Warner had time 
 to say anything worth relating. The three talked 
 over the child's past, and made some plans for her 
 future ; then Candalaria was sent for. She had fled 
 from the kitchen into her own room on hearing Mr. 
 Grahame's voice in the passage. 
 
 Standing at the parlour door for a moment, she 
 looked timidly from one face to the other's. That of 
 Mr. Warner seemed to promise protection and com- 
 fort. 
 
 " Don't be afraid of us, child," he said, kindly. 
 " Come here." 
 
 She went quickly and shyly up to him. The touch 
 of his arm, as he put it round her, reassured and yet 
 made her tremble, bringing tears — not bitter ones, 
 however — to her eyes. 
 
 " I will never be naughty any more, father," she 
 said, pleadingly. "Ask Mrs. Warner to forgive me. 
 I will try so hard to please her." 
 
 Stephen led her across to his wife, who felt em- 
 barrassed under the observant eyes of the minister, 
 and did not know what to say. She did the best 
 thing, perhaps, under the circumstances when she 
 kissed the weeping child and said nothing. 
 
 Candalaria was very much bewildered on receiving 
 
A Good Shepherd. 45 
 
 the first kiss she had had from Eleanor as long as she 
 could remember. She was still more so later on in 
 the evening, when the gold heart was fastened about 
 her brown little throat, and she was told that it had 
 once belonged to her mother, and she was to wear it 
 always. 
 
 " My mother ! my own mother ! " thought the girl, 
 wonderingly. Then a feeling as though loving arms 
 had been wrapped around her — such a feeling as 
 she had never been conscious of before — filled her 
 heart. 
 
 " Did she wear this always ?" she asked. 
 
 " Most likely, Candy ; your mother was a Mexican, 
 and they are fond of such things." 
 
 A Mexican ! Such a one as those low, dirty people 
 who live in mud huts like holes in the hillside ! The 
 thought was not pleasant. 
 
 " A Mexican ? " she repeated, anxiously. 
 
 " Yes ; but not like those you know. She was a 
 lady, and your father was an officer." 
 
 Stephen it was who said this ; he had divined the 
 thought expressed in her face, and wanted to make 
 her happier. 
 
 She felt very weary after so many tears and so 
 much excitement, and, as soon as the boys were un- 
 
46 Candalaria. 
 
 dressed and put to bed, she was glad to creep in her- 
 self beside Ronnie, where her thoughts wandered back 
 over the day that was closing — the strangest and 
 fullest of her short life. Then she remembered her 
 promise to the minister, and she jumped out of 
 bed again in order to kneel down. " O God, please 
 make me good ; help me to keep good, and make 
 Mrs. Warner love me, for Christ's sake. Amen," 
 she prayed. 
 
 When she lay down again, her hand closed over 
 the little gold heart. How it seemed to comfort her ! 
 It would lie always there, where the locket had lain ; 
 and it seemed to speak of love and forgiveness. Life 
 would never be the same to her as it had been. She 
 suspected this, however, only very dimly ; not having 
 been taught much, she knew nothing well beyond 
 the limits of this family and home, outside which she 
 had only vague ideas of wide, endless plains, rugged 
 mountains, Indians, men who were to be feared and 
 avoided, and wild animals. 
 
 No definite thoughts of parents, of whom she had 
 never been told anything, had hitherto shaped them- 
 selves in the child's brain ; part of Stephen's bargain 
 with the Mexican woman had been that she was 
 never to show herself at his house or to communicate 
 
A Good Shepherd. 47 
 
 in any way with Candalaria. She had, however, felt 
 that she was different from the fairer-skinned boys, 
 and had been conscious that even that bad Stokes's 
 Anna treated her as something inferior to herself; 
 and the feeling had pained and irritated her. Now 
 that she knew her father had been an officer, like the 
 gentlemen to whom Mrs. Warner was so polite, and 
 Mr. Warner had called her mother "a lady," she felt 
 better and happier. The treasure on her neck sent a 
 warm thrill through the lonely heart as she thought 
 "If my mother had lived, I should have been caressed 
 and petted like Ronnie here." 
 
 She was to go to school, too — not only on Sundays, 
 but every day — to that kind, cheerful Mrs. Carey, 
 who had always greeted her pleasantly when she 
 passed her door. 
 
 After thinking well over what the dying woman 
 had told him, Stephen Warner concluded that he had 
 better go and see Judge Lynchem, to tell him what 
 he had learned, and to request him to make a note 
 of all that was known of Candalaria's origin, and of 
 the fact that he and Eleanor, his wife, had adopted 
 her. 
 
 He found the learned judge at home, in front of 
 his frame-house, the central figure of a motley as- 
 
48 Candalaria. 
 
 semblage of frontiersmen, Indians, Mexicans, and 
 lean mongrel dogs. Candalaria's little history was 
 duly registered ; the only clue to her parentage lying, 
 perhaps, in those letters "A. G." which were engraved 
 on the gold heart. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 THE NEW NAME. 
 
 D 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE NEW NAME. 
 
 T) EFORE Candalaria began to go to school, Mr. 
 ■^ Grahame said he should like her to be baptized. 
 She was most anxious that it should be done at 
 once, and she seemed pleased when Mr. Grahame 
 suggested to Stephen that the little Mexican, on 
 being received into the church, and, as it were, a 
 second time into his family, should have a new name 
 given to her. The child was just in that transition 
 state in which nothing fresh seemed to surprise her. 
 A new life was beginning ; she was to go to school ; 
 new dresses were being made for her ; and why 
 should she not have a new name also ? 
 
 "What shall it be, wife?" asked Stephen. " I 
 always liked the name of Mary or Annie, but it shall 
 be whatever you prefer." 
 
 " Oh, I would much rather it were another Mexican 
 or Spanish name, Steeve." 
 
 51 
 
5 2 Candalaria. 
 
 " Why that, Nell ? " 
 
 " Because I do not wish her ever to be taken for 
 our own child ; and she might be, with an English 
 name." 
 
 " Really, Nell, you are incomprehensible to me 
 sometimes ; however, I suppose you women are more 
 notional than we men. Settle the matter with the 
 minister ; I have no more to say about it." 
 
 Mrs. Grahame, when called into council by her 
 husband, suggested " Carita." 
 
 " It seems a pretty and a suitable name for the 
 poor little lamb," she said. 
 
 They had lost their only child since coming to San 
 Juan, and she was a tender-hearted woman. 
 
 "Just the thing," was the minister's answer. "They 
 can call her Carrie too, if they like, which will be 
 conveniently near Candy." 
 
 Before the day of her baptism, Mr. Grahame said 
 he would like to have some quiet talk alone with her, 
 so Candalaria came, with some awe, but yet without 
 fear, to the minister's study. 
 
 There he talked to her very plainly and very affec- 
 tionately. He taught her the meaning of the sacred 
 rite ; told her also of the new birth, of the love of the 
 Father, who says, " And ye shall be My sons and 
 
The New Name. 53 
 
 daughters ;" of the love of His only begotten Son, 
 which made Him "come to seek and to save that 
 which was lost." How He gave His life for the sheep 
 and the lambs, of which she, Candalaria, was one. 
 The experiences of the last few days seemed to have 
 prepared the soil for the seed of the sower, and it 
 took root ; she seemed to grasp the significance, and 
 to be able to feel the truth of all he thus taught her. 
 Then Mr. Grahame read over and explained to her 
 two texts. In the one was, " I will give him a white 
 stone, and in the stone a new name written ; " and in 
 the other, " and I will write upon him My new name." 
 
 A new name was given to the maiden that day in 
 her home down here, and she knew that her name 
 was written in the Book of Life above. 
 
 Carita, as we shall now call her, felt often very 
 bewildered at the change in her position. She would 
 run to her little mirror to see if it was really herself 
 who looked out so much more cheerfully on the 
 world, who wore a gold ornament, and for whom 
 those new dresses were being made. And softly to 
 herself she would repeat her new name over and over 
 again. 
 
 The fact that she was not the child of a low, squalid 
 woman could not fail to make a difference in 
 
54 Candalaria. 
 
 Eleanor's estimate of her, as she never pretended to 
 have adopted her from any higher motive than that 
 of satisfying her husband. Now she graciously told 
 Carita she might call her "mother" or " mamma," as 
 the boys did, adding that she hoped she would not 
 prove ungrateful, but improve, so as to be of some 
 little use some day, 
 
 " Oh, my eye ! ^ Ain't we fine, though ! " cried Jack 
 Wilson, when he saw Carita in one of her new frocks, 
 on the Saturday before she began her school life. 
 " So you're going to be one of Mother Carey's 
 chickens — that's what we call the girls there. I give 
 the old girl a fine lot of worry, I can tell you ; but 
 if ever you split on any of my school larks, I'll tell 
 about the locket." 
 
 The girl flushed crimson, and tears came into her 
 eyes. She had hoped never to hear it named again, 
 but had forgotten that Jack, who knew all about it, 
 was to be one of her schoolfellows. 
 
 " Look here, Candy. I've been saving up ever so 
 long to buy these ; " and the terrible boy showed her 
 a bright bowie knife and a small six-shooter. " You 
 won't be in my class, as you can't read much ; but 
 mind you, tell no tales, or I'll be even with you." 
 
 Jack was a bully, like most bad boys ; and as the 
 
The New Name, 55 
 
 Warners were the only intimate friends his parents 
 had made in the place, he was afraid some of his 
 misdeeds might be carried to them through Carita, 
 and so thought it safest to intimidate her to begin 
 with. His sister, Adelina, was completely under his 
 influence, and never attempted to interfere with his 
 wild pranks. 
 
 Sunday was a very happy day to our little maiden. 
 She felt so pleased with her new dress, the nice Bible 
 and the prayer-book (a present from the kind father), 
 and a bright-coloured ribbon by which the heart was 
 hung about her brown little throat. Stokes's Anna, 
 who also came to Sunday-school, observed that she 
 was quite " sot up," with it all ; and she might have 
 given herself up to foolish and vain thoughts, had 
 it not been for the love and devotion that filled her 
 heart as she looked at the kind clergyman, remember- 
 ing the ride in front of his saddle six days ago, and 
 the good words he spoke to her then. 
 
 "C'est l'amour, l'amour qui fait tourner le monde," 
 says the old French song — " 'tis love, 'tis love that 
 makes the world go round;" the sunshine of the heart 
 that quickens its tender germs into form and beauty. 
 Carita's nature was a passionate one, and it was well 
 that it had not been left to itself too long, or it might 
 
56 Candalaria. 
 
 have fed on what was hurtful and killing to the 
 tender growth of a young soul. 
 
 The schoolroom, rude and bare as it was, save for 
 a few brightly coloured texts and pictures, seemed a 
 beautiful place to the Mexican girl as she listened to 
 the hymns she would soon be able to join in ; and 
 when Mr. Grahame talked about the good Shepherd 
 and His love, her thoughts went back to the cactus 
 bush on the lonely plains, where she had lain and 
 listened in terror to the awful sounds of the night, 
 until a loving voice and kind hand had come to 
 bring her home again. 
 
 After school she joined the Warner family in 
 church, and in the afternoon she took the three boys 
 into the hayshed, and, climbing up on to the top of 
 the fragrant stack, held a little Sunday-school of her 
 own for their benefit, whilst Mrs. Warner rested 
 awhile. Nothing marred the brightness of that day, 
 and it was the first of many similar ones, which 
 strengthened the girl for some darker ones that had 
 to come later on. 
 
 Mother Carey, as Jack called her, was a sweet and 
 strong natured old Methodist dame. Her husband, a 
 stone-mason, had not the same strength of character 
 as herself, but he was a gentle, loving creature, and 
 
The New Name. 57 
 
 the two were very happy together. They had lately 
 celebrated their silver wedding, on which occasion 
 their only son, who was studying in some town 
 east, with the intention of becoming a "travelling 
 preacher," had composed a very fine poem indeed, 
 which was read and appreciated by all Mr. and Mrs. 
 Carey's friends, and afterwards published in the San 
 Juan Observer. It was to support this son at college 
 that the dear, energetic mother kept her day-school, 
 which was no easy work, for some of those frontier 
 boys were of the wildest order, young as they were. 
 Although she prided herself on being a Methodist, 
 and Mr. John Wesley's picture, with that of Mr. 
 Fletcher of Madeley, formed the chief adornment of 
 her parlour, her mother having brought them from 
 England sixty years ago, yet she loved Mr. Grahame 
 and his wife, and he had no more constant and faith- 
 ful allies than herself and her husband. She had 
 been educated in a public school in Philadelphia, had 
 always read much, and was well fitted for preparing 
 the boys and girls for the higher town school. 
 
 Carita was so teachable and well behaved that she 
 became Mrs. Carey's favourite pupil ; whilst, bright- 
 ened and encouraged by the morning experiences, 
 she did her best to please Mrs. Warner after the 
 
58 Candalaria. 
 
 school hours were over. During the three years she 
 was allowed to remain at her studies, she made such 
 good progress in every way, that she developed into 
 an intelligent, companionable girl. The religious 
 instruction she received meanwhile from Mr. Grahame 
 and his wife also sank deeply into her heart. 
 
 I have dwelt rather long on the description of her 
 teachers, because their influence changed the tenor 
 of her life, and in them she found friends who were 
 
 afterwards often of service to her. 
 
 # * # # * 
 
 One evening, just after Carita had left school 
 altogether, Stephen came home looking terribly de- 
 pressed. He had often felt so of late. The country 
 was more settled, and his contracts for the supply of 
 cattle had fallen off. The railroads bringing .an 
 influx of miners and settlers had not yet come to that 
 part of the State, and times were hard. Stephen 
 Warner had speculated largely in land, expecting to 
 be able to dispose of it again to advantage, just 
 before commercial stagnation had set in ; so that 
 he was now what is called " land poor," being eaten 
 up by taxes, which, though light id themselves, 
 mounted up heavily where large tracts of land yield- 
 ing no produce were held. 
 
The New Name. 59 
 
 Besides Mariposa, he had a dairy farm up in the 
 mountains, about forty miles distant, amongst the 
 foothills of the Sangre de Cristo range. It was 
 called " Elk Ranch," and was beautifully situated 
 on one of the high-lying natural parks peculiar to 
 Colorado, surrounded by picturesque peaks and pitch- 
 pine forests. The place was lonely, and Eleanor 
 never cared to stay there long together. A man 
 and his wife lived in a cabin on the ranch, and 
 did all that was necessary, except during harvest 
 time. 
 
 " I shall have to go to Washington in the course of 
 a few weeks, Nell," said Stephen, sitting down, weary 
 and anxious looking. 
 
 " Oh dear, Steeve ! I thought you had arranged 
 your business in writing." 
 
 " No, it seems I must be on the spot myself, to do 
 what I want. The fact is, Nell, I am sick of this state 
 of things, and of the taxes I am paying on land, out 
 of which I shall make nothing for some years. T 
 want to get rid of the greater part of it, at any price. 
 You have never liked life on the plains, or perhaps 
 we might have done better. I do not blame you for 
 it, Nell," he added quickly, as he saw she looked 
 irritated. 
 
6o Candalama. 
 
 " And what do you intend to do if you can sell the 
 land, Steeve ? " 
 
 " My idea is to let Mariposa to Judge Lynchem, 
 who is wanting a larger house, he tells me ; and to 
 move you all up to Elk Lodge, before I start. The 
 summer will be very pleasant there, and you will have 
 almost all you need, excepting groceries, on the farm. 
 I may be away for some months ; but when I return 
 we will consider whether to invest the money I hope 
 to have from my land sales in enlarging and stocking 
 the mountain ranch, or to take a different course 
 altogether. As you have always longed to go back 
 East, we might perhaps be able to do it for a few 
 years — at any rate, so as to give the boys better 
 advantages than we are likely to have here for some 
 time." 
 
 " Why can we not stay here until you return, 
 Steeve ? " 
 
 " Because I shall want all the money I can get 
 together to pay my expenses, and I can sell this place 
 now." 
 
 Eleanor, as usual, thought more of her own comfort 
 than of her husband's anxieties. 
 
 " It will be horribly lonely up there, Steeve ; Denis 
 and Hephzibah are to be married next month, so he 
 
The New Name. 61 
 
 will be leaving us." Hephzibah was a "help," en- 
 gaged when Carita began to go to school. 
 
 " So much the better, Nell. Sam Morris and his 
 wife will do all you want on the farm ; there will not 
 be room for them in the house with you, but I will 
 have the huntsman's hut fitted up for them. It is 
 within reach of call, and Carita is so useful now, she 
 will do most of the housework, and look after the 
 boys also." 
 
 Elk Lodge was a large log cabin. It had received 
 its name from an Englishman, who had been hunting 
 in its vicinity the previous summer. A park within 
 half a mile of it had, until lately, been a favourite 
 feeding ground of the elk deer. Over the cabin porch 
 were two pairs of immense antlers, interlaced closely. 
 The animals had become entangled in fighting, and 
 died in a gulch near, unable to free themselves. 
 
 Mariposa was a pleasant home. Eleanor, disliking 
 the outside life of the plains, had turned all her atten- 
 tion indoors, and become, as her neighbours said, 
 house-proud. She looked round at her household 
 goods, and said, — 
 
 " Where in the world should I put all my furniture?" 
 
 " As much as we can in the mountain house, which 
 
 we could easily enlarge by adding a lean-to kitchen." 
 
62 Candalaria. 
 
 " House, indeed ! Why, Steeve, you know it is only 
 a cabin." 
 
 " A good large one, Nell, with plenty of sleeping 
 room in the loft." 
 
 " Well, and what should we do with the rest ? " 
 
 " Sell it to Mrs. Lynchem ; she will need more than 
 she has." 
 
 This was too much for Eleanor's feelings ; she felt 
 deeply aggrieved by the suggestion, and burst into 
 tears. The idea of a sale of her furniture was ap- 
 parently more painful than the thought of parting 
 with her husband. 
 
 Stephen felt mortified and helpless. 
 
 It would cost him a great deal to leave his wife and 
 children for some months, and only a feeling of neces- 
 sity impelled him to do it. The boys came running 
 in at this juncture, but stopped short in dismay when 
 they saw their mother weeping. 
 
 " Here, boys," cried Steeve, V I've brought you some 
 new fishing tackle ; you may ask Denis if he can 
 find time to go down to the river with you, to try it." 
 
 He was always considerate, and had got this pur- 
 posely, in order to send them out of the way whilst 
 he talked over his plans with Eleanor. 
 
 " Mother is not very well," he said to Carita, who 
 
The New Name, 63 
 
 was busily sewing on the veranda. " Make some 
 good tea for her, and persuade her to lie down." 
 
 What man is there, however kind and gentle, who 
 does not hate the sight of tears ? It was no use say- 
 ing anything more to his wife just now, so Steeve 
 turned to go out again. 
 
 " And when will you have supper, father ? " asked 
 Carita, anxiously. She saw he was troubled about 
 something. " You scarcely ate anything at dinner 
 time." 
 
 " I will come back in about an hour, Carrie." 
 
 Then he saddled his horse again— it had not yet 
 been turned out for the night — and galloped off to a 
 cotton-wood copse some distance up the river-side. 
 
 Dismounting, he hitched his horse's bridle to a tree, 
 pulled out his pipe, and lay down on the ground to 
 try and get over his vexation as he smoked. 
 
 "Nell would never second him in anything," he said 
 bitterly to himself. " It was always the same. The 
 fact was, he had spoiled her, as her parents had done 
 before him. He found he must bear her burden as 
 well as his own, and never expect any help or sym- 
 pathy from her." 
 
 A French proverb says that in love there is always 
 " Un qui baise et un qui tend la joue " — one who 
 
64 Caudal aria. 
 
 kisses, and one who only turns the cheek. Let us 
 hope it is not always so one-sided ! Unfortunately 
 it was very much the case in poor Stephen's lot. 
 
 When the pipe was exhausted, he jumped up again, 
 sprang into the saddle, and entered his wife's parlour 
 a little later with a kind word for Eleanor, whom he 
 found lying on the sofa, too much upset, she said, to 
 sit down to supper with him. 
 
 " I have good news for you, Eleanor," he said, next 
 morning, when he came in to breakfast. 
 
 "Are you not going then, after all; or are you 
 taking us to Washington with you ? " 
 
 " Neither, Nell ; but you will not be so lonely in the 
 mountains as we feared. I have just heard from 
 Judge Lynchem, that an Englishman, named Heath, 
 has bought a ranch below ours, on Pepperbox Flat. 
 He is bringing his wife and family out to settle there. 
 They are expected next month, so I shall leave you 
 with much more comfort. The judge says he has 
 had a very good account of them from our consul in 
 Liverpool.'* 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 TEARS AND LAUGHTER. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TEARS AND LAUGHTER, 
 
 ' I ^WO years passed away rapidly to all excepting 
 "■- Eleanor, who, during her husband's absences, 
 which became more and more frequent, had nursed 
 her grievances and brooded over them until she had 
 grown very morbid, and at last fallen into poor 
 health. The family were still in the mountain 
 ranch. All that Stephen had been able to do was 
 stocking this better and enlarging the log cabin, 
 which now made a very comfortable home, rough as 
 it was. He was sorry for his wife, whom he loved 
 still, but he felt very anxious about the future of his 
 three boys. He wished them to have a better educa- 
 tion, and also to see something of the more civilized 
 world, even though they might afterwards settle 
 down in the West again. If he could find pur- 
 chasers for more of his land, he might not only 
 manage this, but also give Eleanor a thorough 
 
 67 
 
68 Candalaria. 
 
 change of scene for a year or two ; perhaps take her 
 to Europe, whither, like most of her educated country- 
 women, she had always longed to travel. 
 
 Carita was now eighteen years of age, an intelli- 
 gent, loving woman, for girls develop fast in the 
 Western world. She was the mainstay of the house- 
 hold, the mentor of the boys, and the umpire in all 
 their differences. Eleanor did a part of the house- 
 work, but Carita had to get up very early in the 
 morning to do her own share — the larger one always 
 — so as to be able to hear the boys read for an hour 
 or two daily, there being no school within many 
 miles of Elk Ranch. She did her best to keep 
 them out of harm's way, and from the society of the 
 cowboys round ; a difficult task when their father 
 was from home, for as soon as his back was turned, 
 Tom, now a fine strong lad of thirteen, would be off 
 over the hills with one of Stephen's guns, or down 
 to Rattlesnake Bar to find a companion amongst the 
 settlers there. 
 
 "If you would only take to the Heath boys, Tom!" 
 Carita would say. 
 
 " Oh, they ain't up to anything," he would reply 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Tom don't care for any fellow who don't carry 
 
Tears and Laughter. 69 
 
 a six-shooter and a bovvie knife," observed Alick one 
 day. 
 
 "You only care for your stomach, Al," retorted Tom. 
 
 Alick was not strong, and he never cared to stray 
 away very far ; but he would gorge himself with the 
 sour choke-cherries that grew profusely in the gully 
 behind the house, then be ill afterwards for days. 
 He worried Susan Morris, too, by getting into the 
 dairy and tampering with the cream, littered the 
 living-room with rubbish ; and when Carita remon- 
 strated, he would appeal to his mother, who allowed 
 him to do anything so long as she herself was not 
 incommoded thereby. 
 
 Ronald was the favourite — an impulsive, warm- 
 hearted little lad ; but what a pickle he was ! When 
 Judge Forbes's boy, commonly called " the Buster," 
 was staying at the Craigie Lea Farm during the 
 summer, Ronald would wander down over Pepper- 
 box Flat to meet him, and the two paddled in the 
 creek, watching the beavers, and crammed themselves 
 with wild strawberries and raspberries in the slopes 
 near the mountain stream, without any fear of lurk- 
 ing rattlesnake or clumsy bear. Does not every 
 Rocky Mountain boy know that the former will not 
 bite unless he is disturbed ? and even then will shake 
 
70 Candalaria, 
 
 his rattle three times before he springs ; and the 
 latter is a heavy, slow, phlegmatic old beast, who 
 seldom comes down from the upper to the lower 
 mountain regions, excepting when the acorns are 
 ripe, and then you hear the creature tumbling and 
 rolling down amongst the dwarf oaks, and can get 
 out of his way fast enough ; besides that, he is only 
 dangerous when worried. 
 
 The young scamps would sometimes turn on the 
 water in passing, and irrigate Pepperbox Flat, when 
 Mr. Heath and his boys were out of the way. The 
 Buster had an active and enterprising nature, and 
 Ronald and he were ingenious in finding scope for 
 their energies. Once or twice they roused a skunk, 
 and then Ronnie came home with his clothes smell- 
 ing so awfully that they had to be burned and he 
 himself fumigated ; all which made work for his 
 mother and Carita. 
 
 Pepperbox Flat was an ugly name for a beautiful 
 little park, surrounded by gently sloping hills, backed 
 up by high mountains, which were covered half-way 
 with forest. The dark sombre green of the pitch 
 pines was varied by their red-brown trunks, and 
 relieved in the more sheltered nooks by the lovely 
 silver fir. Grotesquely formed limestone rocks stood 
 
Tears and Laughter. Ji 
 
 in groups here and there, contrasting with bright 
 red sandstone ; the latter glorious in the light of the 
 rising or setting sun, whilst the weird white stones 
 stood out wondrously in the moonlight. And all 
 this beauty lay under a sky which is only over- 
 clouded about forty days out of the three hundred 
 and sixty-five. The soil would be very arid and 
 barren were it not for the innumerable streams and 
 the indispensable irrigating ditches, from which the 
 farmers can turn on the water, rich with vegetable 
 matter and the mineral deposits of the mountains, 
 over their fields at pleasure ; although it was aggra- 
 vating to have young rogues like the Buster meddling 
 with one's farming arrangements so effectually. 
 
 Mr. Gervase Heath, the owner, had been in busi- 
 ness in Liverpool ; but health had failed him there, 
 and having heard much of the wonderfully recupera- 
 tive influences of this mountain air, and the healing 
 properties inhaled with the odours of pitch-pine 
 forests, he sold his business, only realizing enough to 
 buy this moderate-sized farm, after paying for the 
 family outfit and passage, and providing for the first 
 two years. It was what is called an improved farm ; 
 that is, it was mostly fenced in, roughly ; and on it 
 stood a good-sized log cabin, built by the former 
 
72 Candalaria. 
 
 proprietor, who had found farming at such a distance 
 from the markets too slow, and so had betaken him- 
 self to mining up at Rosita. It was a long way to 
 take the corn, the butter, and the chickens up to 
 Rosita, or down to Canon City, and even to San 
 Juan ; but soon the little narrow-gauge mountain 
 railroads would be winding up near them, and transit 
 would be easier. 
 
 Mr. Heath and his boys knew nothing of farming 
 except what they tried to learn from books, and as 
 these were English ones, they blundered much for 
 many years, during which they lived from hand to 
 mouth, trying to apply Old-country methods to the 
 soil and the climate of the Western world. Also, 
 not being so smart and keen-witted as their neigh- 
 bours, they were constantly under-rated in their sales 
 and worsted in their " swoppings " — a primitive form 
 of dealing in regions where money is scarce if Nature 
 is bountiful. No great harm came to them, however ; 
 they gained health and learned self-denial and en- 
 durance, and by-and-by will make money. They 
 still live on Pepperbox Flat, a happy united family ; 
 only Joyce, the eldest daughter, has a home of her 
 own, of which we shall tell hereafter. 
 
 Ellen never took to the Heaths. She called them 
 
Tears and Laughter. 7 3 
 
 " high-toned," chiefly because they had family prayers 
 every morning before separating to work, and in the 
 evenings the father and daughter read aloud from 
 Shakespeare, Tennyson, or Dickens ; whilst the good 
 mother stitched away, and the boys made knick- 
 knacks for the cabin, mended their shoes, sewed on 
 their buttons, and even knitted socks — accomplish- 
 ments they had learned with much pains and 
 patience, and for which they were heartily despised 
 by the Warner boys. 
 
 Mrs. Warner was fond of going to church. It was 
 at San Juan an occasion for putting on her better 
 garments, for studying at one's leisure the latest 
 bonnet from Denver, and borrowing ideas generally. 
 She felt it also to be very respectable to make an 
 appearance in public at regular intervals with her 
 husband and her boys ; and was thankful that 
 Stephen had the decency to prefer going to Divine 
 service, instead of sitting on his veranda on the day 
 of rest, like Judge Lynchem, with his feet against a 
 post at a higher level than his head, his chair tilted 
 back against the house, a cigar in his mouth, and the 
 Colorado Chieftain in his hands. 
 
 Up at Elk Lodge she missed the public reli- 
 gious observances much, and was quite scandalized 
 
74 Caudal ana. 
 
 when Mrs. Heath said that she considered daily 
 family worship and united prayer in the home of even 
 more importance than the Sunday services ; looking 
 on these latter as a privilege, so to speak, which one 
 missed greatly, but had to leave behind with other 
 advantages of more settled neighbourhoods. And 
 yet she was neither a Quakeress nor a Plymouth 
 Sister, but a very good English Churchwoman. Mrs. 
 Warner could not understand such ideas, and so 
 summed them up under the term "high-toned." 
 
 Often, though, on a warm summer evening, Carita 
 would wander down to listen to the singing of the 
 boys with Joyce and little Dorothy. Sometimes they 
 practised glees, the father directing them ; but it was 
 the beautiful hymns touched her most. Some of 
 them Carita had learned with Mr. Grahame ; others, 
 new and popular ones, such as " Scatter seeds of 
 kindness " and " Go bury thy sorrow," were new to 
 her, and later on came back to her with comfort in 
 many an hour of loneliness and pain. Joyce found 
 her outside listening one evening, and asked her to 
 come and join them as often as she could, which the 
 girl did whenever it was possible to do so without 
 irritating Mrs. Warner. 
 
Tears and Laughter, 75 
 
 " What makes you so thoughtful and quiet to-night, 
 Steeve ? " asked Eleanor, as they sat outside the 
 cabin one evening late in September. 
 
 " I guess father's pretty well played out, mother," 
 said Tom ; " he's been so busy in the harvest." 
 
 It was not a heavy one ; only grass, and some 
 oats for winter feed, with a small crop of maize. 
 Stephen's mountain ranch was not suited to any 
 extensive raising of stock for the market. 
 
 u It's time you boys were on the roost — off with you ! 
 I want to talk alone with mother," said their father. 
 
 " I had a letter from Sam Johnson to-day, Eleanor," 
 he continued, when the lads had gone — "Johnson 
 who spent a few months with us at Santa Anna, you 
 know." 
 
 " And who married the rich young California!! 
 widow — lucky man ! " added Eleanor. 
 
 w Yes ; he has been settled in San Francisco ever 
 since, and is director of ever so many prosperous 
 companies. He knows I have been unsettled the last 
 year or two, and he writes to ask if I will go down to 
 the Maitailoa Islands, in the interests of his latest 
 hobby, the ' Polynesian Land Company.' He knows 
 I have nothing to invest, but says that if I will 
 undertake this business I shall be handsomely paid, 
 
j6 Candalaria. 
 
 and have a chance of making something for myself 
 as well." 
 
 " What is the object of the company, Steeve ? " 
 
 " To buy up land cheaply from the natives, and to 
 sell it in parcels for coffee and cotton plantations." 
 
 " And how far is it to these islands, Steeve ? I 
 never heard of them before." 
 
 " Anything between four and seven weeks' sail 
 from San Francisco, Nell." 
 
 " Oh, how dreadful ! Nearly four months to be 
 spent in going and coming, besides the stay there." 
 
 " That might only be for a couple of months, and 
 the thing might lead to something better, Nell. In 
 San Francisco I might find a purchaser for this farm, 
 and go into some business there with the money. I 
 ought to get a good sum for it now." 
 
 The idea of living once more in a city was very 
 tempting to Eleanor. She had hankered after more 
 society, the delights of shopping, gay crowded streets, 
 and rounds of visits, ever since she left New York, a 
 girl of eighteen. 
 
 A week later Stephen was on his way towards 
 San Francisco. Carita and the boys accompanied 
 him as far as Rattlesnake Bar, seven miles down the 
 foothills, where the plains begin. 
 
Tears and Laughter. 77 
 
 "You have always been like my own daughter, 
 Carita," said Stephen, as he bade her good-bye. " I 
 know you will look after the boys well, and not let 
 them worry mother too much. She never has been 
 very strong, you know, and if she is a little impatient 
 sometimes, bear with it, child, and promise me not to 
 leave her till I get home again ? " 
 
 " Leave her, father ? Where should I go to ? I 
 shall never leave you all." 
 
 " I think you will, some day, Carrie," he said. 
 " You are a woman now ; some one will want to rob 
 us of you by-and-by." 
 
 Her heart was too full to allow her to answer. He 
 took her in his arms and kissed her, with the tender, 
 loving kiss of a father ; kissed his boys, and then rode 
 off at a gallop. 
 
 Poor Carita ! She suffered more than any one of 
 them in parting with the man who had shown her 
 such unwavering loving-kindness — more even than 
 did his wife, although Eleanor stayed in bed, bemoan- 
 ing herself for two nights and a day, saying how hard 
 her lot always was, with a husband who could be so 
 little in his own home. 
 
 Carita had to cook the boys' supper and do some 
 housework after they got back, and it was late 
 
78 Candalaria. 
 
 before she was able to run across the park and 
 down to the creek, beside which was the bower of 
 trailing arbutus which was her oratory, her sanctum, 
 and her refuge, when Mrs. Warner was more than 
 ordinarily exacting and unreasonable. 
 
 When all were in bed, she slipped out barefooted 
 into the starlit night, and sobbed until she was 
 exhausted. Six months at least ! How long it 
 seemed ! and the dangerous ocean to cross, too ! 
 Suppose he should never come back ! She had read 
 of many a shipwreck and fire, or foundering at sea. 
 A heavy weight of sorrow and presentiment of 
 trouble to come pressed on her lonely young heart. 
 
 " O God ! keep father safe, and help me to do 
 my duty and to keep strong until he comes home 
 again ! " she prayed over and over again. 
 
 At last she felt very chilly, crept up the hillside 
 again, and was soon in her bed, sleeping the heavy 
 sleep which comes in youth to those who are tired 
 with long weeping. 
 
 Mr. Heath had promised Stephen that he would go 
 up to Elk Lodge often, to see that all went on well. 
 Mrs. Heath, too, would have been as a sister to 
 Eleanor, but she was always repulsed by her cold- 
 ness. 
 
Tears and Laughter. 79 
 
 Happily for all, it was a very busy time. Much 
 had to be done in the way of pickling and preserving, 
 . and the warmer clothing to be got ready for the winter, 
 so Carita had her hands full. Every morning, early, 
 the young " bosses " — heifers and steers — came trot- 
 ting up to the back of the Lodge to get some extra 
 feed from the hands of Eleanor or herself. The 
 heifers would be saved for dairy purposes, the steers 
 sent down to San Juan to be sold in the spring. 
 Then the little crop of fine red tomatoes had to be 
 sliced and laid in jars, each layer covered with brown 
 sugar, for winter use. The wild yellow plums and 
 purple grapes, that grew lower down on the plain 
 beside the river, must be gathered in, and made into 
 jam in the great boiler. The boys had no time for 
 lessons. They had to ride round the ranch after the 
 cattle, to see where the fences needed repairing, and 
 do other little jobs — Sam Morris being extra busy 
 with a couple of strangers hired to help in the 
 harvest. The vegetable garden was half a mile 
 away, and it had to be visited every day, for they 
 seldom tasted fresh animal food at Elk Lodge. It 
 was not worth while killing, they thought, for their 
 own use. The men and boys brought down a few 
 red squirrels, poor little things, and sometimes some 
 
80 Candalaria. 
 
 fine trout ; but this summer the " hoppers," the pest 
 of Western farmers, had been very plentiful, and the 
 fish were so overfed with those which dropped into 
 the stream, that no bait would tempt them to bite. 
 When Stephen was at home, and not too busy, he 
 would bring down larger game and plenty of the 
 delicious prairie chickens. The Rocky Mountain air 
 is very " feeding," however, and salt pork and beans 
 could always be had ; and a very good dish it is, too, 
 when properly cooked. 
 
 About three weeks after Mr. Warner's departure, 
 Joyce Heath came up to see Carita, in order to 
 arrange for a picnic to gather in the wild grapes. 
 
 "Father came past Seven- by-Nine Creek last night, 
 Mrs. Warner," she said, " and he says there are great 
 quantities there, just ready for picking. He will let 
 me have the mule-wagon, and I can bring it up for 
 you and Carita. The boys will prefer to ride, no 
 doubt." 
 
 " I would rather not go, Joyce. I must write to 
 Mr. Warner, and I shall be glad of a quiet day at 
 home. Jack Wilson, from San Juan, has come up for 
 a few days. I wish he had stayed at home, for he 
 does Tom no good." 
 
 " We must take him with us, then, and keep him 
 
Tears and Laughter. 81 
 
 out of mischief for one day, at any rate," said Joyce 
 cheerily, as she went out to the corral, where Carita 
 was chopping wood for the kitchen stove. 
 
 It was nine miles down the foothills and across the 
 scattered settlement of Rattlesnake Bar to Seven- 
 by-Nine Creek, where the vines hung in luxuriant 
 festoons from the tall cotton-wood trees. 
 
 The breakfast things were just out of the way next 
 morning when Joyce appeared with the wagon. She 
 looked very sweet and bonny ; her face was soft and 
 pure in its outlines, and her eyes were of a deep blue, 
 true and steadfast-looking. Her figure, tall and 
 slender — she was just nineteen years old, but physi- 
 cally less developed than our Mexican maiden — 
 looked well in the short home-made dress of dark 
 blue serge ; and her Saxon complexion, of which the 
 mother was rather proud, was protected by a huge 
 shaker bonnet of some cotton material, which would 
 have been very trying to harder features and duller 
 eyes. Carita, with her brunette skin, lit up by those 
 lustrous dark eyes, so liquid and speaking — her small, 
 compact figure shown to advantage by the well- 
 fitting dress of striped cotton, a wide-brimmed hat on 
 her head — formed a pleasant contrast to Joyce, as the 
 two sat side by side on the front seat. Behind them, 
 
 F 
 
82 Candalaria. 
 
 in the bottom of the wagon, were Ronald and Dorothy 
 Heath, amongst the baskets and pails — which were 
 to come back filled with the pretty clusters of purple 
 fruit— the camp kettle, great coffee-pot, and frying- 
 pan for the hot cakes ; as our Western folks all 
 despise stale bread. 
 
 " Picking grapes with the girls was awful slow," 
 Jack and Tom agreed ; but some other fun might 
 turn up, and both lads had their six-shooters with 
 them in case any small game came in their way. 
 
 "Don't shoot the dear little black squirrels," 
 pleaded tender-hearted Dorothy. 
 
 " Not if we can hit a few bully red ones," was all 
 the concession Jack would make. 
 
 " You ate a good lot of that pie up at our place 
 yesterday," said Tom. 
 
 " But I didn't know it was made of squirrels, Tom, 
 or I would never have touched it. I thought it was 
 chicken pie." 
 
 " Catch them giving us chickens at our place," cried 
 Alick. " They're getting awful stingy, keeping them 
 all to sell up at Rosita." 
 
 " To get more money for you boys," said Carita. 
 
 It took nearly three hours to get to Seven-by-Nine 
 Creek, there were so many holes in the road, and the 
 
Tears and Laughter, &3 
 
 mules went down the steep hill sidings very slowly 
 and carefully. The four boys rode on ahead. When 
 the girls arrived at the cotton-wood copse which 
 fringed the creek, they found Alick and Ben Heath 
 making the camp fire, in anticipation of lunch-time, at 
 the appointed place of meeting. 
 
 11 Where are Tom and Jack ? " asked Carita. 
 
 u They're ridden over towards Pancake Ravine. 
 They said they'd be back here by the time you 
 came." 
 
 " How vexing ! I wanted Tom to help us, and I 
 fear Jack will lead him into some mischief or other. 
 I hate to have him with our boys," she added to 
 Joyce; "he never does come when father's at home. 
 They say he's one of the lowest boys in San Juan." 
 
 " They may be back soon, Carrie ; they will be 
 getting hungry, and I dare say they found it slow 
 waiting for us." 
 
 The two children were longing for lunch. It was 
 already noon, and not worth while beginning to pick 
 the grapes until their repast was over. Ronald and 
 Dorothy laid out the things, whilst the elder ones 
 made the coffee and cooked pancakes. 
 
 Their lunching place was close to the road. Just as 
 they were beginning to eat, a stranger rode by, then 
 
84 Candalaria. 
 
 turned as the sound of their merry voices reached his 
 ear, hitched his horse's bridle up to a tree, and came 
 towards them. 
 
 He was a man apparently of about five-and-twenty, 
 tall, well-made, and, as Joyce saw at once, though I 
 could scarcely tell you why, an Englishman ; notwith- 
 standing the fact that he was dressed exactly like any 
 ranchman, in rough flannel shirt, high boots pulled 
 over his trousers, leathern belt, with knife and 
 revolver, and wide-brimmed felt hat, which he took 
 off his head courteously to the girls, as he asked, — 
 
 " Will you have the goodness to tell me which of 
 the three tracks close by leads to Pepperbox Flat ?" 
 
 " The centre one,' said Joyce. " You will come to 
 Rattlesnake Bar first, however, and must ask the 
 way again there." 
 
 " What does he want at our place ?" she wondered 
 within herself. 
 
 " That's where we live," put in frank Ben. "Are 
 you going to see father?" 
 
 " I am going to Mr. Gervase Heath's. Is he your 
 father?" 
 
 The idea of a home with two such pleasant-looking 
 girls in it was evidently agreeable to him. 
 
 "Of course he is, and this is Joyce, our eldest 
 
Tears and Laughter. 85 
 
 sister ; Joy, we call her. She'll give you some coffee 
 if you like." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to join this nice little party, 
 if I may," said the man. " Do you know, my father 
 and yours were schoolfellows at Rugby, so we ought 
 not to be altogether strangers in these wild parts. 
 See, here is a letter of introduction I am taking to 
 him from Mr. Milward, of Liverpool." 
 
 " Oh, he is a very dear old friend of ours," said 
 Joyce, becoming a little less embarrassed. 
 
 "And my name is Philip Emerson. I hail last 
 from Wet Mountain Valley." 
 
 " Do sit down and take some luncheon with us," 
 said Carita, smiling a welcome as she made room for 
 him between Joyce and herself. 
 
 Joyce felt shy of this tall, handsome Englishman. 
 She was, like many Old-country girls, accustomed to 
 think it the proper thing to be distant and reserved 
 with the opposite sex. Besides, her more practised 
 eye told her that this was a man who, in England, 
 would be ranked in a somewhat higher class than 
 their own ; or, at any rate, that he was more a man 
 of the world than was her father or her eldest brother, 
 Harold. 
 
 Carita, essentially a child of the West, knew no- 
 
86 Candalaria. 
 
 thing of these fine distinctions of class. In her eyes, 
 Stephen Warner was the highest type of a gentleman, 
 to whom no other man could be even equal. She 
 had never been taught that any different attitude 
 ought to be observed towards a man than towards a 
 woman ; in fact, home experience had led her to 
 expect more kindness and consideration from the 
 former than from the latter. She always felt at 
 liberty to be more her own natural self with the male 
 sex, no ill specimens of which had been allowed to 
 come closely in contact with the Warner family. So 
 she was very frank and gracious towards Philip 
 Emerson, and made him feel not only welcome but 
 happy. 
 
 " The long ride from Lazy Man's Canon has made 
 me feel very hungry," he said, gaily. " I slept there 
 last night." 
 
 "And old Pete Brown wouldn't give you much 
 breakfast, I know," rejoined Carita. " We know his 
 ways ; it is the usual resting-place between this and 
 San Juan." 
 
 "I say, Carrie, you'll have to make some more 
 pancakes," said Alick, in a loud whisper, alarmed at 
 their guest's appetite. 
 
 " Let me help you," he cried, jumping up ; " I 
 
Tears and Laughter. 87 
 
 know how to make first-rate slapjacks. I was head 
 cook and bottle-washer at our cabin in Wet Mountain 
 Valley." 
 
 Joyce protested, but the young man insisted, and 
 went off with Carita to the fire, which he stirred 
 up, and then he held the pan ready for the mixed 
 batter. 
 
 "Were you long in Wet Mountain Valley?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Nearly two years, during which time I have 
 managed to lose all my money, and now, like the 
 younger son in the Gospel, I am on my way to your 
 father to ask him to let me be his hired servant." 
 
 " Mr. Heath is not my father," said Carita. 
 
 " I thought you were two sisters ! " Philip felt dis- 
 appointed, finding this frank girl with the warm 
 brunette tint and large dark eyes the more attractive 
 of the two girls. 
 
 " No ; we are friends and near neighbours. I live 
 at Elk Ranch, farther up the mountains." 
 
 " And may I ask what your name is ?" 
 
 " Carita," she said, simply. Then, actually for the 
 first time in her life, she felt embarrassed by the fact 
 that she knew only of one name that she could lay 
 claim to as her own, and the thought troubled her, so 
 
88 Candalaria. 
 
 that her face grew pale for a moment, and her brown 
 little hands trembled. 
 
 But Phil did not notice it; he thought it was a part 
 of the girl's natural simplicity and her probably un- 
 conventional training that made her only tell him her 
 Christian name, and he liked her the better for it. 
 
 " Carita ! " he repeated. " What a pretty name ! " 
 
 His words brought back the warm colour to her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Joyce is a nice name, too, is it not ? " she said. 
 
 "Very. Joy and Carita," he repeated. A good 
 omen, he thought, for a fellow to be welcomed and 
 fed by maidens with such names when he is just 
 making a fresh start in the world. This one is 
 evidently of Southern blood, hence the name. What 
 can her parents be ? 
 
 He had seen no girls with whom he had cared to 
 be on a friendly and social equality since he left 
 England. Joyce Heath reminded him of his only 
 sister, who had been the comforter of his boyhood. 
 And Carita ? She reminded him of nothing he had 
 ever seen or known before. His pulses quickened 
 and his heart was stirred by her innocent, loving eyes 
 and sympathetic voice. What would the clasp of 
 those warm little fingers be like ? he wondered. He 
 
Tears and Laughter. 89 
 
 was inclined to think the lines were falling to him in 
 pleasant places, and felt more anxious than before to 
 be a hired man on Pepperbox Flat. 
 
 Another traveller had joined the party whilst Carita 
 and Philip were busy with the cakes. 
 
 " Professor Moggs, Mr. Emerson," said Joyce, her 
 eyes full of quiet fun as she watched the effect pro- 
 duced on the latter by the new-comer's appearance, 
 and noted the comprehensive glance with which Philip 
 took in the tattered old military cloak of faded blue, 
 the trousers hanging in rags about the Professor's 
 ankles, the old Panama hat tied on with pieces of 
 dirty white tape, and the general unkemptness of the 
 man, who, however, looked not in the least conscious 
 of his own odd appearance. 
 
 " Proud to make your acquaintance, sir," he said, 
 with a grand bow. "Wal, Miss Carita, and how's all 
 the family up to Elk Lodge ? 'Most lost without your 
 pap-pa, ain't you ? And how long is he to be on the 
 rove this time ? " 
 
 " What is your learned friend professor of, Miss 
 Heath?" asked Philip, whilst Mr. Moggs interviewed 
 Carita. 
 
 " Of bumpology. His talents are much appreciated 
 in this region, I can assure you. How have you been 
 
90 Candalaria. 
 
 getting on, Professor, since we saw you last ? " she 
 asked, wishing to draw him out for Philip's benefit. 
 
 " Mortal slow, Miss Joyce. What with the hoppers 
 amongst our small crops, and the new mining camp 
 up to Tin Cup Gulch, which is drawing all our boys 
 yonder, it's been pretty nigh Starvation Camp up 
 to Chucklehead Digging this summer. I'm on the 
 track now for Canon City to see if there's mebbe an 
 opening there for a lecture or two." 
 
 After eating up nearly the whole of the fresh batch 
 of pancakes, the Professor turned his mug upside down 
 to show that he had completed his repast, saying, — 
 
 "Wal, young ladies, I guess I've made a good 
 square meal, and I'll make tracks again now. Give 
 my respects to your mammah, Alick, and tell her I'll 
 be giving her a call soon. She'll be wanting me to 
 look over her young gents' heads again to see how 
 their organs is developing. Combativeness larger 
 than ever in Tom, I reckon. I don't see him here 
 to-day. He's a fine lad, but I met him over to 
 Chicken Thief Flat a day or two ago with a boy I've 
 often seen foolin' round the saloons to San Juan. 
 He's a bad lot that Wilson boy, Miss Carita ; don't 
 have him up to Elk Ranch more than you can help. 
 Acquisitiveness, especially in the matter of puddin' 
 
Tears and Laughter. 91 
 
 and candy, large in Alick there ; we must encourage 
 the growth of conscientiousness, to counterbalance it. 
 Ideality and veneration strong in that little miss," 
 pointing to Dorothy, who was gazing at him with 
 large wondering eyes. 
 
 Joyce Heath did not like Professor Moggs ; she 
 thought him a great humbug — a windbag, in fact— 
 and his dialect irritated her. 
 
 " I am glad he has gone," she said, when the sound 
 of his horse's hoofs was no longer audible; "he has 
 taken up so much of our time." 
 
 " Not to speak of all those pancakes," added Alick, 
 ruefully. 
 
 " If we are not quick we shall gather very little 
 fruit before it is dark," said Carita. " Hurry up, 
 children ; you have eaten quite enough." 
 
 The moon was at its full, though, as Philip re- 
 minded the two girls ; so that they need not fear 
 being overtaken by darkness. 
 
 All set to in earnest in filling the baskets and pails. 
 The young man made himself most useful in reach- 
 ing down the highest bunches. He found being 
 perched up in a cotton-wood tree, and looking down 
 on two such pretty faces upturned towards his own, 
 with arms and hands extended to catch the purple 
 
92 Cauda laria. 
 
 grapes from his, a most charming position. Carita 
 had twined a wreath of columbine round her wide- 
 brimmed hat, and Joyce had thrown aside the ugly 
 sun-bonnet as superfluous under the shades of the 
 vines. Emerson's horse, tied to a tree by his lariat, 
 was feeding near by. It was the happiest day the 
 man had had for a long time, he thought, and he 
 behaved like a school-boy, winning them all by his 
 merry ways. 
 
 " I hope you will settle down somewhere near us," 
 said Ben, looking admiringly at his bearded face and 
 strong, helpful hands ; " but I say, father's just 
 awfully poor : he can't afford any hired man." 
 
 " Who said Mr. Emerson wanted to be a hired 
 man, silly boy ? " asked Joyce. 
 
 " He said so himself," said Alick ; " I heard him tell 
 our Carita he wanted to." 
 
 " Then I'll come and work for nothing, Ben, if 
 father will have me." 
 
 " And you can sleep out in the tent with us boys, 
 you know. We've got an odd bearskin." 
 
 " Oh, I'll soon fetch over my traps if your father 
 will have me, Ben." 
 
 Joyce could not imagine the new friend as a hired 
 man, and took it only as a joke. 
 
Tears and Laughter. 93 
 
 " Oh dear, how can I have forgotten Tom and 
 Jack Wilson all the afternoon ! " said Carita, when 
 they were making some tea, preparatory to starting 
 on the slow ride up the mountains. " Why do they 
 not come back ? I feel very uneasy, Joy. What 
 will Mrs. Warner say if we go back without them ? " 
 
 " I think you are generally more anxious than she 
 is about them, Carrie." 
 
 " Perhaps I am, but you see to-day they were in 
 my charge, which makes all the difference." 
 
 Philip heard the girls as they discussed the pro- 
 bable destination of the boys. 
 
 " I met a party of cowboys about six miles from 
 this," he said, "and there were two lads with them. 
 I remember thinking they looked too young for the 
 company they were in." 
 
 " Oh dear ! " cried Carita, " surely they have not 
 ridden over to Git-up-and-git ! I heard Jack tell 
 Tom last night that the round-up was to be there 
 to-night." 
 
 " You bet they have," said Alick. " Tom has been 
 wild to go on the round-up all summer, but father 
 would not let him, and this is the last, you know." 
 
 " Don't worry about them," said Philip ; " if Mr. 
 Heath will give me a shake-down to-night, I will 
 
94 Candalaria. 
 
 hunt them up for you to-morrow. We may find 
 them at home, after all." 
 
 It seemed to the man as though he would like to 
 begin a new life in this purer moral atmosphere. It 
 had been rather a wild and reckless one amongst his 
 countrymen at Wet Mountain Valley. Many of 
 them were there because they had failed to do well 
 in England, and their friends foolishly thought they 
 might do better away from home influences. He 
 could not begin this new life more pleasantly or 
 better, he thought, that by an act of service for the 
 girl who attracted him so much by her bright, loving 
 ways. He had already contrived to draw from little 
 Dorothy some information about Carita, and knew 
 that she was only an adopted daughter in her home. 
 A hard time of it she had, no doubt, with these boys, 
 still she did not seem very miserable, and she looked 
 as though some one had cared for her, was the con- 
 clusion Philip arrived at. 
 
 The still evening air resounded with merry laugh- 
 ter, as the mule-wagon jolted in and out of the holes 
 up the mountain track, under the bright harvest 
 moon ; Phil Emerson riding closely beside them, 
 under pretence of protecting the girls from any stray 
 rough that might be coming down from Rosita. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 THE ROUND-UP. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ROUND-UP. 
 
 ALAS for Philip's castles in the air ! They were 
 quickly dispelled by Gervase Heath, who, al- 
 though he gave the stranger a warm welcome, as the 
 son of an old schoolfellow whom he remembered well, 
 soon made Philip understand that he was not in any 
 need of his services, Harold and Will doing all he 
 needed. He advised Philip strongly to hire himself 
 out to a smart American of capital who had lately 
 bought a large ranch for stock-raising in El Paso 
 county, about fifty miles away. 
 
 " It is a far more profitable business than farming," 
 he added, " and more suited to an unmarried man." 
 
 " That handsome face might disturb my little Joy's 
 peace of mind, wife," he said, when the family had 
 separated for the night. " I don't know what I 
 should do if he robbed me of my little maid." 
 
 Carita lay sleepless on her bed that night for hours. 
 
 97 G 
 
gS Candalaria. 
 
 She was uneasy about Tom. Eleanor had grown 
 very tired sitting up for them later than usual, and 
 having felt lonely through the day, was irritable, and 
 blamed her much for allowing the boys to ride out of 
 her sight — most unreasonably, considering the little 
 authority she herself exercised over them. Carita 
 had still the old dread of Jack, although he was three 
 years younger than herself. He was the only one 
 ever likely to bring up against her that sad little 
 episode connected with her childhood. Several times, 
 when she had tried to prevent his doing what was 
 wrong, he had made a sign with his generally dirty 
 fingers round his throat, and a significant grimace ; 
 or had asked unfeelingly, "Do you remember the 
 locket, Candy ? " — not Carrie, but the old name he 
 would then use, which was associated with so much 
 shame and unhappiness. She was still afraid of the 
 boy, and could not bear to see Tom in his society. 
 
 When at last she fell asleep it was to dream a 
 strange jumble of dreams. The father came and 
 asked her why she had let Tom go on the round-up. 
 Then she and the new friend of yesterday were talk- 
 ing pleasantly together, and suddenly Jack's evil face 
 was thrust in between them. Again, she thought the 
 stranger was surprised because she had only one 
 
The Round- Up. 99 
 
 name, and that he said he would give her another. 
 And just as he was telling her what it should be, 
 Jack appeared again, and said, "Why, she's Canda- 
 laria, a little Greaser from Santa Anna." And then 
 Mr. Emerson left her and went to Joy, and they both 
 turned their backs on her, and left her sitting alone 
 by the creek, and the waters rose higher and higher, 
 as she sat there unable to move. It was a wretched 
 night, and she was glad when day came and 
 Eleanor's voice sounded in her ears, bidding her get 
 up quickly, as it was late. 
 
 And how had it fared with JPhil Emerson ? He 
 slept, as boys say, " like a top," out in the tent under 
 the bearskin, and dreamed of nobody. 
 
 Next morning, having gladly accepted Mrs. 
 Heath's invitation to spend a week at Pepperbox 
 Flat, he and Ben went up to the Warners to see if 
 Tom had come home. 
 
 Carita received him somewhat shyly. It was quite 
 a new thing for her to feel as she did ; but dreams 
 are apt, as we all know, to leave an odd impression 
 on the mind until one has slept them off again. 
 Mrs. Warner had not heard of this new acquaintance. 
 Alick and Ronnie had been too busy with their 
 breakfast to talk much, and the previous night their 
 
ioo Candalama. 
 
 mother had been too sleepy to do more than ask 
 where Tom was. So she looked very much sur- 
 prised when this fine-looking stranger greeted Carita 
 as though he had known her some time ; and on his 
 being introduced to her as an Englishman who was 
 staying at Mr. Heath's, she was coldly civil. " High- 
 toned, no doubt, like the rest of them," was her in- 
 ward comment at first; but by degrees his frank, 
 courteous manners, and evident desire to please, pro- 
 pitiated her, and she gladly accepted his offer to 
 hunt up Tom. 
 
 On the evening of the same day Philip came upon 
 the runaways, many miles away, at Turkey Creek. 
 The sun was setting gloriously, as one sees it only 
 on the wide plains or at sea ; the wild chase of the 
 day was over, and Master Tom was eating a capital 
 dinner with " Captain Charlie." 
 
 No wonder all the youngsters were wild to go 
 on the round-up. Nothing more exciting can be 
 imagined than the scene which the plains present 
 at sunset when the men are riding in from every 
 direction, all making for one point, driving the cattle 
 before them to the place appointed by their captain. 
 There is always a captain chosen for each " outfit," 
 for "bunching" them— that is, gathering them to- 
 
The Round- Up. 101 
 
 gether, so that each ranchman can select his own 
 according to their brand. They are then given in 
 charge of their respective herders — " cow-punchers " 
 they are called ; the horses are hobbled and turned 
 away to feed during the night, and the stockmen, 
 after washing and dining, amuse themselves as they 
 best can — smoking, spinning yarns, playing with 
 cards, chiefly poker, and even dancing with each 
 other. 
 
 Jack Wilson was already deep in a game of poker ; 
 but Captain Charlie, who knew Mr. Warner, had 
 prevented Tom from joining in, and kept him at 
 his side, not wishing to see the lad corrupted if he 
 could prevent it. 
 
 Tom's face fell as he read the note which his 
 mother had sent by Philip. 
 
 " What's up, boy ? " asked the captain. Tom 
 hated to tell him that his mother had sent to say 
 that he must come home at once. It made him 
 seem so very small. 
 
 Phil's kindly nature divined the lad's sensations; 
 besides, he wanted to make friends with him, asso- 
 ciated as he was in his mind with Carita. He used 
 tact, therefore, and earned Tom's lasting goodwill by 
 putting in quickly, — 
 
102 Candalaria. 
 
 " I am staying near to the Warners' place for a 
 week, and I want Tom to run round with me a little ; 
 the men are all busy in the harvest." 
 
 " Wal, sir, you can eat a bit of dinner with us, 
 I guess ; it's hungry work riding all day, and I 
 reckon you'd best camp with us here to-night ; it's 
 a matter of thirty miles or more from this to Elk 
 Ranch." 
 
 " I wish I could have seen a bit more of the fun," 
 said Tom, ruefully, as the two rode away next morn- 
 ing, just when the stockmen were starting out for 
 the day. 
 
 " Never mind, my boy ; I'll ask your mother to 
 let you go on the round-up with me next April; 
 there will be a better muster then." 
 
 Jack Wilson did not return with them ; the fas- 
 cinations of the round-up were too strong for him, 
 and as his parents believed him safe up at Elk 
 Ranch, he felt that he could enjoy forbidden plea- 
 sures without fear. 
 
 Not long, however; for the same afternoon the 
 mail boy, who passed close to the ranch daily, on 
 his fast little bronco, brought a letter from Mrs. 
 Wilson to Eleanor. She had heard of Mr. Warner's 
 long journey, and wrote, urging his wife to come 
 
The Round- Up, 10 
 
 o 
 
 back with Jack on Saturday, to spend a week with 
 her at San Juan. 
 
 This was on Thursday. Tom seized on the oppor- 
 tunity to get two more days on the plains, and 
 begged to be allowed to hunt Jack up. 
 
 " No, indeed," said his mother ; " it is well that 
 his parents should know how little he can be trusted. 
 I shall be surprised if that boy does not die miser- 
 ably in his boots, some day. I shall go to San 
 Juan on Saturday ; you will drive me down in the 
 ambulance. I wanted some flannels and new pants 
 for you boys, and shall be glad to do all I can in 
 the city before winter sets in." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ON SUNDAY HEAVEN'S GATE STANDS 
 OPE." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "ON SUNDAY HEAVEN'S GATE STANDS OPE." 
 
 T NEED not tell you that the sun rose brightly 
 ■*• on that Sunday morning when Mrs. Warner was 
 away, down at San Juan. It very seldom does any- 
 thing else in the beautiful climate of Colorado. 
 Some will tell you, as they did me, that the name 
 of the State is derived from the vivid colouring of 
 its mountains, the red heights of the Sangre de Cristo 
 range, the bright blue of its skies, and its wonderful 
 flora. That is only partially correct, however ; it 
 was first named Coronado by the band of Spanish 
 explorers who came up from Mexico, in 1540, under 
 a captain of that name. They carried back a glow- 
 ing report of " a sunny land," of high mountains and 
 beautiful vegetation, where barbarians lived who had 
 plenty of beans, cloth, gold, silver, and precious 
 stones. The change from Coronado to Colorado was 
 an easy and natural one. 
 
 107 
 
1 08 Candalaria. 
 
 Carita awoke early, with a sense of freedom and 
 pleasure at the thought of this Sunday, which was 
 very natural. It would be easy to keep Alick and 
 Ronnie near her all day ; there would be very little 
 work to do, and they would take a pleasant book 
 down into the canon, through which the stream ran. 
 Perhaps — and the thought sent a warm feeling 
 through her — Mrs. Heath would know they were 
 alone, and would ask them down to supper, the meal 
 Western farmers make about sunset or even earlier ; 
 and then it would be delightful to sing together, and 
 to hear Mr. Heath and Joyce read from those nice 
 books of theirs. 
 
 She put on a pretty dress of a soft creamy tint, 
 brightened here and there with bits of crimson- 
 coloured ribbon, which suited her clear brown skin 
 and dark hair perfectly. In her hair, which was 
 twisted round her shapely head in a thick coil, she 
 fixed a cluster of bright crimson berries and leaves, 
 such as she knew would keep fresh-looking all 
 through the day. If Mrs. Warner had been at home, 
 she would have scolded her for dressing herself 
 " prinking," as they say, so early in the day ; but no 
 one was at hand to put a damper on our Mexican 
 maiden's natural sense of what was becoming and 
 
"On Sunday Heavens Gate Stands Ope." 109 
 
 fitting on a lovely, fresh Sunday morning, with God's 
 own bright world of beauty above and around. 
 
 Alick and Ronald were also dressed in their best, 
 and they made a very pleasant picture as they sat 
 having breakfast at a little table in the large dining- 
 room instead of the kitchen, as it was Sunday. A 
 very attractive table it looked to Philip Emerson, 
 who came in with Joyce Heath and one of her 
 brothers just as they were finishing. 
 
 " We met Mrs. Warner, Carita, as she was going 
 down the mountain, yesterday," said Joyce ; " she 
 told us she was on her way to San Juan, so we knew 
 you would be alone to-day, and mother says she will 
 be very pleased if you will all three spend the day 
 with us." 
 
 " Oh, how kind of her ! " cried Carita ; " I shall like 
 it so very much." 
 
 Her cheek flushed, and her bright eyes sparkled 
 with pleasure. 
 
 Philip looked pleased also. The pretty dress and 
 bright berries were not lost on him, nor were they 
 on Joyce, who said, — 
 
 " I see you are already dressed for the day ; you 
 look very charming, too. You American girls are 
 cleverer with your dress than we English — at least, 
 
i 10 Candalaria. 
 
 you have much more taste, as a rule. Come back 
 with us now ; you will be in time for our morning 
 prayers, which are generally rather longer on Sundays 
 than on other days. I know you will not mind that. 
 And we will try over some new music, just out 
 from home." 
 
 " Do you sing, Mr. Emerson ? " 
 
 " Not much, but I like to hear other people." 
 
 " You sing very well," said Joyce ; " I heard you 
 with the boys in the tent last night." 
 
 "Those were carnal songs, Miss Heath. I fear I 
 shall shock you when I say that I have not sung a 
 hymn or been to church or assisted at family prayers 
 since I came to this country, two years ago." 
 
 Observing that Carita looked sorry, as though his 
 words, uttered lightly, hurt her, he added, — 
 
 " I shall be very glad to be one of your little con- 
 gregation this morning, and will promise to be an 
 attentive scholar if you will teach me your hymns. 
 Come on, Alick ; you don't want those things to-day," 
 he said, laughing. 
 
 Alick was stowing all manner of properties into the 
 pockets of his best pants : a string of rattles — relics 
 of the numerous rattlesnakes they had shot on the 
 plains, or chopped in two as they lay asleep amongst 
 
"On Sunday Heavens Gate Stands Ope"' 1 1 1 
 
 the firewood — a beaver's paw, a small disabled pocket 
 pistol, a huge jack-knife, string, and piles of molasses 
 candy, all of which he intended to finger during 
 prayers, and to exhibit for the envy and admiration 
 of Ben Heath. 
 
 The cabin on Pepperbox Flat was not nearly so 
 commodious or well furnished as Elk Lodge. It con- 
 sisted of a living-room, not very large ; a " lean-to " 
 kitchen, only big enough to contain the large Ameri- 
 can stove and to do the plain cooking in ; two small 
 bedrooms — one for Mr. and Mrs. Heath, and the other 
 for Joyce and little Dorothy. The three brothers 
 slept, as I said before, in a tent outside. When it 
 became too cold for them there, they took to the 
 " dug-out" on the hillside near at hand. 
 
 There were only three chairs in the old cabin ; the 
 other seats were benches made by the boys, and the 
 family boxes covered with strong striped ticking. A 
 rude but comfortable couch was covered with beaver's 
 skin ; and yet, although less furnished than Mrs. 
 Warner's sitting-room, their little room looked more 
 homelike, for Mrs. Heath and Joyce both had that 
 knack — so useful in women, and especially in those 
 who are destined to be "dwellers in tents," figuratively 
 speaking — of brightening every nook in which they 
 
1 1 2 Candalaria. 
 
 tarried, putting their own sweet individual impress on 
 a room by the arrangement of all within it — a faculty 
 which is a natural gift, and seldom if ever learned. 
 Pretty little creeping plants grew out of baskets made 
 of pine-cones hung in the windows, and trailed over 
 the rude window frames, making curtains in the summer 
 unnecessary. Brightly coloured prints of good taste, 
 in frames of rough wood, covered with lichens, grey, 
 red, orange, and brown, were on the wall, with two 
 really good old family pictures. The broad mantel- 
 shelf was covered with ticking, worked over effec- 
 tively in gay worsteds. Over the great log fireplace 
 was slung a large black gipsy kettle. 
 
 On Sunday morning Mr. Heath made it a rule to 
 read some short lecture or sermon ; he used Dr. 
 Vaughan's book of family prayers ; and there was as 
 much singing as the young folks felt inclined for. 
 I hope none of my readers will think this was a very 
 goody-goody family, when I say that they all enjoyed 
 these little services. 
 
 The secret of this, perhaps, lay in the fact that their 
 father was a wise man, who believed, like the old 
 Scotchman, that " where weariness begins edification 
 ends"; and so everything he chose was short and 
 interesting, and, like the great and often-quoted John 
 
"On Sunday Heavens Gate Stands Ope." 1 13 
 
 Wesley from his dinner, they got up wanting — or at 
 any rate able for — more. Their religious sympathies 
 were cultivated and wide, as their favourite Sunday 
 morning books showed. Quaint old Thomas Fuller's 
 " Holy and Profane State," Rev. Frederick W. Robert- 
 son's and Dr. Vaughan's sermons, Dr. Raleigh's "Quiet 
 Resting-Places," and Dean Goulburn's " Thoughts 
 on Personal Religion," were those they used most. 
 Dorothy and Ben were too young to understand them 
 much, but if they chose they might take up any other 
 book, quietly, whilst the reading went on. After 
 eleven they strolled about as they pleased. 
 
 Philip Emerson felt lifted into a purer and better 
 region as he sat in the cheery room, listening to Mr. 
 Heath ; though eyes and thoughts went often wander- 
 ing to the sweet women's faces opposite to him. 
 Remember, he had lived only amongst wild young 
 men for two years, and these faces preached good 
 things to him as much as the author they read. It 
 seemed to him a very appropriate lecture, too ; it was 
 on " Angel Help " from " Quiet Resting-Places " ; the 
 text, " And Jacob went on his way, and the angels of 
 God met him." I cannot tell you all the thoughts 
 that crowded into the man's mind during one short 
 half-hour ; but they were wholesome, though some- 
 
 II 
 
H4 Candalaria. 
 
 times painful ; and some that were altogether new to 
 him found a home in his heart for ever. 
 
 In character he was, perhaps, more like Esau than 
 Jacob, but he was a mixture of the two ; and just 
 now, like the latter, he was seeking a resting-place. 
 There had been little sympathy between his father — 
 who was a stern, hard man — and himself. His only 
 brother was preferred before him in all things ; and 
 his proud, rebellious spirit had urged him on until he 
 had incurred the father's anger more seriously than 
 ever. There had been a bitter scene ; then, like the 
 son in the Gospel, he had demanded a sum of money, 
 the last he would ever ask for, and had come away 
 to waste it in extravagances and poor farming. 
 
 He had, like Jacob, an affectionate heart and a ten- 
 der mother, towards whom he often looked back with 
 longing thoughts. He knew that she grieved over him, 
 and her prayers always followed him, so that he had 
 not been able to be reckless and foolish without some 
 misgivings. Just now he felt ready to go into any 
 hard service, if only he might win the love of such a 
 woman as either of the two before him. Down 
 amongst the vines dark-eyed Carita had seemed the 
 more attractive ; here, in the house, the English girl's 
 soft, musical voice and eyes, which seemed " homes 
 
"On Sunday Heavens Gate Stands Ope." 1 15 
 
 of silent prayer," exerted a very strong influence over 
 the wanderer. 
 
 "Joy always reads to us a little on Sunday after- 
 noons, Mr. Emerson," said Dorothy. "Would you 
 like to listen to her ? " 
 
 " I would like nothing better," answered Philip. 
 He let Harold and John Heath stroll down towards 
 Rattlesnake Bar, to call on a young settler, and 
 settled himself comfortably beside the girls and the 
 two boys on a mossy bank, near enough to the stream 
 for it to make a pleasant and gentle accompaniment 
 to Joy's voice. 
 
 u What books have you got, Dorothy ? " asked 
 Carita. 
 
 " 'The Sunday Magazine ' and ' Pilgrim's Progress,'" 
 she replied. " We will have whichever Mr. Emerson 
 thinks he would like best." 
 
 " It had better be the ' Pilgrim's Progress ' to-day 
 for my edification," said Phil. 
 
 " We have read the first part, haven't we, Joy? Do 
 you know all about that, Mr. Emerson ? " 
 
 " Only too well, Dorothy : the City of Destruction 
 and the Slough of Despond particularly well. I 
 should like to hear about the House Beautiful and 
 the Delectable Mountains this afternoon." 
 
1 1 6 Candalaria. 
 
 Joy and Carita read by turns, until the lengthening 
 shadows told them it was time to go up to the cabin 
 to their evening meal, which was tea and supper 
 combined. 
 
 The evening was spent chiefly in singing, John 
 leading on a very sweet and good English concertina, 
 a capital instrument in a small room, when skilfully 
 managed. The whole family were what the Ameri- 
 cans call " enthused " for music, and Philip turned out 
 an apt pupil, having a good ear and a strong, rich, 
 baritone voice. 
 
 It was a bright, happy Sunday, and in Carita's, as 
 well as Philip Emerson's calendar, a red-letter day, 
 towards which each looked back often on many 
 drearier and lonelier days, which were in store for 
 both during the long winter before them. 
 
 On Tuesday morning, early, Philip started off for 
 El Paso county, to see what arrangements he could 
 make with the great stockman of whom Mr. Heath 
 had spoken. He carried away with him the goodwill 
 of all these new acquaintances, and an invitation from 
 the mother to come over and see them once more before 
 the snow-falls made the mountains less accessible. 
 
 Joyce and Carita both went about their work dur- 
 ing the next few days with a sense of something 
 
"On Sunday Heavens Gate Stands Ope." 117 
 
 added to their life. A fuller, sweeter meaning had 
 come, for them, into the morning skies, the shimmer- 
 ing moonlight, the sighing of the wind through the 
 needles of the pines. By-and-by all this must turn 
 to pain for one of the two, perhaps for both. 
 
 For the present both were happier, although neither 
 could have given any particular reason for being so. 
 Carita had four more days of comparative leisure, and 
 she enjoyed them thoroughly : singing, and dreaming 
 in the flowery gulch behind the cabin, whilst Alick 
 was with Sam Morris. Ronald, who was quite satis- 
 fied if Carita was near him, occupied himself in con- 
 structing miniature irrigating canals and ditches to 
 his heart's content. 
 
 Carita's subjective mood suited the boy exactly. 
 When she reminded him on Friday evening that 
 mother and Tom would be back next day, he heaved 
 a big sigh, and said, — 
 
 " I wish they'd stop away a good bit longer ; you 
 and me get on better without them, and I haven't 
 half finished the canal to Beaver Brook." 
 
 And Carita had not read half as much as she 
 wanted in the poets of whom Phil and Joy had talked 
 and which she had borrowed from her friend ; so she 
 echoed Ronnie's sigh, and gave him a warm kiss. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE SWEETS OF LOVE ARE MIXED 
 WITH TEARS." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "THE SWEETS OF LOVE ARE MIXED WITH TEARS." 
 
 A PLEASANT surprise was in store for Carita. 
 On Saturday evening, as soon as they heard 
 the far-off sounds of the approaching wagon, she and 
 the boys ran down the steep bit of ground, just 
 below the natural lawn on which the house stood, 
 to meet the comers, as was their custom. The 
 regular track made a long detour to get round the 
 hill, in softening the ascent for the horses. Tom 
 pulled up the span, and down from the wagon 
 jumped Mr. Grahame. How glad she was to see 
 him ! Mrs. Grahame sat beside Eleanor. They had 
 come back with her for ten days, as the minister 
 needed rest ; and a clergyman, who happened to be 
 on a visit at San Juan, had promised to take duty 
 for him the two following Sundays. This was de- 
 lightful. Life in the mountains seemed to be getting 
 to mean a succession of surprises and pleasures, 
 
1 2 2 Candalaria. 
 
 which would make the time she had looked forward 
 to with so much dread, on account of the father's 
 absence, pass very much more quickly. 
 
 To-morrow, she knew, there would be a nice little 
 service in the living-room, to which the Heaths and 
 the Morrises would come, John Heath bringing his 
 concertina to lead them in the hymns ; and Mr. 
 Grahame's sermon would strengthen her, as it always 
 had done at San Juan. 
 
 He ran up the hill with the young folks to meet the 
 wagon at the porch. " How long it seems since I saw 
 you last, Carita ! " he said. "I do not think you have 
 been to San Juan since you came here two years ago." 
 
 " No, I often wanted to go when the wagon went, 
 but I did not like to ask ; father has been away so 
 often. When he was away, I did not like to leave 
 mother alone with the boys ; and when he was at 
 home, I did not want to leave him." 
 
 "And now you will not come until he returns. 
 Mrs. Warner tells me he will probably come back to 
 take you all away from us to settle in San Francisco. 
 We shall be sorry to have you leave us." 
 
 Carita felt her heart sink at the thought, and was 
 conscious that it would have troubled her less had she 
 been told this about ten days ago. 
 
" The Sweets of Love are Mixed with Tears." 123 
 
 The wagon pulled up. " Here, Carita, come 
 quickly ! how long you are ! And you look as 
 though you had been asleep ever since we went away. 
 Take some of these parcels inside." 
 
 The girl roused herself from the thoughts that Mr. 
 Grahame's words had awakened within her breast ; 
 smiled brightly, and ran to Mrs. Warner's side to 
 help her and Mrs. Grahame down with their things. 
 
 " I am so happy that you have come," she said, as 
 the clergyman's wife kissed her warmly. 
 
 " Why, Carita, child ! how you have grown, to be 
 sure ! " cried the warm-hearted woman ; " and so 
 bonny, too, I should hardly have known you." 
 
 Eleanor never cared to hear Carita praised. She 
 said it spoiled young girls, and made them vain and 
 conceited. Mrs. Grahame knew her feelings on the 
 subject, but was determined to say what she pleased.. 
 
 " The child gets plenty of cold chill and frost," she 
 said, in private to her husband ; " a little warm sun 
 will do her good." 
 
 Three days of the Grahames' visit were taken up 
 by a camp picnic. They went, some of them in 
 the wagon and the others on horseback, to Choke 
 Cherry Gulch, a wonderfully romantic canon, or 
 mountain pass, about twenty miles away. Of course 
 
124 Candalaria. 
 
 they slept in the open. It was getting rather cold, 
 but they had plenty of wraps and bearskins, and did 
 not feel it. 
 
 A prolonged picnic like this is charming in the 
 Rocky Mountains. You shoot game, catch delicious 
 trout, gather wild fruits in plenty, and need to take 
 very few provisions generally. 
 
 Mr. Grahame was as good a shot as he was a 
 preacher. He had his revolver with him, which was 
 well for one at least of the party. 
 
 They were gathering buffalo currants, a fruit like 
 our black currants, which ripens late — the two ladies, 
 with Alick and Ronald. Carita was mixing the 
 bread. Mr. Grahame had just gone to his wife, who 
 had called him to come and see a great grizzly bear 
 that was feeding amongst the choke cherries on the 
 other side of the stream from them, when suddenly 
 Mrs. Warner gave a scream. 
 
 " A rattlesnake ! " she cried. 
 
 Ronald had disturbed one in reaching a currant 
 bush that was on a ledge above him. The horrible 
 creature shook its rattle three times and then reared 
 its ugly head, prepared to bite. In a moment Mr. 
 Grahame had his revolver out and shot the venomous 
 animal right in the mouth, so that the little ball came 
 
' ' The Sweets of L ove are Mixed with Tears. "125 
 
 out some inches farther down, else it would have 
 gone ill with poor Ronnie, so far away from home, 
 with no ammonia or strong spirit at hand to act as 
 an antidote to the poison.* 
 
 No other adventure disturbed the three days at 
 Choke Cherry Gulch. 
 
 The ten days of the Grahames' visit seemed to fly 
 fast. The end of October brought Philip Emerson to 
 Pepperbox Flat, on his way, as he called it, to El 
 Paso county. It was a very roundabout way, but 
 no one reminded him of the fact ; they were all too 
 glad to see him. 
 
 Then the long, hard winter set in ; and the ranches 
 were shut in from the world below. More stimulat- 
 ing food was needed ; no fish or game were brought 
 in, but each family killed a steer twice during the 
 winter. It was hung in a small outbuilding, and in 
 the cold, highly rarefied air the outer skin hardened 
 
 * Near where I stayed in Colorado, a boy was saved by 
 being drugged with raw spirit, after a rattlesnake's bite ; and 
 one was shot in the ranch by a lad, just as Mr. Grahame shot 
 the one at the picnic. I used to wonder that the children were 
 not more afraid of them than they were. They learned, how- 
 ever, to be careful in their steps through any long or tangled 
 grasses, as did the horses and the mules. 
 
126 Candalana. 
 
 and turned black ; and the meat would have kept 
 sweet, frozen as it was, for three or four months if 
 necessary. 
 
 Joyce often came up to Elk Lodge ; she knew what 
 a comfort her friendship was to Carita, and tried on 
 that account to make herself as agreeable as possible 
 to Mrs. Warner, with whom, at last, she became quite 
 a favourite. 
 
 Stephen had written from San Francisco, just be- 
 fore going on board the little schooner which was to 
 take him to the Maitailoa Islands. 
 
 Unless they hailed a homeward-bound vessel on 
 their way, there could be no further news of him until 
 the end of December. 
 
 In spite of deep snow which lay everywhere, Philip 
 Emerson managed to come over to Pepperbox Flat 
 for Christmas Day. Mr. and Mrs. Heath insisted on 
 having the Warners also, and would take no denial 
 from Eleanor. Their little cabin was as full as it 
 could be, which only made things go more merrily. 
 
 Towards evening, however, Carita felt very sad and 
 depressed. Lately she had not been .well at all, but 
 had gone about her work as usual, without complaint. 
 The intense cold of the mountains did not suit her 
 Southern constitution, and she was not warmly enough 
 
" The Sweets of Love are Mixed with Tears" 1 2 7 
 
 clad. Eleanor liked to keep the cabin very warm 
 with a great log fire ; she was not in the habit of 
 running outside as often as Carita had to do, so she 
 never suffered from the cold herself. The girl's lungs 
 were sound enough, but soon she began to suffer 
 severely from rheumatism. 
 
 When she and Mrs. Warner had gone into Joyce's 
 room to take off their things, Joyce had shown her a 
 necklet. 
 
 " This is a Christmas present, Carrie," said Joy ; " is 
 it not pretty ? " 
 
 " Very. Who gave it to you ? " 
 
 " Mr. Emerson had a packet from home, and he 
 said his mother sent this for me. There was an even- 
 ing shawl for mother, too, and a beautiful book for 
 Dorothy." 
 
 " How kind of her ! " 
 
 " Was it not ? He says she is so glad that he can 
 come to see us sometimes ; and that a little reminder 
 of home life is good for him." 
 
 In the evening, when the depressed feeling crept 
 over her, Carita felt her eyes often wandering to- 
 wards Phil's present on Joy's dress. Could it be 
 that she felt envious? She tried to be gay and to 
 drive away the low spirits, but it was no use. Philip 
 
128 Candalaria. 
 
 and Joyce seemed so happy together ; he talked so 
 much with her, and Carita felt left out in the cold, 
 some way. 
 
 Now and then she found that he watched her, but 
 it was in a criticising, cold way, she thought ; he did 
 not smile as he did when he looked and spoke to Joy. 
 Presently he came over to her side of the room. 
 
 11 Why do you look so grave, Carita ? You are not 
 happy to-night." 
 
 She could not hide her feelings; it was a habit she 
 had never learned, so she said simply, — 
 
 " I was thinking just now, Mr. Emerson, that every 
 one here had others who belonged to them, and I, 
 only, seem quite alone." 
 
 " I am alone, too, Carita." 
 
 " Not in the same sense as I. And besides, I miss 
 father to-night ; it is the first Christmas we have been 
 without him." 
 
 " I am curious to see Mr. Warner. He must be of 
 a more generous nature than his wife, or you would 
 not miss him so much." 
 
 " Why does he not go back to Joyce ? " thought 
 Carita. " She is not grave and unhappy-looking to- 
 night. She looks happier and sweeter than I ever 
 saw her before." 
 
" The Sweets of Love are Mixed with Tears." 1 29 
 
 She could find nothing pleasant to say to Philip. 
 Soon he left her side and went to Mr. Heath, with 
 whom he talked for the rest of the evening. 
 
 How bad the pain in Carita's limbs was that night ! 
 But there was a still sorer pain at her heart. She 
 knew now that she loved this Englishman, to whom 
 she could never be anything more than the Mexican 
 girl, Carita, without family or name. And Joyce 
 loved him, too ; she saw it in her eyes, knew it from 
 the tones of her voice when she spoke of him. A 
 feeling of something like anger with Joyce, her dear, 
 good friend, took possession of her, but only for a very 
 short time. She fought it down bravely, and prayed 
 for strength and help in this new trouble. "Him 
 that overcometh," that was how her verse began, 
 was it not ? — that verse about the new name. Poor 
 little Carita ! things seemed all against her just 
 now. 
 
 When the letter came from Mr. Warner, she was 
 lying ill with rheumatic fever. Mr. Heath was 
 almost like a doctor, he had read so many medical 
 works, and visited the sick constantly. Eleanor was 
 thankful to let him take Carita's case in hand, for 
 there was no doctor nearer than at San Juan. 
 
 For seven weeks the poor girl lay helpless and 
 
1 30 Candalaria. 
 
 racked with pain. When the fever left her she was 
 utterly prostrate. In fact, she did not regain her 
 strength until April. 
 
 Mr. Warner ought to have been on his way home 
 by that time. He was detained, however, much 
 longer than he had expected, and a letter came at 
 last containing money and the news that he would 
 not be with them until the end of November. 
 
 " It vexes me more than I can tell you," he wrote 
 to his wife, " to be away from you so long, but I have 
 just now an opportunity of making money, and 
 establishing first-class business connections, which 
 will enable me to make a comfortable home in San 
 Francisco, and to give the boys the advantages for 
 which we have both longed. It frets me to think of 
 you all, up in the mountains without me, but it will 
 be best for us in the long run, so try and put up with 
 it a little longer, dear Nell. . . ." 
 
 Eleanor was terribly disappointed, and Carita felt 
 it even more than she did, for she was very weak, and 
 she had missed the sympathy Stephen would have 
 shown her during her long illness sorely. 
 
 " I shall write and invite a cousin of mine, who is 
 staying at Colorado Springs, to come and spend a 
 few months with me," said Mrs. Warner. " It will be 
 
" The Siveets of Love are Mixed zvith Tears." 1 3 1 
 
 intolerably dull pulling through another eight months 
 alone here." 
 
 Her cousin, Mrs. Bombasin, a young and gay widow 
 from Chicago, accepted the invitation. A summer in 
 a log cabin would be agreeable as a novelty. 
 
 Somehow, Carita conceived an aversion to this 
 visitor before she saw her. From the moment that 
 she heard her name and estate, she made up her 
 mind she would be antipathetic. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 UNDER THE PINES. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 UNDER THE PINES. 
 
 "Wistful, longing, through the green 
 Twilight of the clustered pines." 
 
 " 1\/T RS# B0MBASIN ma y be ver y nIce > after alI > 
 
 *\* **■ Carita," said Joy. 
 
 K I am sure she is not, Joy. Her husband has only 
 been dead a few months ; if she were nice, she would 
 not go visiting around in this way. She will come 
 and turn everything upside-down with her ways, I 
 know she will." 
 
 The afternoon Mrs. Bombasin was to arrive, Carita 
 made an excuse to go down to the vegetable garden 
 for something she said she needed in the kitchen. In 
 reality she longed for a quiet half-hour before this 
 dreaded invasion of their home took place. 
 
 On the way, feeling weary, she sat down to rest on 
 a fallen tree ; there she fell into a day-dream. So 
 absorbed was she that a man on horseback came over 
 
 135 
 
136 Candalaria. 
 
 the soft turf, right up to her, before she heard his 
 approach. 
 
 " Carita ! " said a voice, only too familiar to her 
 memory ; " Carita ! how fortunate I am to meet you!" 
 
 She trembled so, poor child ; partly from weak- 
 ness, partly from the sensations produced by Philip 
 Emerson's eyes, which were full of pleasure at the 
 sight of her, that when she tried to stand up and 
 shake hands with him, she sank down again, pale 
 and faint. 
 
 " Why, Carita, how changed you look ! Have you 
 been ill ? No one told me, and I am sure you have. 
 Tell me about it." He checked the term of endear- 
 ment that was slipping out, and sat down beside her 
 on the tree, holding his horse by the bridle. 
 
 " I have had rheumatic fever, and it has left me 
 weak. I am better now," and she tried to smile ; 
 but it was the ghost of her former merry smile, that 
 flickered over her pale face, and it made Phil's heart 
 ache. 
 
 " You came so suddenly upon me," she added, 
 " and I was startled." 
 
 " What were you thinking of, Carita, with your face 
 in your hands ? I really did not know you until I 
 was close to you." 
 
Under the Pines. 137 
 
 The pale face was crimson now, she was so trans- 
 parent and honest. The old habit of untruthfulness 
 fostered by timidity in her childhood had been rooted 
 out, like an ill weed, long ago. She did not answer 
 but asked him a question in return. 
 
 " Are you going to the Heaths, Mr. Emerson ? " 
 
 " I was, Carita, but I am not sure now whether I 
 shall. I am on my way to San Juan on business, and 
 I may ride on there without stopping, and call on 
 them as I return." 
 
 "This is a roundabout way to San Juan, Mr. 
 Emerson," said Carita, who was beginning to feel like 
 her old self again, finding Philip so friendly. 
 
 " It is the way I like best, Carita. But don't call 
 me ' Mr. Emerson' always ; I don't like it." 
 
 " What shall I call you ? Every one calls you ' Mr. 
 Emerson,' except Harold, and he says 'Emerson' 
 only, which I should not like to do." 
 
 " Call me ' Phil,' Carita." 
 
 How sweetly her name sounded just then, as it 
 came from his lips ; caressingly, it seemed. For the 
 first time in her life its meaning flashed through her 
 mind, and her heart beat fast. 
 
 This would not do, it must not be. Joyce Heath 
 loved him ; she wore his gift, and he loved Joyce ; she 
 
138 Candalaria. 
 
 had been certain of this. Then why did he not ride 
 straight on to her ; and why did he look at her so, 
 and make her tremble by his presence? She felt 
 cold and troubled, so she got up and said she must 
 go ; she had to be back quickly — a visitor was ex- 
 pected. 
 
 " Joyce will be sorry if you do not call, Mr. Emer- 
 son," she said, standing before him. He seemed to 
 be thinking, and remained seated, so she repeated her 
 words. 
 
 " Joyce will not know I have passed near, unless 
 you tell her, Carita." 
 
 Then he took one of her hands in his, and she had 
 no strength to take it away. 
 
 " I came this way to see you, Carita. I love you, 
 dear, dear little Carita." He sprang to his feet, and 
 held her in his arms, for she seemed as though she 
 would faint. 
 
 " I have frightened you, darling." 
 
 Still she could not speak. Since that long fever 
 she had felt the same pain which had seized her now, 
 several times, but she did not know what it meant. 
 Her great dark eyes were at last raised to his with 
 such a look of love that Phil was satisfied, and did 
 not try to make her say anything. 
 
Under the Pines. 139 
 
 " I thought you loved Joyce," she said at last, 
 timidly. 
 
 She scarcely needed his assurance ; yet, in the 
 midst of her happiness, a feeling of pity for Joyce 
 found its way into her heart. 
 
 How long the two might have sat there one cannot 
 say, had they not been disturbed by the passing of a 
 hired buggy from San Juan. It was the expected 
 visitor. Carita knew that, in a moment, by the dress 
 and the long ostentatious crape veil fastened coquet- 
 tishly on to the bonnet. Whether Mrs. Bombasin had 
 seen them or not, she could not tell ; she had scarcely 
 time to think about it, for Philip's horse, forgotten by 
 its master, finding the hold on its bridle relaxed, had 
 wandered away, and knowing by this time that it 
 was near the good feed which was always to be 
 found on Pepperbox Flat, it had sagaciously trotted 
 off in that direction, and its master had no choice 
 now but to follow. 
 
 " So much the better, darling," he said to Carita. 
 " I shall see you again now, before I leave." 
 
 " Oh, not to-morrow, Phil ! " She blushed as she 
 said the name for the first time. 
 
 " Why not to-morrow, Carita ? I should like to 
 come up to see Mrs. Warner, and to tell her this, if I 
 
140 Candalaria. 
 
 may. I want to be able to come and see you when 
 I please, and I cannot do so until she gives me 
 permission, you know." 
 
 But Carita felt as though she would like to keep 
 this all to themselves for a time ; in fact, she would 
 rather not let any one know anything of it till the 
 father came home ; he should hear about it first, she 
 pleaded. 
 
 Philip gave into her wish, although it was much 
 against his will, and contrary to his feeling of what 
 was right. He saw, however, that Carita dreaded 
 Mrs. Warner; indeed, from the first it had been 
 evident to him that there was an utter lack of 
 sympathy between them, and this had made him feel 
 more tenderly towards the lonely girl. 
 
 " I shall go on to San Juan this evening, dearest," 
 he said ; " it will be a bright moonlight night. Then 
 I can return to-morrow evening, and I shall contrive 
 somehow to see you the day after to-morrow. I shall 
 tell Mr. Heath, Carita." 
 
 She did not say no to that. Perhaps it would be 
 best, and she knew she could trust her secret with the 
 Heaths. Poor Joy ! What would she say ? 
 
 " I must hurry away now, Phil, or I shall be in 
 trouble." 
 
Under the Pines. 141 
 
 He took a small ring off his little finger. " It was a 
 gift from my mother, darling; you will like it the 
 better for that." 
 
 He placed it on her third finger, but it was too 
 large, so he tried it on the middle one. " It must stay 
 there," he said. 
 
 " But, Phil, I dare not let it stay there. Mrs. War- 
 ner would see it, and ask where it came from." 
 
 Seeing a frown come, she added quickly, " I will 
 fasten it round my neck with a little gold heart that 
 once belonged to my own mother, Phil ; I shall like it 
 better there, and no one will see it." 
 
 He smiled again, well pleased, as she unfastened 
 the ribbon and bade him pass it through the ring and 
 tie it round her full throat. He was so long about it 
 that she had to fasten it herself at last. 
 
 A long last good-bye, and Carita hurried back 
 through the dwarf oaks, the nearest way to the cabin. 
 Happily for her, Eleanor was excited by the cousin's 
 arrival, and she slipped into the kitchen and began to 
 prepare supper unnoticed. 
 
 When she went to her little room that night, she 
 was able to go early, as Eleanor had much to say 
 to her cousin, and was glad to be alone with her. 
 She knelt along beside her bed, thanking God for this 
 
142 Candalaria. 
 
 new and precious gift to her; praying for His bless- 
 ing on her lover; laying bare her pure young soul full 
 of love and happiness before her heavenly Father. 
 She remembered poor Joy, too, suffering, as she felt 
 sure she must be, and she earnestly prayed that she 
 might find comfort. Then she fell to wondering that 
 he had not rather loved Joyce, fair, lovely Joyce, 
 than herself, the poor, lonely Mexican girl. Would 
 his friends approve and think her worthy of him ? 
 For a while this thought troubled her ; but the 
 memory of his loving words, the look in his true eyes, 
 and the touch of his lips took entire possession of her 
 mind until she fell asleep with her hand over his ring. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 "A WOUNDED SPIRIT WHO CAN BEAR?" 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "A WOUNDED SPIRIT WHO CAN BEAR?" 
 
 .TV TRS. BOMBASIN justified all Carita's expec- 
 ^ tations completely. She created quite a little 
 
 revolution in the internal arrangements at Elk Lodge. 
 Her coffee she liked made only in the French fashion ; 
 the bread ought to be raised with salt instead of 
 yeast ; and she was continually in and out of the 
 kitchen, mixing new dishes, for which the ingredients 
 had to be fetched from the one general store down at 
 Rattlesnake Bar, seven miles away, at all kinds of 
 inconvenient hours. She declared it was delightful 
 to have access to a kitchen again, after being so long 
 in a boarding-house. The fact was, she cared 
 nothing for the beauty around her, and seldom went 
 outside, there being no desirable men at leisure to 
 act as escort and admirers. She never read, and 
 seldom sewed ; and as there was nothing else to do 
 and no one to flirt with, she tried to kill time in the 
 
 145 K 
 
1 46 Candalaria. 
 
 kitchen, where she harassed and disturbed Carita 
 beyond endurance. 
 
 I am anticipating, however. The morning after 
 her arrival, as soon as Carita sat down to breakfast, 
 Mrs. Bombasin looked fixedly at her, and said, — 
 
 " Then it was you, after all, whom I saw a little 
 way down the hill on my way here yesterday ? I 
 was not sure of it last night." 
 
 Carita felt her cheeks burn. Her companion would 
 be commented on next, no doubt. 
 
 " You need not blush so ; there was nothing to be 
 ashamed of in the appearance of your friend. I 
 thought him a most distinguished-looking man for a 
 stockman, which I supposed him to be from his 
 dress." 
 
 Oh, the dreadful woman, if she would only stop 
 before Mrs. Warner came in ! Carita rushed to the 
 stove, where she could only make a pretence of pull- 
 ing out a damper and closing an oven door. 
 
 After breakfast, Eleanor and her friend sat down 
 before the fire in the living-room to have a gossip, 
 Carita remaining in the kitchen to wash up and put 
 away the breakfast things. There was only a slight 
 partition between the two rooms. Whilst Carita was 
 busy, she did not distinguish anything of the con- 
 
U A Wounded Spirit who can Bear?" 147 
 
 versation between the two ladies ; but when standing 
 to rest for a few moments, feeling tired and heated, 
 the sound of her own name caught her ear. Mrs. 
 Bombasin was speaking. 
 
 You must not judge my poor heroine too severely 
 when I tell you that she could not resist remaining 
 quiet for a few minutes. After all, as she said to 
 herself, Mrs. Warner knew she was there, and might 
 have remembered how easily voices could be heard in 
 the cabin. 
 
 "'Carita' you called that girl ; what an odd name 
 for a help ! " 
 
 " She is not, properly speaking, ( a help.' Stephen 
 adopted her when she was a child ; that is to say, 
 he bought her first, and adopted her as a daughter 
 afterwards." 
 
 " Then that accounts for her dark skin. It is not 
 the negro type, though." 
 
 " Oh, no ; she is a pure Mexican. Steeve had to 
 give fifty dollars for her, to an old woman in whose 
 hut she was born. She was ill-treating the child, and 
 Stephen took pity on it." 
 
 " He had better have left her where she was ; I 
 don't think she is very good-tempered. She flushed 
 up when I spoke to her this morning about a man I 
 
148 Cantfalaria. 
 
 saw her talking to yesterday, on my way here. Quite 
 a presentable-looking man, too, he was." 
 
 " I don't know who it could be, then, for there is no 
 one in the neighbourhood more distinguished-looking 
 than Mr. Heath, the father of an English family near 
 this, and he is at least fifty." 
 
 " I can assure you, then, that Carita's friend is 
 both young and distinguished-looking ; and from the 
 look of his horse and saddle-bags, I fancy he had 
 come some distance. If I were you, I should watch 
 the girl more closely ; deceit runs in the Mexican 
 blood." 
 
 Carita heard no more. She would not have heard 
 as much as this had she not been, as it were, petrified 
 by the idea that she had been bought and paid for — 
 like any slave in the market ! Mrs. Wilson was a 
 Southerner, and she had often heard her talk of the 
 prices paid by her father for this woman or that child. 
 Presently she heard the horse mentioned, and that 
 she must be watched, for " deceit ran in the blood." 
 The strange pain came just under her breast, but she 
 managed to get to the door ; then she fainted, and 
 there she was found a few minutes later, conscious, 
 again, sitting on the ground, a white, wan look on 
 her face. 
 
"A Wounded Spirit who can Bear?'' 149 
 
 Tom it was who came running up from the corral 
 to ask her to go and help him saddle a fresh young 
 filly which he was bent on training. 
 
 " What's up, Carita ? How sick you look ! " 
 
 She could not speak at first. 
 
 " Where is mother ? " he said. " I will bring her to 
 give you something." 
 
 "No, no! I want nothing," she gasped. "I shall 
 be all right in a minute." 
 
 Soon she got up, but she looked dazed and troubled. 
 
 " I was coming to ask you to help me saddle the 
 filly, Carrie. Ben Heath is going down to Lazy 
 Man's Canon, to meet Mr. Emerson ; he's coming up 
 from San Juan to-night, and I know mother will let 
 me go too. I wanted to try Zoe with my new saddle 
 a bit first." 
 
 Ah ! he was coming to-night. The thought did not 
 make her heart glad any longer. He would feel 
 differently towards her when he knew she had been 
 bought, as cattle are bought. Was it false, then, what 
 the father had told her about her own father having 
 been an officer? And he had said, too, that her mother 
 was a lady. Mexicans were better than negroes, cer- 
 tainly ; still, she had been paid for, like any negro ! 
 
 If she had listened a little longer, she would have 
 
150 Candalaria. 
 
 heard Eleanor tell her cousin how it had all happened, 
 and what the old woman confessed as to her parent- 
 age. Also, that Stephen loved her, and made as 
 much of her as though she had been his own child. 
 And this might have comforted her. As it was, the 
 iron had entered her soul, and she believed she would 
 never be happy again. 
 
 All day she went about her work in a weary, listless 
 fashion. "A sullen, sulky nature," said Mrs. Bom- 
 basin to Eleanor; "I wonder how you can put up 
 with her at all I " 
 
 The next morning Joyce came to the Lodge. 
 Carita was out by the corral, feeding the young 
 " bosses." After shaking hands, the two friends 
 looked at each other for a moment, without speaking. 
 Both were pale and sad-looking. Carita expected 
 this of Joyce, but Joy could not understand the ex- 
 pression of utter dejection and weariness that was in 
 her friend's face, and she forgot her own pain, and 
 forced herself to speak gaily. 
 
 " I thought I should find you looking like a rose 
 with the dew on it, Carrie. I thought you would " 
 
 "Don't, Joy, dear; I am not well to-day. I had 
 such pain, nearly all night, and it always makes me 
 tired and sick-looking." 
 
"A Wounded Spirit who can Bear?" 151 
 
 " I have a little note for you, Carrie, from him. 
 We had a long talk this morning, and he told me all 
 about it. I mean to be his friend as well as yours, 
 dear." 
 
 How bravely she looked and spoke, good Joyce ! 
 No one could have guessed that she had spent half 
 an hour on the ground under the dwarf oaks, on the 
 way up, battling with this, her first great sorrow. 
 
 Carita looked wistfully at her, then she flung her 
 arms round her true friend, and they both cried. 
 
 " I was so very happy, Joy, at first ; now, everything 
 is changed. I cannot tell you about it now, but I 
 will try to come to you to-morrow, some time." 
 
 " I must run home again, Carrie ; read your note, 
 and tell me what to say to him." 
 
 Her first letter from Phil. The first, and perhaps 
 the last, she thought, sadly, for she must tell him to- 
 day. 
 
 " Well, Carrie, I know what he asks ; he told me. 
 Shall I say you will be there ? " 
 
 u Yes, dear ; I will be there. Good-bye." 
 
 Joyce hurried down the wood again. Mrs. Warner 
 had fortunately been in front of the house, and had 
 neither seen her come nor go. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 UNDER THE QUIVERING ASPENS. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 UNDER THE QUIVERING ASPENS. 
 
 " /^ARITA," said Mrs. Warner, coming into the 
 ^~ y kitchen half an hour later, " Mrs. Bombasin and 
 I are going over to Craigie Lea. I have a notion 
 that the Forbeses are there ; I saw their Jabez ride 
 past a few minutes ago. If they are not there we 
 shall get Jabez's wife to make us some coffee, so you 
 need not expect us back until six or seven o'clock." 
 
 " How fortunate for me ! " thought Carita. "I shall 
 be able to go to Silverdale without any fear of being 
 missed. Ronnie will be sure to go with them to see 
 the ' Buster.'" ! 
 
 " What is the matter with you lately, Carita ? " con- 
 tinued Mrs. Warner ; "you are so quiet, and seem so 
 heavy and dull." 
 
 " I have not felt well the last two days." 
 The word " mother " was on her lips, but she 
 checked it ; she would not use that word any more. 
 
156 Candalaria. 
 
 " You are hipped, I believe ; you ought to be getting 
 strong now the warmer weather is coming. By the 
 way, Carita, Mrs. Bombasin says she saw you talking 
 to some one down the road the day she came. Who 
 was it ? " 
 
 Carita had felt what was coming, and turned 
 quickly, apparently to reach a plate from the shelf, 
 but in reality that the warm tell-tale blood might not 
 be seen as it rushed to her face. 
 
 " It was Mr. Emerson." 
 
 " Oh, I never thought of him ; he was to be there 
 again last night, Tom said. He is looking after Joyce 
 Heath. I don't suppose his folks at home will like 
 the match as well as the Heaths do, for they are 
 amongst the best people in their country, Mrs. Heath 
 tells me. The English make more of family and 
 position than we do, by a long way." 
 
 Eleanor went to get ready for the ride to Craigie 
 Lea, quite satisfied as to Mrs. Bombasin's distin- 
 guished-looking stockman, but she had sent one more 
 shaft home to poor Carita's loving heart. 
 
 Half a mile from Elk Lodge, back amongst the 
 mountains, is a romantic little glen which Joyce had 
 christened " Silverdale," not because it was rich in 
 silver ore, like some other places not far away, but on 
 
Under the Quivering Aspens. 157 
 
 account of a small group of the silver spruce [Abies 
 Englemannii), always lovely, with their symmetrical 
 branches and the soft bluish white sheen of the 
 needles. In some lights they appear to be covered 
 with slight hoar frost, in others they have a pale 
 metallic blue shade. In the moonlight the effect of 
 these trees, growing as they do in sheltered nooks, 
 protected by the great strong pitch pines of sombre 
 foliage, is wonderfully beautiful. Below these, near to 
 the stream, are the wild cherry, willow, and quivering 
 aspen trees. Many a flower blooms freely in Colorado 
 which is cultivated with pains in English gardens. 
 No frequented track was near Silverdale ; Joyce had 
 discovered its hidden beauties, and taken Philip there 
 during his first visit. 
 
 To this glen Carita had often brought her work 
 during the previous summer ; and there, too, Joyce 
 had often repeated to herself those lines we all know 
 so well : — 
 
 "Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
 Little breezes dusk and shiver 
 Thro' the wave that runs for ever." 
 
 At three o'clock Philip was waiting there for Carita 
 — no poet's rhymes running through his brain, his 
 
158 Candalaria. 
 
 heart was too full of his own strong love. His 
 horse was wisely and safely fastened to a pine this 
 time. 
 
 In spite of the trouble and fears that filled her, 
 Carita had not been able to resist the temptation 
 common to every woman who is womanly, that of 
 trying to make herself look as attractive as possible 
 to please the eyes of the man she loves. The details 
 so important to her are generally lost upon him, at 
 least if he be one of the men who are most worth 
 pleasing ; but the general effect, if it is becoming, 
 never. 
 
 As Phil saw her come towards him under the 
 floating sunbeams and shadows, he thought Carita 
 looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her 
 before ; but when, after folding her in his arms, he 
 held her from him to look at her face, he was 
 shocked to note the dark lines under the large lustrous 
 eyes, and the drooping corners of the curved lips. 
 
 " I thought you would look better to-day, dearest," 
 he said. " I was hoping that my love was making 
 you as happy as yours has been making me for the 
 last two days. You have been with me night and 
 day, darling." 
 
 " I was very, very happy, Phil, but something has 
 
Under the Quivering Aspens. 159 
 
 happened to me." She began to shiver, but went on : 
 " I want to tell you about it ; let us sit down." 
 
 He threw himself down on the ground beside her, 
 then he remembered her danger of rheumatic pains, 
 and got up to fetch his saddle, on which he enthroned 
 her, putting his strong arm round her and gently 
 forcing her head down until it rested on his shoulder. 
 
 " Now, darling, tell me what has been vexing you." 
 
 Carita began her story. She could speak to him 
 better so, with her face half hidden in his full beard. 
 When she came to the part about Mr. Warner's 
 having bought her, she began to tremble, and Phil 
 felt her little hands, which he held in one of his large 
 strong ones, turn quite cold. 
 
 " You need not tell me any more, my poor darling," 
 he said. " I know it all. Mr. Heath told me your 
 history when I spoke to him two days ago. Mr. 
 Warner had told him everything about you, Carita. 
 Why should this hurt you so ? " 
 
 " You could not marry a nameless girl — one who 
 had been bought, too, Phil." 
 
 "You have been making a mountain out of a 
 molehill, dearest. You are not nameless, simply 
 because you do not happen to know much about your 
 parentage. You may find out all about that yet ; but 
 
1 60 Candalaria. 
 
 if you never do, what does it matter ? You shall not 
 be nameless long. Carita is a charming Christian 
 name, just as much one as Minnie, and far prettier. 
 Carita Emerson, how do you think it sounds, darling ? 
 I want to make you laugh, Carita." 
 
 She hid her face again. " He did pay money for 
 me though, Phil." 
 
 " Well, what of that ? The horrid old woman was 
 greedy, that was all. She had no right to ask it." 
 
 "And, Phil, I began to fancy that father— Mr. 
 Warner, I mean — had not told me the truth when he 
 said my father was an officer in the Mexican army." 
 
 " Foolish little woman ! you should have known 
 him too well to think so. Mr. Heath has no such 
 notion." 
 
 The warmth of Philip's love dispelled the mists of 
 doubt and sadness ; but he saw that she was very 
 frail, and that in her delicate state of health she was 
 likely to be injured by the cold, unloving influence 
 which surrounded her just now in Mr. Warner's 
 absence. All the strong love within him rose up, 
 urging him to take her out of them at once. 
 
 Mr. Heath had told him that he feared his friends 
 would not like his marrying a Mexican girl of whose 
 family so little was known ; but Phil had replied that 
 
Under the Quivering Aspens. 161 
 
 he had cut himself off from all ties, save the one that 
 bound him to his mother, and she loved him too un- 
 selfishly to want him to give up so good and sweet a 
 girl as Carita. She would gladly know him to be so 
 well married. 
 
 When Carita told him what Eleanor had said on 
 this point, he laughed away her scruples. 
 
 And then he urged her to go away with him at 
 once. He would meet her a mile away, with a 
 wagon, and drive her to San Juan, where he felt 
 sure Mr. Grahame would be persuaded to marry 
 them when he knew all. And if not, why then they 
 could go on to Denver, in one day, by train, and be 
 married there. 
 
 He had not yet told her, he said, of the piece of 
 good fortune that had happened to him since Christ- 
 mas. An old aunt had died and left him five 
 hundred pounds. He was rich with that in Colorado, 
 in these hard times, and was buying a ranch of his 
 own. His homestead would be small, but he would 
 make it very comfortable for her, and she would get 
 well and strong, and ride about as she loved to do, 
 over their ranch beside him, until these pale cheeks 
 would get full and blooming again. Such a picture 
 he drew of the free, happy life they two would lead 
 
1 62 Candalaria. 
 
 together, that Carita, her strength of will weakened 
 by the long illness, and her courage failing as she 
 thought of the hard seven months which were before 
 her, felt herself carried away by the force of his 
 passion. 
 
 He had changed his position as he talked, and was 
 now on the ground at her feet, her two hands in his. 
 The passionate love in his eyes magnetized her ; she 
 leaned back, feeling almost faint, against the bank, 
 which was close behind the saddle. 
 
 A sharp prick in the back made her start forward 
 again. It broke the spell, and she turned to see what 
 had hurt her so. The huge branching horns of an 
 elk had been buried in the soil above her, and she 
 had leaned against a projecting point. The pain 
 was not great, but it served to bring back her self- 
 command, and to recall her to a sense of her duty ; 
 for, at the same time, her promise to Stephen flashed 
 through her mind. His face suddenly came up be- 
 fore her as he had looked when he bade her good- 
 bye, and told her to be faithful to Eleanor and the 
 boys. 
 
 •' I cannot, I dare not go with you now, Phil. I 
 promised father to stay with the boys until he came 
 home again. Do not tempt me to break my word, 
 
' Placed her on his horse."— Page 163. 
 
Under the Qtcivering Aspens. 163 
 
 Phil. He has been such a kind, good father to me, 
 ever since he first saw and pitied me. How can I 
 think of leaving them all while he is away ? " 
 
 Philip saw it was not right, and that it would be 
 useless to urge it, much as he hated to leave her. 
 Pie now soothed and comforted her ; he would come 
 again to see her as soon as he possibly could ; mean- 
 while she must write to him often, and when Mr. 
 Warner got back, nothing should keep her from him 
 any longer. 
 
 The air began to get chill, and Carita's pale face 
 warned him at last that she ought not to stay out 
 any longer. He kissed her lips until the rich, warm 
 colour came and stayed there, placed her on his horse 
 and walked beside it, with his arm resting on the 
 saddle to support her better, down the gulch as near 
 to the house as she would allow him. For his part 
 he almost wished that Mrs. Warner might see him, so 
 that he might have the matter out with her ; then he 
 could come to see Carita openly, he thought. As it 
 was, he could not even write to her excepting through 
 the Heaths, a roundabout way which was hateful to 
 him. They parted unseen, however ; and Carita went 
 inside to prepare for the evening meal with a braver 
 heart than she had taken out. The sore, bitter feel- 
 
164 Candalaria, 
 
 ing had left her; Philip knew all, yet he loved her 
 and would never forsake her. What mattered it that 
 Eleanor was cold to her and unreasonable, and their 
 visitor false and cruel in her judgment of her? She 
 could work with a lighter heart now. The summer 
 months would soon pass away, she had so many 
 happy thoughts to comfort her. Then father would 
 come, and Philip would persuade him to spare her. 
 The boys would be going to school, and she would 
 not be needed so much. Phil loved her, and that was 
 enough for the present. 
 
 Three weeks passed away without anything serious 
 happening to mar Carita's happiness. Her colour 
 began to return. Mrs. Bombasin's sharp, suspicious 
 eyes could find no fault with her, watch as they 
 might. All seemed to promise a peaceful, if busy 
 summer for her, as well as returning health and 
 vigour; A change came, however, and it was wrought 
 by the restless visitor whom Carita had distrusted 
 since the first mention of her name. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 ' I KNOW THEIR SORROWS." 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 I KNOW THEIR SORROWS. 
 
 TV IT RS. BOMBASIN had had quite enough of life 
 
 * ■*■ in a log cabin up in the mountains, without a 
 single presentable specimen of the opposite sex with 
 whom she could chat, ride, or walk. She said there 
 was some pressing business which demanded that she 
 should consult a lawyer at once. Her last letters from 
 Chicago were not satisfactory, and there was no one 
 nearer than Denver whose opinion would be in the 
 least worth having. 
 
 " I cannot imagine why you should stay in this dull, 
 out-of-the-way place, Eleanor, whilst your husband is 
 away so long," she said, after communicating her 
 intention of leaving for Denver. 
 
 " What else could I do, Eliza ? " 
 
 " Why, give up housekeeping, and go to board in a 
 nice lively place, where you could send those racket- 
 
 167 
 
1 68 Candalaria. 
 
 ing boys to school. I never would be troubled with 
 them around all day long, as you are here." 
 
 "I should like nothing better, and the idea has 
 come into my mind before. I thought of it when 
 Stephen sent me word he should be away so much 
 longer. No one could hate this lonely life more 
 than I do." 
 
 " Then why not make up your mind to leave it and 
 come with me now to Denver ? I know a most 
 elegant boarding-house, where it would cost you 
 really very little." 
 
 " The fact is, I have less money than you imagine ; 
 times have been hard with us here so long now." 
 
 " I can tell you just how much it would cost you. 
 The boys' schooling you would get free, of course ; 
 and there is no better school anywhere than the High 
 School at Denver." Mrs. Bombasin then made her 
 reckoning. " For yourself and the three boys they 
 would only ask twenty-five dollars a week ; living is 
 cheap there just now." 
 
 " You are forgetting Carita." 
 
 " Gracious me ! you surely don't need to take 
 Carita round everywhere you go." 
 
 " But what could she do, Eliza ? " 
 
 " Why not leave her here to look after things ? 
 
"/ Know their Sorrows!' 169 
 
 That high-toned friend of hers, the Heath girl, could 
 perhaps come up and sleep with her. It would be 
 nonsense to have her always round. Why, with the 
 boys away at school, and you all boarding, there 
 would be nothing for her to do." 
 
 " Stephen would never forgive me if anything 
 happened to the girl. He cares for her as much as if 
 she were his own daughter." 
 
 "Then he ought not to, and he has just spoilt her 
 by making such a fuss over her. I tell you what, 
 Nell, the people I was boarding with at Colorado 
 Springs would give anything to get a help like she is. 
 Let me write to them about it, and then if they want 
 her she could stay with them whilst you go on to 
 Denver, and earn a little to buy herself some new 
 clothes with, into the bargain." 
 
 " Stephen would not hear of it." 
 
 " Stephen is not here, and he would know nothing 
 about it until he came home. You could pick her up 
 again on the way from Denver some time in October, 
 and be all up here again, ready for your husband 
 when he comes. I don't believe in men having 
 all the good times, and leaving us poor women with 
 nothing to do but to mope round by ourselves." 
 
 This idea, rejected at first, commended itself by 
 
1 70 Candalaria. 
 
 degrees more and more to Eleanor, who was tho- 
 roughly discontented with the life on the ranch. It 
 was not to be wondered at, with her temperament ; 
 both she and Stephen had made a mistake when they 
 took one another for better and for worse. The 
 money her husband had sent her, together with what 
 Sam Morris could forward from the sales of butter, etc., 
 would be just sufficient for the expenses of living in 
 Denver if she left Carita behind. She would talk to 
 the girl about the plan and see how she took it. 
 Mrs. Bombasin assured her that the people at 
 Colorado Springs would treat her in every way as 
 one of the family. Carita might even be glad to go 
 for the sake of a change, and to earn some pocket- 
 money, a luxury which she had never enjoyed so 
 far. 
 
 At first Carita was very much upset by the idea ; 
 she had given up Philip for the present for the sake 
 of her promise to stay with Eleanor and the boys. 
 Now the sacrifice she was making was an unnecessary 
 one, and she felt wounded ; still she was determined 
 not to be married until father came home ; nothing 
 should induce her to leave her post voluntarily, or to 
 be unfaithful to her trust. If Eleanor was determined 
 to go to Denver and could not take her, she had the 
 
"I Know their Sorrows!' 171 
 
 alternative either to stay at Elk Lodge all alone, or 
 to go to those strange people if they wanted her. She 
 asked Eleanor if she might think it over; and Eleanor, 
 only too glad to have made the proposal, and to find 
 it received more quietly than she had expected, told 
 her she could do so, and they would talk again about it 
 next day. In fact, she need not decide for a week yet ; 
 it would take that time for Mrs. Bombasin's letter to 
 arrive and an answer to be received at Elk Ranch, 
 and she and the boys would not leave until June. 
 
 Carita would have liked to consult Mrs. Heath, but 
 a feeling of delicacy prevented her from doing so. She 
 knew that, if she told them her position, the Heaths 
 would urge her to come and live with them until Mr. 
 Warner's return. Their cabin was already as full as 
 it ought to be ; she could not be of any service to 
 them, and, besides that, she could not bear the 
 thought of wounding and unsettling Joy by the sight 
 of her own happiness. If she stayed alone up at Elk 
 Lodge, Philip would not like it, perhaps would not 
 hear of her doing so ; he would be riding over too 
 often, and trying to persuade her to* be married at 
 once. 
 
 If she went to Colorado Springs, she would be 
 nearer him than she was here ; and then she should 
 
1 7 2 Candalaria. 
 
 earn some money. Father, she knew, would buy her 
 all she needed before she was married ; but it would 
 be very nice to have a little all her own, before she 
 went to Phil. He would hate, though, to think of her 
 going anywhere as a " help " ; there was another 
 difficulty. 
 
 Before she had time to write to him about it, Joyce 
 brought her a letter from him, saying that he had 
 news from home, which he wanted her to hear at 
 once ; and he would be at Silverdale at three o'clock 
 the next afternoon. This was fortunate, for Carita felt 
 it would be much easier to talk than to write about 
 the new aspect of affairs. 
 
 Eleanor and her friend were taking their usual 
 siesta when three o'clock struck, and Carita hurried 
 up to the place of meeting. She was stronger and 
 brighter-looking than the last time they met there, 
 when she had trembled, as Phil said, almost like the 
 quivering aspens above their heads ; but she was very 
 anxious again to-day, in a different way. And what 
 would his news be, she wondered. 
 
 " Carita, darling," Philip began, almost before she 
 was seated on the saddle, which he had placed ready 
 for his little queen, as he had called her, last time, " I 
 have sad news for you to-day. I have had a letter 
 
"/ Know their Sorrows!' 173 
 
 from my father, the first he has written to me since I 
 left home. It is to tell me that my dear mother is ill, 
 dying, he fears, and she wants to see me before she 
 dies. I cannot bear to go away so far from you, my 
 darling ; but I must go to her, she has been such a 
 patient, loving mother always, and I have never been 
 any comfort to her. I have only caused her sorrow 
 and heartache for the last ten years, Carita. I 
 thought that we should both go home together, next 
 year ; and that it would make her happy to see her 
 worthless boy altered, and to know what a dear little 
 daughter-in-law I had brought for her ; but now I 
 fear I must hurry on alone. I shall not be away 
 long, dearest ; and after that it will be nearly time 
 for Mr. Warner's return ; and then we shall never 
 be parted in this life, please God, again." 
 
 Carita put aside her own affairs for a little to 
 comfort Phil. She was tempted to keep them from 
 him entirely; to let him go now without this new 
 trouble, and tell him by letter as soon as she got to 
 Colorado Springs. So long as he was in England, 
 what could it matter whether she was called a " help '* 
 at Colorado Springs or not? No one she loved 
 would feel any differently towards her, and no one 
 else need know anything about it. Sam Morris and 
 
174 Candalaria. 
 
 his wife and the rest of the people round would think 
 she had gone to Denver with the family. 
 
 " I can only stay for one hour, Carita," said Phil, 
 thinking that he only, and his going away, were in her 
 thoughts. " I must ride on and reach San Juan to- 
 night, or early to-morrow morning, after a short rest 
 at Lazy Man's Canon. I want to catch the first 
 steamer from New York that I possibly can. Look 
 up, darling, and tell me you will not let anything 
 worry and make you ill whilst I am away. You 
 must write down my home address, too ; I shall 
 want a letter from you often. I have seen Mr. 
 Heath, and he has promised to post them to me 
 for you." 
 
 He took a note-book out of hisjpocket. 
 
 " See," he said, " this is one of the last things my 
 dear mother sent to me. I will write the address on 
 the first leaf ; you will keep it, and put down all the 
 little things that come into your mind, to tell me in 
 your letters. I shall picture you to myself, Carita, 
 continually, up in the mountains here, waiting for me 
 to come back to you." 
 
 Poor Carita ! Her heart so full, and so little of it 
 that she might tell him ! For she felt sure now that, 
 if he knew, he would not let her go to an unknown 
 
"/ Knoiv their Sorrows." 175 
 
 home with strange people in his absence, delicate as 
 she still was. She was not quite satisfied that it was 
 right to keep it from him ; but she thought it was 
 happier for him to go away without adding anxiety 
 on her account to the anxiety he was in about his 
 mother. No fear that his father might induce him to 
 stay in England, and that he might forget or be 
 untrue to her, entered her mind. So she decided 
 to say nothing about Mrs. Warner's intentions, 
 although it would have eased her so much if she 
 could have told him all, and yet have been able to 
 do what she thought was for the best. 
 
 " I shall be able to picture you to myself better 
 than you will me, Carita," he went on. " Everything 
 is so different in England from anything you have 
 seen yet. But you will go there with me some day ; 
 only for a visit, for I like this free life better than the 
 dull English routine I was brought up in. 
 
 " I have never given you anything, Phil ; I would 
 have liked you to carry away something from me." 
 
 " Give me a bit of the ribbon that has been round 
 your throat, Carita. I will not ask for a lock of hair ; 
 I feel superstitious about hair : I should fancy you 
 might die whilst I was away." 
 
 A shiver passed over her ; he felt it, and said, 
 
1 76 Candalaria. 
 
 " How stupid of me to say that, darling ! There, we 
 will not talk any more ; I must go soon." 
 
 How hard it was to part! She clung to him as 
 though they were never to meet again ; but she had 
 to go at last. She saw him disappear down the steep 
 trail between the pines, and then she lay face down- 
 wards on the turf, feeling as though her life had gone 
 with him. 
 
 If Philip had only known what was before her, he 
 would have carried her off in spite of her scruples ; 
 have married and taken her to England. She knew 
 that, and the temptation was great. But she felt in- 
 stinctively that he would be better received by his 
 father if he came alone ; and she thought, with the 
 natural pride and self-respect of a good woman, that 
 she would rather her lover told his parents, or at any 
 rate one of them, all about her before she was taken 
 into the family. His mother's blessing on their 
 marriage would add so much to her happiness. On 
 the whole she was convinced that she had acted 
 wisely ; but ah ! it cost her much, this repression of 
 self. 
 
 When the first violence of her grief had subsided, 
 she prayed long and earnestly. Though father and 
 lover were taken away from her, there was One always 
 
She saw him disappear. [—Page, 1 7& , , 
 
U I Know their Sorrows." 177 
 
 there to whom she might tell all her griefs ; before 
 whom she could spread the circumstances which 
 perplexed and harassed her. He would not remove 
 all the obstacles which made the six months before 
 her seem like a hard and stony road, which she must 
 tread with bleeding feet; but He would send the 
 "Angel Help," of which Mr. Heath had read on that 
 happy Sunday morning when Phil and she had 
 listened together. An angel, such as the one who 
 was sent to Hagar, driven out by her mistress into the 
 barren desert; one of those blessed ones who came 
 and strengthened our Lord Jesus in His dark and 
 lonely hour of agony did come to Carita as she lay 
 under the pines on the hillside, bidding her be of 
 good comfort, and bringing to her mind a verse from 
 one of Mrs. Carey's favourite hymns : — 
 
 "Who points the clouds their course, 
 Whom winds and seas obey ; 
 He shall direct thy wandering feet, 
 He shall prepare thy way." 
 
 It was after five o'clock when Carita rose from the 
 soft turf. How she wished that she might have lain 
 there undisturbed for an hour or two longer ! But it 
 could not be ; hers was the double lot of working 
 and weeping. Tom's voice, sounding clearly through 
 
 M 
 
178 Candalaria. 
 
 the still evening air, reached her, as she roused her- 
 self. 
 
 * Carita, Carita ! It's most supper time, and we're 
 just awful hungry." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "MAN'S EXTREMITY IS GOD'S OPPOR- 
 TUNITY." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "man's extremity is god's opportunity." 
 
 TV /TRS. WARNER would scarcely have had suffi- 
 cient energy to carry out the plan of going to 
 Denver with her three boys, without the knowledge 
 of her husband, had Mrs. Bombasin not been there to 
 urge and hurry her on with the necessary preparation, 
 and to accompany her. 
 
 So restless and indefatigable was this " daughter of 
 the horseleach" — may I be forgiven for calling her so 
 ugly a name — that a letter having been received in 
 due course from Mrs. Johnson, the enterprising land- 
 lady of the boarding-house known as the Temple of 
 Health, at Colorado Springs, saying that she should 
 be very glad to secure the services of the young lady 
 of whom Mrs. Bombasin wrote, and for which she 
 would pay sixteen dollars a month, the family were 
 on their way to San Juan a fortnight after Philip 
 Emerson bade Carita good-bye. 
 
 181 
 
1 8 2 Candalaria. 
 
 She wrote a long letter to him, telling him of her 
 position ; making the best of it, poor child, lest he 
 should be troubled on her account, and giving him 
 the address of the house to which she was going. 
 Then she made a great mistake, which brought sorrow 
 to both. Instead of giving her letter to Mr. Heath, 
 whom Philip had requested to re-address, stamp, and 
 despatch all her letters, she took it with her, in order 
 to post it herself down at San Juan. 
 
 Mrs. Warner had given her five dollars as pocket- 
 money, to begin with, in her new position, and it 
 pleased the poor girl to think that the first little 
 portion of it she should use would be to pay for this, 
 her first letter to Philip. The letter never reached 
 him ; the reason why, I will tell you later on. She 
 carried it carefully enough down the mountains, 
 putting her hand often to the safe place where it lay, 
 as they jolted along in the large wagon. It gave 
 her pleasure to feel it, and to wonder how soon she 
 would have one from Phil again. He ought to receive 
 hers, of course, a fortnight after his own arrival at 
 home. His first letter could not reach Colorado 
 Springs for five weeks yet ; it would have to come to 
 Mr. Heath's first, and then be re-posted. She had told 
 him not to write until he landed in England ; after 
 
Mans Extremity is God's Opportunity." 183 
 
 that she was to have a letter once a fortnight until he 
 returned. 
 
 The party rested for the night at San Juan : Mrs. 
 Warner and her cousin, with Tom and Alick, at the 
 Wilsons ; Carita and Ronald, to the great comfort of 
 the former, at Mr. Grahame's. 
 
 The clergyman and his wife disapproved much of 
 Mrs. Warner's arrangements. 
 
 u It is perfectly shameful that Carita should be sent 
 to work among strangers in her weak state of health," 
 said Mrs. Grahame, whilst Carita had run over to see 
 Mr. and Mrs. Carey. " I have had a long talk with 
 the poor child, and I very much fear that long fever 
 she had has left heart disease behind." 
 
 " I thought so myself, Mary ; but what can we do 
 for her ? " 
 
 " Keep her here with us, John." 
 
 " Where would she sleep, wife ? " 
 
 The little church in San Juan was poor, and the 
 minister had only a small income and a four-roomed 
 house, including the kitchen and his study. 
 
 " It would only be for a few months, John ; she is 
 really not fit for much work, and still less for the 
 bustle and worry of a full boarding-house, during the 
 busiest months of the year. I could make the 
 
184 Candalaria. 
 
 parlour couch into a comfortable bed for her ; there 
 is still your study as a sitting-room, in case she should 
 be ill." 
 
 " Then let her stay, by all means. Here she comes, 
 looking white and tired after the long day's ride ; 
 you must send her to bed soon." 
 
 Carita and Ronald were to sleep on shake-downs 
 in the study that night. 
 
 Mrs. Grahame's proposal brought tears of grateful 
 affection into the lonely girl's eyes. What a haven 
 of rest this home with the good minister and his 
 loving wife seemed to her! How glad Phil would 
 be if he knew she was staying with them here ! and 
 father, she knew, would like it far better for her than 
 the strange boarding-house. But she had made up 
 her mind to go to the latter ; she had accepted Mrs. 
 Johnson's offer, had accustomed herself to the idea, 
 and posted her letter telling Phil all about it. Be- 
 sides which, she knew that the Grahames were poor ; 
 she would put them to some extra expense, and, 
 like the Heaths, they needed no help from her. She 
 had been so accustomed to work, that the idea of 
 four months of idleness, as it seemed to her, appeared 
 quite out of the question. 
 
 So she thanked Mrs. Grahame over and again over 
 
"Maris Extremity is God's Opportunity" 185 
 
 in her gratitude, but told her that she would rather 
 go, now it was all arranged. 
 
 "Just fancy," she added, "I am to get sixteen 
 dollars a month ! " Then she told her friend about 
 Philip and their plans for the future. 
 
 "My poor little lamb," said the motherly woman, 
 folding her in her arms as though she were still a 
 child ; " but suppose you get ill at this place to which 
 you are going." 
 
 " I have thought of that, dear ; sometimes I do 
 feel so weak and tired, but I am getting stronger, 
 and if I found it too much for me " 
 
 " You would come back to us at once, Carita ? " 
 
 " No, dear," she answered, sadly but firmly ; " you 
 would take me in, I know, and I should feel like the 
 dove coming back to the ark, but I have written to 
 Hephzibah Flanigan ; you remember Hephzibah, our 
 old help? She and Denis live not far from the 
 Springs ; they are doing very well there. She was 
 always fond of me, and often helped me in the old 
 school-days, so I have asked her to come and see 
 me soon ; then, if I get weaker again, I can go and 
 stay with her until they all go home." 
 
 Neither Mrs. Grahame nor herj.husband could turn 
 Carita from her purpose; rinding that, they wisely 
 
1 86 Candalarta. 
 
 tried to encourage and strengthen her, and many a 
 little article which they thought might be of use to her 
 was slipped into her trunk before she left their house. 
 
 When Mrs. Warner's plans had been definitely 
 settled, Carita had gone down to Mr. Heath's to tell 
 them where she was going, and to give her address 
 to Joy. As she went down the hill, the fact of her 
 want of a second name recurred to her mind most 
 painfully. How should her letter be addressed ? 
 With the San Juan people she had always been 
 " Warner's Carita," with the Grahames and the 
 Careys simply Carita. So far she had needed no 
 other name; but now she was going out into the 
 world, it was a different matter. She confided her 
 trouble to Mrs. Heath and Joy. 
 
 "Really, mother, it was too thoughtless of Mr. 
 Warner, was it not, giving her just the one name 
 and nothing more ? Fancy addressing a letter, 
 ' Carita, at Mrs. Johnson's,' like they used to address 
 one of our maids in Liverpool, sometimes." 
 
 " It was a mistake, dear ; your father shall go and 
 talk to Mrs. Warner about it ; she will take it from 
 him better than from me." 
 
 He went up to Elk Lodge the same evening, and 
 spoke his mind very freely to Eleanor. 
 
"Mans Extremity is God's Opportimity" 187 
 
 " If you are determined to send the girl out into 
 the world whilst your husband is away, you might 
 at least let her have the shelter of his name," he said. 
 
 Eleanor inwardly resented his interference, but she 
 admitted the reasonableness of what he said, and told 
 Carita that henceforth she must call herself by their 
 family name. So when they arrived at Manitou, the 
 depot for Colorado Springs, Mrs. Bombasin intro- 
 duced her to Mrs. Johnson, who came to meet them 
 there, as Carita Warner, which saved Carita any 
 after embarrassment on this point. 
 
 Ronnie clung about her neck at parting, quite in- 
 consolable; he had always been loving with her. 
 Alick's attention was diverted by a lad who came 
 round the cars with strawberries and ice cream. Tom 
 insisted on going outside the depot to see Carita 
 safely inside Mrs. Johnson's buggy, which that lady 
 pointed out to them with some pride, although the con- 
 ductor threatened to leave him behind if he did so. 
 
 Mrs. Warner kissed her adopted daughter, for the 
 second time that Carita could remember ; her trunk 
 was given into the care of the express man, and she 
 found herself seated beside Mrs. Johnson, driving 
 rapidly to the Temple of Health. 
 
 It was really a very pleasant-looking abode, this 
 
1 88 Candalana. 
 
 Temple, with broad verandas all round, and a garden 
 which would some day be very pretty in front ; on 
 the whole, too, she was favourably impressed by her 
 new friend's appearance. Like most women who 
 have had a hard struggle of it in the West for some 
 years, she was hard-featured and plain-looking, as 
 though she had had her face sharply set to the wind 
 for a long time ; but there was no unkindness in the 
 lines about the eyes and mouth. That she was now 
 a prosperous lady of " means," her handsome dress 
 and smart new buggy showed. 
 
 " Take off your hat quickly, and don't stop to 
 prink," she said, as soon as they alighted ; " it's most 
 dinner-time, and you must sit next to me to-night." 
 
 As Mrs. Bombasin had said, Carita was treated 
 like one of the family, and no more menial work was 
 expected of her than Mrs. Johnson did herself. Ah 
 Sing did all the cooking, assisted by a small Chinese 
 boy, called Ah Fat, who made a very clever little 
 waiter at table. 
 
 Carita's duties were chiefly to keep an eye on Ah 
 Fat, to attend to the bedrooms, assisted by an Irish 
 girl ; to look after the comforts of the invalid 
 boarders, and to take charge of the linen and plate. 
 
 It was a very strange life to her at first, and she 
 
A clever little waiter at table." — P(%>e*Lf$8. 
 
"Maris Extremity is God's Opportunity." 189 
 
 felt very bewildered by the many faces round her. 
 The ladies — most of them — seemed, to her unsophisti- 
 cated nature, foolish and unnatural in their manners. 
 They amazed her by the different way in which they 
 talked to and of one another, and their behaviour 
 towards the gentlemen was curious to her, inex- 
 perienced as she was in the arts of "civilized " society. 
 These latter were most uninteresting in her opinion, 
 with the exception of one poor fellow who had come 
 from England, far gone in consumption. With him 
 she talked frankly and freely, whenever she had time, 
 without noting or heeding the heartless and stupid 
 insinuations of some of the ladies. 
 
 Her thoughtful little acts of kindness were as water 
 in a thirsty land to Edward Arundel, and they raised 
 up for her a new friend who was destined perhaps 
 to influence Carita's future somewhat. 
 
 This was Doctor Starkwetter, once the leading 
 physician in San Francisco, whom, fortunately for 
 Colorado, the quest of personal health had now 
 drawn to the Manitou region. 
 
 Meeting the young Irish " help," Bridget, who was 
 a recent importation from the old country, down by 
 the road one morning, the doctor asked her what she 
 meant, strong and sturdy as she was, by allowing 
 
1 90 Candalaria. 
 
 Miss Warner to lift and carry the heavy baskets of 
 household linen from room to room, as he had ob- 
 served she did. 
 
 " Faith, an' it's herself ye'll have to be sayin' that 
 same to, docther. It's wearin' herself out entirely, she 
 is, wid lookin' afther them two haythens, Ah Sing 
 and Ah Fat. Saints presarve us ! but wasn't it me 
 own self caught them spitting on that same linen to- 
 day, when they was ironing of it ? " 
 
 " Not on the sheets, Bridget," said the doctor, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Faith, and 'twas worse then, docther, for 'twas 
 on the misthress's best white gown." 
 
 Bridget was a good-natured girl, and taking the 
 doctor's injunctions to heart, she spared Carita hence- 
 forth all the labour she could. The time might have 
 passed pleasantly enough, on the whole, had it not been 
 for that longing for news of Philip. Week after week 
 passed by, and no letter came. At last she summoned 
 up courage to write and tell her anxieties to her 
 friends on Pepperbox Flat, and soon she received a 
 letter from Joy, saying that they were wondering that 
 there was not one to send on to her, but mother said 
 she must not be anxious or distressed, for Mrs. Emer- 
 son might be dying when he arrived, and Philip have 
 
"Maris Extremity is God's Opportunity." 191 
 
 omitted to post his letter, or it might have been lost 
 on the way, as several of theirs had been since they 
 came. When, however, another fortnight passed, and 
 still no word came from him who was night and day 
 in her thoughts, poor Carita's heart sank within her, 
 sick with the sore sickness of hope deferred. She 
 had written three times herself — twice since com- 
 ing to the Springs, in the first letter giving her 
 lover so cheery an account of herself and her sur- 
 roundings that she felt sure he would not be anxious 
 about her health or annoyed about her position. 
 What could have happened ? If he had not arrived 
 safely, surely his people at home would have written 
 to Mr. Heath. Then the belief that his father and 
 mother had urged him to give her up began to force 
 itself on her poor loving heart. They would be sure 
 to wish him to stay in England, and she, the portion- 
 less Mexican, Carita, was not a suitable wife for him. 
 
 If she could only hide her wound and be quiet, she 
 thought, away from the talk and bustle of all these 
 people, in some sheltered spot where she could rest 
 until father came. 
 
 The memory of those hours under the aspens by 
 the stream came back again and again, their sweet- 
 ness mingled with bitter pain. 
 
1 9 2 Candalaria. 
 
 She had heard no news of Mr. Warner either. 
 Eleanor had only written two short notes; she was 
 absorbed in the distractions of Denver life, and said 
 that as they would so soon be all together at home 
 again, there was no need to write more. She would 
 write again to tell her when to join them at the 
 Manitou depot. 
 
 Carita had never written to Stephen, Mrs. Warner 
 not having encouraged her to do it, so she did not 
 think of doing so now ; besides, it would be too late 
 — he might have left those islands by this time. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 THE GARDEN OF THE GODS. 
 
 N 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE GARDEN OF THE GODS. 
 
 T^OCTOR STARKWETTER had a talk with 
 ^-^ Mrs. Johnson as well as with Bridget, and the 
 result of this was that Carita was often sent out to 
 drive with Edward Arundel, instead of sitting in- 
 doors sewing and mending. Her companion did not 
 find her very talkative, however ; and when they sent 
 back the buggy to the Springs, as they often did for 
 an hour or two, each would take a book, or follow his 
 and her own thoughts whilst they rested on the close 
 dry grass of the prairie, over which the cattle from 
 the township wandered and fed. 
 
 Sometimes Carita seemed unable to keep her eyes 
 from travelling wistfully across the wide stretch of 
 prairie which seemed to roll like the ocean in endless 
 waves into illimitable distances, and which produced 
 in her the same vague yearnings to get at something 
 
 195 
 
196 Candalaria. 
 
 beyond which we feel when we stand on our Western 
 shore. 
 
 " You remind me of a verse of Shelley's," said her 
 companion one day, as she sat thus, lost in reverie. 
 
 " Why ? " she asked, rousing herself with an effort. 
 
 " Because you seem to ■ look before and after, and 
 pine for what is not.' " 
 
 The tears started into the large, dark eyes. Just 
 then, a vision of Philip riding the bay horse, on which 
 he always came to Elk Ranch, had suggested itself 
 to her longing fancy. She had been turning her gaze 
 towards the direction where she knew the ranch, on 
 which he had spent the last winter and spring, lay ; 
 and she had pictured him to herself, riding swiftly 
 across the plain towards her, his face eager and 
 bright, and the love-light in his eyes. 
 
 "I am a foolish dreamer, Edward," she said, pre- 
 sently. The two called each other by their Christian 
 names now, when they were alone. " You have just 
 that same far-away look in your own eyes often," she 
 added. 
 
 " But not the ' pining,' Carita. Thank God, that 
 has all been taken out of my heart some months now. 
 I often wonder what it is that makes you so sad and 
 wistful-looking. Forget that I am a man, Carrie, and 
 
The Garden of the Gods. 197 
 
 tell me all about it ; a poor sick fellow like I am 
 ought to have some privileges, and I should think 
 it one to be able to comfort you a little. If I were 
 likely to get better, I should want to be something 
 more ; but as it is, I am a very safe comforter, Carrie." 
 
 The gentle, half-sad tone in which he said this 
 touched the girl's heart. She was very lonely, and it 
 would have been a relief to her if she could have 
 poured her griefs into some true friendly bosom. At 
 first she was tempted to do this by the sympathy 
 which lay in voice and eyes so near to her; but as she 
 considered how she should begin with the tale of her 
 sorrows, the thought of the money transactions with 
 which it commenced and the sense of humiliation and 
 shame a woman feels who sees her love neglected and 
 cast back, so to speak, into her own bosom, stopped 
 the words rising to her lips, and they seemed to form 
 a load on her chest and a lump in her throat which 
 almost suffocated her. Then the old trouble at her 
 heart made itself felt, and her hand went instinctively 
 to the seat of pain. 
 
 Edward Arundel laid his hand gently on the other 
 hand which lay near him. 
 
 " Don't trouble, dear," he said gently, " and don't 
 talk again for a little while. Perhaps some experiences 
 
198 Candalaria. 
 
 of my own make me guess at the nature of the grief 
 you can share with no one. As soon as you feel 
 better, I will tell you something of my own story." 
 
 " I am better already. Tell me now ; we shall have 
 to go back soon ; the sun is beginning to colour the 
 rocks yonder ; it will be too cold for you here, very 
 soon." 
 
 "My home is in Cheshire, near Liverpool," he 
 began. 
 
 Carita started as he said this, and looked at him 
 with such a quick glance of increased interest, that 
 Arundel stopped and said, — 
 
 " No, it won't do, I see. I will tell you all about 
 myself some other time." 
 
 " I want you to go on now, Edward." 
 
 " But why did you start so ? " 
 
 " Because I know some one else who lives near 
 Liverpool," answered Carita, flushing a little, and then 
 turning pale. 
 
 " What is the name of that some one, Carrie ? " 
 
 The hand went to the side again. 
 
 So the trouble lies in that direction, thought the 
 young man. 
 
 " Never mind, you can tell me some other time. 
 Let us think of something else. Do you know what 
 
The Garden of the Gods. 199 
 
 lies over yonder, within those mountains just over the 
 upright walls of rock standing out in the evening 
 sun ? " 
 
 " No ; I have never been out so far from the Springs 
 before," replied Carita, in a listless tone. She would 
 rather have heard more about Cheshire just then. 
 
 " There is a lovely little natural park surrounded 
 by mountains. They call it the Garden of the Gods." 
 
 " What a name, Edward ! Is it very beautiful ? " 
 
 " So they say ; I have not been there yet, though 
 several camping parties to explore it have been got 
 up since I came to the Temple. I have often 
 looked at the entrance from yonder rise in the plains 
 there ; its name and the narrow gate formed by those 
 huge rocks have a fascination for me. It makes me 
 think of the hymn, ' O Paradise, O Paradise.' I know 
 you read the Bible, Carrie ; I have noticed that in my 
 quiet way." 
 
 u Ah, I know," said Carita, quickly ; "you think of 
 1 The Lord God planted a garden in Eden.' " 
 
 " Yes, and the old Greek translation translates the 
 word ' garden ' by ( Paradise.' Well, I have often lain 
 out here alone, and thought how beautiful it must be 
 inside there ; that perhaps a clear mountain stream 
 runs through the garden, with trees on either side, 
 
200 Caudal aria. 
 
 which I imagine to be like those whose leaves are for 
 1 the healing of the nations.' The high mountains you 
 see shut the garden in on every side from the keen 
 piercing winds which are so dreadful to a poor sick 
 chap like me ; and ( no hurtful thing is there.' " 
 
 " I see no way into it, though," said Carita. Her 
 companion's expression of face, and his tones, as he 
 talked of the river and the trees, moved her so that 
 she forgot her personal griefs, and looked intently to- 
 wards this " Garden of the Gods," a beautiful spot, 
 well known to all travellers in Colorado. 
 
 "The entrance is narrow and the rocks are straight, 
 Carrie, like the way and the gate that lead to life. 
 From here they seem almost to meet. And that 
 makes me think of a Latin phrase which I learned in 
 my school days, ( Per angustam ad augustam,' that 
 means, * Through the narrow to the beautiful.' " 
 
 The girl grasped all the meaning that lay in the 
 man's thoughts and words. Did the way to the beau- 
 tiful for both of them indeed lie in the narrow, painful 
 path of difficulty over which her feet had stumbled 
 and bled ? 
 
 A light in Edward's face, which was a reflection of 
 that light which comes not from this earth's sun, was 
 reflected also in her large, dark eyes, and lit up her 
 
The Garden of the Gods. 201 
 
 pale face. She took hold of her friend's hand again, 
 and gazing still towards the rocks, she said, "And 
 look, do look at the dark red of one ridge of rocks 
 and the pure white of the other. ' Red like crimson 
 and white as snow,' " she added, in a low voice, as 
 though speaking to herself. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 PHIL. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 PHIL. 
 
 "To be wroth with those we love 
 Doth work like madness in the brain." 
 
 TI 7 HEN Philip Emerson reached Liverpool, his 
 brother William met him with the good news 
 of his mother's unexpected recovery. She was still 
 very weak, and for some days after Phil's most 
 welcome arrival he found it best not to excite her 
 with any talk about the future which he was planning 
 for himself with Carita. 
 
 When, at last, he did venture to broach the subject, 
 the mother's anxious heart was filled with fears and 
 misgivings as to whether this girl, of whose parentage 
 so little was known, and who had been brought up in 
 those Western wilds — as she imagined them — was, 
 indeed, all her son believed her to be. 
 
 Phil promised to show her Carita's first letter to 
 205 
 
206 Candalana. 
 
 him. It cost him something to do this. The first 
 letter that the poor, lonely girl would write, he felt, 
 ought to be sacred ; and yet he trusted to her sweet, 
 pure nature so implicitly, that he knew she would 
 only commend herself even to his mother's critical 
 eyes by anything she would write to him. 
 
 But alas, for poor Carita ! She had acted very un- 
 wisely in not following her lover's injunctions more 
 exactly. Philip had bade her give her letter to Mr. 
 Heath, who was to enclose and re-address it. In- 
 stead of doing this, she had, as I said before, taken 
 special pride in addressing and posting her first love- 
 letter herself j and as she put " Philip Emerson " on 
 the cover, without the important addition of the word 
 "junior," it fell into the unsympathetic hands of Philip 
 Emerson, senior, — for father and son had the same 
 Christian name. 
 
 Mr. Emerson happened to be alone in the library 
 when the mail bag came in the morning Carita's 
 letter arrived. 
 
 " Whose scrawling, womanish handwriting is this ? " 
 he said to himself. "San Juan the postmark." 
 Then tearing it open and seeing " My own dear Phil," 
 
 and at the end, "Your loving Carita " "Some 
 
 entanglement Philip has got into out yonder," he 
 
cert 
 r c c c 
 
Phil. 207 
 
 muttered ; and hearing Philip's footsteps in the hall, 
 he crushed the letter into his pocket. 
 
 " Nothing for me ? " said poor Phil, as he glanced 
 at the covers of the letters. 
 
 " Did you expect anything special ? " asked his 
 father, somewhat more sternly, Phil thought, than the 
 occasion demanded. 
 
 " Yes ; it is one of the American mail days, and 
 I expected a letter from Colorado." 
 
 " On business, I suppose ? " said his father, drily. 
 
 " No ; from a friend, sir," answered the young man, 
 nettled at his father's tone, and disappointed as well. 
 
 He had promised his mother, against his con- 
 victions and inclination, not to write to Carita until 
 he had Carita's promised letter. Then Mrs. Emerson 
 said she would represent the facts of the case as 
 favourably as she could to his father, and Philip 
 would be able to write more definitely, and also to 
 give kindly messages from his people to his betrothed. 
 
 This was the way the mother put it to him, and 
 she was in very weak health still, and must not^—the 
 doctor had told Phil — be agitated or excited for fear 
 of relapse. So the poor fellow felt bound to yield to 
 her wishes in the matter ; and her husband, fearing 
 also to worry and distress her, kept Carita's letter to 
 
208 Candalaria. 
 
 himself, and made up his mind that Philip should not 
 return to Colorado if he could prevent it. He fumed 
 much in secret over its contents. The name " Carita " 
 made him angry and suspicious, to begin with. He 
 even feared she might be some coloured girl ; and the 
 way in which she told her lover of her engagement at 
 the Temple of Health, as well as the doubts which 
 the poor girl expressed lest Phil's friends should 
 disapprove of his returning to marry her, made Mr. 
 Emerson determined that his son should be prevented 
 from forming what he believed would be an unsuit- 
 able and even disreputable connection. A feeling 
 the reverse of sympathy filled his mind, each mail 
 morning, as he noticed the deepening disappointment 
 on his son's face. He determined next to make him 
 settle down at home, and to offer him every induce- 
 ment and facility towards marrying into one of the 
 county families in the neighbourhood of Dunwood, 
 his own property in Cheshire. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson, on her side, implored Philip to be 
 patient a little longer. A week later he received a 
 letter from Mr. Heath, saying that he enclosed none 
 from Carita, as she said she was posting one herself 
 at San Juan. " She will have told you, poor girl, of 
 the break up at Elk Ranch, and of the engagement 
 
PhiU 209 
 
 she thought fit to make. We did not like or approve 
 of it, but she would not be dissuaded from it. They 
 are not likely to be up here again, I fancy, as Warner 
 writes me that he has decided to settle down in San 
 Francisco." 
 
 Philip did not appear at the breakfast-table the 
 morning he received this letter. He had his horse 
 saddled, left a message for his mother, to say that he 
 would not be back until late in the day, and then 
 rode off at a mad pace to some woods about five 
 miles away, where he fastened his horse to a tree, 
 as he used to do in the Colorado mountains when 
 he went to see Carita. 
 
 He flung himself on the turf and gave way to the 
 passion that filled him. So she was false to him, 
 after all ; for the word " engaged " only suggested 
 one idea to the morbid mind which had been growing 
 in him from not hearing from her, and now he was 
 filled with jealousy and distrust. 
 
 And to whom could she have become engaged ? 
 He thought of the very few men's names he had ever 
 heard mentioned at Elk Ranch or Pepperbox Flat, 
 but they suggested no likely lover or husband for 
 Carita. Then he remembered Mrs. Bombasin, who 
 had arrived just before he left. It was some low 
 
 O 
 
210 Candalaria. 
 
 fellow from Chicago she had brought about the place, 
 most probably. Phil ground his teeth and clenched 
 his hands as he imagined the innocent girl h.$ loved 
 corrupted, and perhaps deceived, by some idle scamp. 
 
 By-and-by a fit of tenderness came over him ; he 
 seemed to see her trustful, loving eyes looking with 
 reproach at him, and to feel her clinging fingers 
 wound in his. The strong man actually began to 
 sob, and hot tears, the first he had shed in his man- 
 hood, sprang into his eyes. Just then his horse 
 began to neigh, impatient of its tether and thinking 
 of its mid-day meal. This roused Phil, so that he 
 started to his feet, shook himself, and, mounting again, 
 rode to a village inn a mile distant, where he gave 
 his horse up to the ostler and went into the house. 
 
 " What will you take, sir ? " asked the landlady. 
 
 He had not meant to take anything. Since the 
 day he first met Carita and Joy Heath he had taken 
 no strong drink. He had before associated with a 
 set of men whom since that time he had shunned ; 
 and, finding himself better in health, instead of worse, 
 for his abstinence, he had continued to abstain, in 
 spite of his father's remonstrances and his brother's 
 sneering objections. 
 
 To-day, at the woman's words, "What will you 
 
Phil. 2 1 i 
 
 take, sir ? " the old man within tempted him fiercely. 
 He would drink ; yes, drink, and forget his love 
 and Carita's falseness. So he called for brandy, 
 and threw himself into an easy chair within the 
 inn parlour. 
 
 His family were well known in this village. Before 
 Mrs. Pratt, the landlady, came in with the brandy, 
 Phil heard the wheels of a passing carriage and the 
 sounds of a pair of trotting horses, whilst a loud, 
 rough voice at the bar called out to some one outside, 
 " Them's Squire Emerson's new horses." 
 
 Philip jumped up and went to the window. His 
 
 mother was driving past, propped up with pillows ; 
 
 she was alone, and her face, he saw, looked anxious 
 
 and sad. 
 
 " Just as I was going to make a beast of myself," 
 
 he muttered ; and he threw down half a crown and 
 
 went out of the house, leaving the spirits untouched. 
 He stood outside looking after the carriage, whilst 
 
 Mrs. Pratt wondered what had come to him. 
 
 " Summat wrong's up at Dunwood, I doubt," said 
 
 the man drinking at the bar. "Squire Emerson's 
 
 missis just drove by, and young mester theere, 
 
 standing donderin' loike i' the middle o* the road. 
 
 Summat wrong's agate, I tell ye." 
 
2 1 2 Candalaria. 
 
 When his horse had had its feed, Philip rode off 
 into the woods again. There he stayed thinking, 
 until it was time to go home, if he intended to dine 
 that evening ; and he began now to feel somewhat 
 hungry. He could not eat much, however, when he 
 did sit down ; and his pale, set face told his mother 
 that he was out of sorts and unhappy. 
 
 " Tell me all about it, my boy," she begged, when 
 he led her, as he always did, from the dining-room 
 into her own little sanctum. 
 
 Placing her in her easy chair, Phil lay down on the 
 rug at her feet, and the tender-hearted mother drew 
 her son's head towards her, until it rested on her 
 knee, as it had so often done when he knew little of 
 any love save her own. 
 
 " Tell me all about it, Phil, darling," she said again, 
 gently. 
 
 " It's all up, mother ; I had a letter to-day from 
 Colorado." 
 
 "From her, Phil?" 
 
 " No ; from our friend Heath. No, she did not 
 write to me," he added, bitterly ; " she has thrown me 
 over for some one else, mother. Her people have left 
 the place where I knew them, and gone I don't know 
 where, Don't ask me anything more, mother, I 
 
Phil. 213 
 
 know no more, and I never wish to hear of them 
 again." 
 
 She said nothing, though her heart ached for 
 her boy's grief and disappointment. For some time 
 she was uneasy about him, seeing him restless and 
 moody. On the whole, however, she thought it was 
 well the affair had ended. The thought of this 
 Mexican girl had not been agreeable to her ; and now 
 that Carita had, as she believed, proved unfaithful to 
 Philip, she felt that her doubts and fears about the 
 connection were justified. The girl would have been 
 no fit wife for her Philip. By-and-by he would see 
 this himself, and be glad that he had escaped from an 
 entanglement. She would then help him to choose 
 some one more suitable — one of those sweet girls at 
 Lea, perhaps ; they should be invited over to stay 
 a few days at Dunwood as soon as possible. 
 
 When Philip answered Mr. Heath's letter, he made 
 no allusion whatever to Carita ; nor did he say 
 whether he intended to return to Colorado at the end 
 of three months, as he had proposed doing when 
 he left for England. His letter was dry and short, 
 vexing Joy and her mother much. This was why, in 
 writing to her friend, Joy made no mention of him. 
 
 The fact was, he had not yet made up his mind. 
 
214 Candalaria. 
 
 When his father asked him what his ideas as to the 
 future were, the sarcastic tone in which the question 
 was put made him angry — unreasonably so ; and 
 he replied he had none at all at present ; and as both 
 father and mother knew what was the matter with 
 him, although neither spoke to the other of what was 
 uppermost in their minds, they left him at liberty to 
 indulge his morbid and bitter fancies, in the hope 
 that time and absence would work a cure. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 WITHIN THE GATES. 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WITHIN THE GATES. 
 
 " Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood, 
 Stand drest in living green." 
 
 FEEL so well to-day, Carita," said Edward 
 Arundel, one morning, late in September ; " and 
 I have set my heart on a ride with you, — if not right 
 through the Garden of the Gods, at any rate up 
 to the gates thereof. What do you say, will you ride 
 with me ? " 
 
 " In the ambulance ? " 
 
 " The ambulance ? No, indeed ! ■ Ride,' I said, not 
 ' drive ; ' we English make a distinction there ; you 
 Americans say 'ride* for driving, riding, or rowing 
 indiscriminately. No, I mean to ride to-day, so be 
 kind and get ready as soon as you can ; the day is 
 perfect, there is no wind to hurt my poor old breath- 
 ing pipes." 
 
 217 
 
2 1 8 Candalaria. 
 
 " I have a great deal to do in the house this morn- 
 ing," objected Carita. 
 
 " I'll make that all right with Mrs. Johnson and 
 Bridget ; be kind and come." 
 
 " I don't think horseback exercise is good for you, 
 Edward. Let us take the buggy, if you do not like 
 the ambulance." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense, O wise young woman ! I 
 mean to ride, whether you go with me or not." 
 
 " Go with him, Carrie," said Mrs. Johnson ; " I don't 
 suppose it will hurt him if you ride gently ; and you 
 will perhaps be a check on him, so that he will ride 
 more quietly," she added, when the young man's 
 back was turned. 
 
 He had one of those turns so common to consump- 
 tive patients, which often prove fatally deceptive to 
 themselves, as well as to those who love them : the 
 momentarily brighter flickering of a flame which will 
 soon be extinguished. 
 
 Away the pair rode, starting side by side at a 
 gentle pace, Carita looking so attractive in her simple 
 riding dress, on Mrs. Johnson's well-kept little 
 broncho, that Miss Smart and Miss Flint, two angular 
 rich young women, come from the East to " flirt round 
 out West," as their acquaintances said, became quite 
 
Within the Gates. 2 1 9 
 
 spiteful in their comments as they stood with two of 
 the "gentlemen boarders on the veranda, in the shade 
 of the morning glories, which crept and flowered 
 luxuriantly up the trellis-work. 
 
 Soon the horses began to " lope," as they call the 
 delightful ambling canter common to half-Mexican 
 horses ; the warm colour came into Carita's pale 
 cheeks, and her dark eyes shone like stars. Her 
 companion noted the change, and a sudden longing 
 to have her always at his side — a feeling as though 
 her constant nearness would bring or communicate 
 electricity, and with it help and gladness again — came 
 over him, making him pull in rein ; and, as the horses 
 paced once more slowly over the soft turf, he became 
 absorbed in this new r idea. 
 
 Why should he not try to make this girl love 
 him ? He knew nothing of her family, but she was 
 sweet and good herself, he was sure of that. And 
 she was lonely, too, he saw. Three months she 
 had been at the Temple, and very few letters had 
 been received by her ; he had noted that fact also. 
 His mother was dead ; and his father, a clergyman 
 in Cheshire, and a kind, large-hearted man, would, 
 he knew, take kindly to so good a wife as Carita 
 would make. He felt very well to-day. She was 
 
220 Candalaria. 
 
 not strong, but with care and a happy, easy life, 
 such as he could give her in England, she would 
 be stronger. His father was coming to see him next 
 month ; then, if Carita would listen to him, all might 
 be settled. 
 
 The girl beside him little guessed what was passing 
 through the mind of her friend. Her own absorbing 
 love made her entirely unsuspicious that she might 
 waken love in any of the men round her. When 
 a woman loves, the instinct which warns her of 
 another love fails her most. 
 
 " Why are you so quiet ? " she asked, presently. 
 " You are tired ; we must not lope any more. Your 
 face is quite white," she added, as he turned to look 
 at her more intently, wondering whether he should 
 give her any idea of what was in his thoughts. 
 
 "Would you like to go to England, Carita?" he 
 said, without noticing her words. 
 
 To England, where Phil was ! The idea brought 
 such a flush of colour into her face ; the cheeks were 
 rosy before with exercise, but now, brow, neck, and 
 ears burned. She could not answer, and poor Edward 
 misreading the signs of feeling, a new hope came 
 into his heart ; he would say more, he thought, when 
 they reached the Garden of the Gods, where they 
 
Within the Gates, 221 
 
 would rest awhile, instead of turning back at the 
 gates, as Mrs. Johnson had advised. 
 
 Alas ! by the time the gates were reached, the sky 
 above them was suddenly overcast. The mountains 
 in front of them had prevented their noticing some 
 black clouds that now broke in a sudden, tremendous 
 shower of great hailstones, some of them as large as 
 a small egg. 
 
 Such sudden storms come sometimes, in those parts 
 at the time of the equinox, and their strength and 
 fury are tremendous while the gale lasts. The two 
 sheltered behind a wall of rock. An hour passed, 
 and Edward Arundel began to shiver in the damp 
 shadow. Carita, too, feared that she felt symptoms 
 of her old foe, rheumatism. 
 
 How unfortunate they were! If only they had 
 been in the ambulance, or even the little buggy, they 
 could have covered themselves with the bear-skins 
 always spread over the seats. 
 
 There was no help for it. When the hail had 
 stopped, with a sad, rueful look into the Garden of 
 the Gods, they gave rein to the horses, who were glad 
 to turn homewards, and away they rode, hardly 
 exchanging a word until they reached the Temple. 
 
 " No earthly paradise with nectar and ambrosia, 
 
222 Candalaria. 
 
 ' drink divine/ for me, Carita," said the young man, 
 sadly, as, tired, wet, and exhausted though he was, 
 he helped her down from the saddle. 
 
 She little knew how much meaning lay in his 
 words ; but her anxiety lest he had taken fresh cold 
 and might have a severe relapse, made her more 
 tender even than usual in the little offices she was 
 wont to perform for him, when he came in from his 
 drives or rides. 
 
 The following morning he was too ill to rise at all. 
 Dr. Starkwetter was sent for, and he confirmed all 
 Carita's fears. " It is a case of acute pneumonia," he 
 said, gravely, going into Mrs. Johnson's private 
 sitting-room. " Did I not hear that the young man's 
 father was coming soon ? If he is not better this 
 evening, you should send a cablegram to tell him 
 there is no time to lose if he would see his son 
 alive." 
 
 Carita could hardly be induced to leave the sick- 
 room, until Mrs. Johnson persuaded her that it was 
 better for the sufferer to have an older nurse, at any 
 rate part of the time. She sat beside his bed one 
 evening, his thin wasted hand in hers, and his large 
 dark-blue eyes gazing full into her own. 
 
 " I had such a heavenly dream this afternoon, 
 
Within the Gates. 223 
 
 Carrie," he said. " I thought I was riding swiftly and 
 easily over yonder to the Garden, into which I wanted 
 to take you. The air was soft and sweet, and I 
 seemed to be hastening on to find 'the tree whose 
 leaves are for the healing of the nations.' I read 
 those two chapters at the end of the Bible to my 
 mother when she was dying, and I had been thinking 
 of them before I fell asleep." 
 
 He stopped exhausted ; then after a little, seeing 
 the tears fall fast from Carita's pale face, — 
 
 " Don't cry, dear ; don't cry ! Do you know, I 
 thought that day we rode together, that I was going 
 to get better ; and that if I did I could perhaps have 
 made you love me, and so have made life brighter 
 for both of us. Don't turn away from me, dear," he 
 added, sadly, noting a little movement she made on 
 hearing his last words ; " my love cannot harm any 
 one now." 
 
 Carita replaced her hand in his, and laying her 
 head down wearily on his pillow, told him he must 
 not talk any more, it would hurt him. 
 
 They remained quiet for a little while ; the sun, 
 setting in a glory of crimson and gold, sent long, 
 slanting rays into the room, and the eyes of the 
 young man followed them out westward. 
 
224 Candalaria. 
 
 " At eventide there shall be light," he murmured. 
 " Will you kiss me, Carita ; then I will go to sleep 
 again." 
 
 It was to the girl as though a solemn, holy presence 
 filled the room. She stood gazing at him a moment, 
 and bending over him she kissed the wan, wistful 
 lips, tenderly, lovingly, once ; then again, saying, 
 " This is for your sister, Edward." 
 
 The poor fellow smiled faintly, "And father," he 
 whispered. So they two stood beside Jordan. 
 
 Then he lay back, turning his face over towards 
 where Carita sat ; and when Mrs. Johnson came into 
 the room an hour later, she found he had passed 
 through the gates in gentle slumber, whilst Carita, 
 worn out with anxiety and watchings, lay with her 
 head against his pillow, fast asleep. 
 
Oh, I will have the rest later on,' said he." — Page 224. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 A NEW FRIEND. 
 
 225 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 
 
 T^R. STARK WETTER said the end had come 
 ^^^ even sooner than he expected. "It was so 
 often in these cases," he added, and it was merciful 
 when it happened ; phlegm rising in the throat during 
 sleep was the immediate cause. Had he lived longer 
 it would have only been to suffer more. For himself 
 it was far better, but it was sad for the poor father, 
 who, travelling as rapidly as it was possible to do, 
 could only arrive at the Springs in time to commit 
 all that was left of his son to the grave. 
 
 He found Carita, about whom Edward had spoken 
 much in his letters home, and towards whom his 
 bereaved heart now turned in grateful kindness, 
 ill in bed with a fever caused by weakness and 
 sorrow. 
 
 He helped Mrs. Johnson to nurse and watch by 
 the bedside of the girl who had shed some brightness 
 
 227 
 
228 Candalana. 
 
 over the last months of his son's life ; and by the 
 time Carita had got better — as, thanks to Dr. Stark- 
 wetter's skill, she did after three weeks had passed 
 away, and Mr. Arundel was obliged to return to his 
 parish duties — he had grown so fond of her that he 
 meditated taking her to England with him to be a 
 companion to his one motherless daughter. 
 
 " I don't suppose her friends will make any objec- 
 tion," said Mrs. Johnson, to whom he communicated 
 his idea. " I've come to love the poor child very 
 much myself, but I fear I must get some one a little 
 stronger to help me here next summer. I should be 
 glad to think she had a happy home and some one 
 to care for her. It's most time her folks were passing 
 through this way again ; they spoke of fetching her 
 away in October, and to-morrow will be the first of 
 November." 
 
 As Carita got better, it was towards Stephen 
 Warner that her thoughts turned most longingly, for 
 she had never doubted his love and care for her, and 
 felt sure that, as soon as he returned from those far- 
 away islands and missed her, he would come and 
 take her home to himself again. And it was towards 
 this parental love, strong and tender but less passion- 
 ate, more restful and less agitating and exacting, that 
 
A New Friend, 229 
 
 her heart turned as she lay resting in the long bamboo 
 chair, day after day, out on the veranda. What 
 would father say if his little daughter, as he used to 
 call her, were to die before he got home ? Ah, no ! 
 she must try to get better for his sake and the boys'. 
 
 Stephen Warner was just then only within a few 
 days' journey of Colorado Springs, getting home 
 sooner than he expected. On landing in San Fran- 
 cisco, he had found a letter from Eleanor awaiting 
 him at his friend's office. It was dated from Denver, 
 and in it his wife told him that the loneliness of Elk 
 Ranch had been too much for her, so she had joined 
 an old friend here. There was not one word about 
 Carita in the letter, which annoyed him, as all the 
 others were mentioned. 
 
 When he reached the boarding-house from which 
 it was dated, and learned where she was, Tom also 
 telling him how ill she had been in the beginning 
 of the year, he was very angry, and, refusing to listen 
 to his wife's excuses and explanations, he hurried on 
 to Colorado Springs at once, telling Eleanor she 
 could follow with the boys as soon as they could get 
 ready. He took an intense dislike to Eleanor's friend, 
 the lively widow, and would not be induced to talk 
 civilly to her. 
 
230 Cci7idalaria. 
 
 Eleanor felt deeply injured, and the thought that 
 her husband should leave her at once, to go in search 
 of Carita, was most humiliating to her feelings as 
 a wife. She could not bear to encounter the looks 
 and comments of the other boarders in the house, so 
 she packed up as quickly as possible, and passing 
 Manitou depot without sending any message to 
 Stephen, went straight on up to the mountains to 
 sulk there in quiet. 
 
 It was by far the best thing she could do, and so 
 Stephen thought, when he got an affectionate scrawl 
 from his boy Tom, posted in San Juan. Yet he 
 grieved at not finding more sympathy in the mother 
 of his children, and his generous heart led him to 
 hope that a more genial, sociable life in San Fran- 
 cisco would bring about a better state of things 
 between them. 
 
 ¥fc ^ *f <$ ifc 
 
 I must leave you to picture to yourselves Carita's 
 joy when Stephen arrived at the Temple of Health. 
 
 The same evening, after she had gone to rest, Mr. 
 Arundel — who was leaving in the course of a few 
 days — Dr. Starkwetter, and Stephen sat smoking 
 together on the veranda, and Carita was the subject 
 of a long conversation. 
 
A New Friend. 231 
 
 To the clergyman's propositions to take his 
 adopted daughter home with him to England, 
 Stephen replied that nothing would persuade him 
 to give her up to any one ; though it gratified him 
 to find how much she was appreciated. 
 
 " Is there anything radically wrong with her consti- 
 tution, doctor ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nothing of any importance. She has had rheu- 
 matic fever, she tells me, and that usually leaves some 
 delicateness behind ; but with care she will live as 
 long and be as strong as most of us. I should like to 
 know her history. I have not liked to ask her to 
 tell me much, as, to speak candidly, I do not think 
 she has been very happy, although every one can see 
 how glad she is to see you again. But she is not 
 your daughter ; Mrs. Johnson told me that. I should 
 have known it, anyhow, for there is not the slightest 
 resemblance between you. Her name is a Spanish 
 one ; and from her face I can tell there is Mexican 
 blood in her veins. And yet she is not of the pure, 
 unmixed breed." 
 
 " Do you think not ? As far as I know, she is of 
 good pure Mexican descent. Refill your pipe, doctor, 
 and I will give you her story." 
 
 " I have watched our young friend very closely," 
 
232 Candalaria. 
 
 said the doctor, doing as he was bid. " She inter- 
 ested me from the first. You know I have lived over 
 twenty years in California, and have been much in 
 Mexico, and I feel sure that Carita is only Mexican 
 on one side — the mother's, probably, for I believe 
 rather in the notion that the girls in a family take 
 after the father mostly, and the boys after the 
 mother." 
 
 " Her face is purely Southern in type, however." 
 
 " So it is, but the hands and feet are not ; and her 
 character is not what you look for in a Mexican 
 woman. No, I should feel certain that her father 
 was either American or English." 
 
 " Well, listen to my story." 
 
 And Stephen Warner told how he first found the 
 poor babe hanging over the low abode hut ; and 
 afterwards of the dying Mexican woman's confession, 
 and the registry of Candalaria's adoption by Judge 
 Lynchem. 
 
 Here Dr. Starkwetter interrupted him with an 
 exclamation. 
 
 " How extraordinary ! how very extraordinary ! 
 Unless I am very much mistaken, I was at the death- 
 bed of that villain who married a Mexican lady, and 
 forsook her under pretence of seeking help for her. 
 
A New Friend. 233 
 
 In what year did you say the child was born ? and in 
 what settlement ? " 
 
 Stephen told him this. 
 
 " The very date and place ! I had not been long 
 out in California. One night a priest I knew well, a 
 good, devoted man, came to my tent — I was camp- 
 ing out up the Sacramento River — and begged me to 
 come with him to the help of a poor fellow who had 
 been shot in a fray with some roughs. I could be of 
 no use to the man, and I told him he had better look 
 to his soul, for his hours were numbered. So I left 
 him with the priest. As a last confession is, of course, 
 sacred, I never heard the whole of his story ; but one 
 part of it Father Francis did tell me, as he said it 
 might prove of importance to the living some day. 
 
 " The man was an Englishman — one who had 
 come out in the days of the first gold fever, yonder. 
 He had bad luck in his gold seeking ; and when war 
 broke out in Mexico, he went and enlisted there to 
 try his fortune that way. Falling in with another 
 Englishman, but a man, unlike himself, of good 
 family, who had become an officer in the Mexican 
 army, he made himself useful to him, and won his 
 confidence. This man's name, he said, was Grierson ; 
 but whether it was his real name or an assumed one, 
 
234 Candalaria. 
 
 he did not know. He was a good, fine fellow, but 
 had had some heavy trouble which had made him 
 give up his country and friends, and seek change and 
 excitement in war under a foreign flag. There were 
 several other Europeans engaged as officers in this 
 war. 
 
 "A Mexican general, a friend of Grierson's, was shot, 
 and Grierson married this friend's only daughter. A 
 little later Grierson, too, fell, and in dying bade his 
 faithless follower take charge of his wife, and get her 
 away to a place of safety. He tried to tell the man 
 more and to give him more definite instructions, but 
 death prevented this. 
 
 " Then the man told how he got the poor lady 
 away North, and married her, and how he forsook her, 
 leaving her in a hut at Fort Marshall, and taking 
 most of her money away with him. 
 
 " Without doubt," said Dr. Starkwetter, in conclu- 
 sion, " the baby born there was the child of this 
 Englishman Grierson, but this is probably all you 
 will ever know. The party her father and grand- 
 father fought with lost everything in that war, and 
 Grierson was probably not the Englishman's real 
 name. But now, tell me — has the poor child any 
 love troubles ? " 
 
A New Friend. 235 
 
 " None that I know of." 
 
 " Try to find out if it be so. I believe that's what 
 is chiefly the matter. An old doctor like me could 
 tell that without having seen that toy in the shape 
 of a heart which she has tied round her neck. I saw 
 it when I sounded her, when she was first took ill." 
 
 " Oh, that was the old woman's, the only thing she 
 had to restore to her. And, by the bye, the second 
 letter engraved on it is ■ G,' which would stand for 
 Grierson, and so confirm your man's story." 
 
 " Well, find out what is troubling the child's own 
 heart, Mr. Warner ; that's of more importance just 
 now than to know who her grandfathers were, espe- 
 cially as you say you do not want to part with her." 
 
 The sight of Stephen was better to the invalid 
 than all Dr. Starkwetter's tonics and Mrs. Johnson's 
 jellies, good though these were ; and one morning, 
 the day after Arundel left for his Cheshire home, 
 and the day before Carita was to start with Stephen 
 for the San Juan and Elk Ranch, he told her the 
 doctor's story, and afterwards drew from her the 
 story of her love. It enraged him to hear how this 
 man, whom he had never seen, should have won the 
 heart of his child — for as such he always considered 
 Carita — only to make light of it and to forsake her. 
 
236 Candalaria. 
 
 He set his teeth, and then went off to smoke out his 
 wrath a little before he could talk quietly with her as 
 to the future which lay before her, and which must 
 be always in his home. 
 
 What he had told her of her father had done her 
 sore heart good. It soothed and comforted her to 
 know that she came, at least on one side, from the 
 same Saxon race as did Stephen and the boys. 
 And in time she trusted God, and prayed that He 
 would strengthen her weak heart, and help her to 
 give up what was most precious in it, if such was 
 His will. Her pain was, she tried to remember, small 
 compared with what her poor mother must have 
 endured. 
 
 Still, in all her prayers, Phil's name was mentioned, 
 so there was not much chance of her love being 
 forgotten. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 "TAKE JOY HOME." 
 
 237 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "TAKE JOY HOME." 
 
 "Take Joy home 
 
 Then will she come and oft will sing to thee 
 When thou art working in the furrows." 
 
 Jean Ingelow. 
 
 TT is the end of April, and the time has come for 
 the bursting of buds long closed and folded up 
 within themselves by reason of the snows and frosts 
 of winter, and for the singing of birds as they twitter 
 joyfully, and busily flit from bough to bough, choos- 
 ing cosy, pleasant places wherein to build their warm 
 little nests. 
 
 Spring is here, a little late in these high latitudes, 
 but how welcome to Carita as she trips about feeding 
 the " bosses," as they call the young cattle out West, 
 counting the chickens, racing with Ronnie, and sing- 
 ing hymns out of the fulness of her glad heart down 
 on Pepperbox Flat on Sunday evenings. 
 
 Spring has come, and Philip is coming ! What 
 239 
 
240 Candalaria. 
 
 more could Carita wish for ? Only to see the father 
 a little happier and Mrs. Warner sweeter and brighter. 
 There is some hope even of that now, for after one 
 more harvest on Elk Ranch they are to leave the 
 lonely mountains and to go to a city home, more to 
 Eleanor's liking. After all, as some one said long ago, 
 cats will never learn to burrow in the ground, nor 
 
 rabbits to run up trees. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I must go back a little and tell you how it was that 
 Philip is coming home to the mountains and to Carita. 
 
 He had idled, irresolutely, through two more months 
 at home, and was just beginning to rouse himself and 
 to take his part with more principle and strength in 
 the duties of life, when he saw in a Liverpool paper 
 the notice of Edward Arundel's death at Colorado 
 Springs. His father had only a slight acquaintance 
 with Mr. Arundel, and he had not heard of the invalid 
 son's going to Colorado. 
 
 Philip had a friend living in Mr. Arundel's parish, 
 so he rode over at once to see him. All associated 
 with Colorado had naturally a strong interest for him. 
 His friend, George Newton, told him that the clergy- 
 man would not be back for three weeks longer. 
 
 At the end of that time Philip rode over again ; he 
 
"Take Joy Home." 241 
 
 had vague hopes that, as the Warners were so well 
 known in their State, and Manitou was only half a 
 day's journey from San Juan, he might possibly gather 
 some scraps of information about them. 
 
 His friend Newton called with him at the vicarage. 
 Imagine his feelings when Mr. Arundel, in speaking 
 of his son, mentioned Carita, who had been so kind 
 a nurse to him. 
 
 " I knew a young lady of that name," said Philip, 
 with as much self-control as he could muster. " Do 
 you know what brought her to the Springs ? " 
 
 "Her story is rather a singular one," replied Mr. 
 Arundel. Then he told the two young men more 
 about her, little suspecting what gladness all his words 
 were bringing into the heart of one of his listeners. 
 
 Philip said nothing about his position with regard 
 to Carita then-. After a little more talk about poor 
 Edward, the friends left ; but over their pipes the 
 whole story was told to George Newton, who under- 
 took to get Mr. Arundel to call on Mrs. Emerson as 
 soon as it could well be arranged. 
 
 The clergyman was deeply interested when he heard 
 Philip's account of his engagement. The result of 
 his visit was that Mrs. Emerson's scruples and objec- 
 tions were all removed ; and her husband — who was 
 
 Q 
 
242 Candalaria. 
 
 feeling twinges of remorse for having burned, not only 
 that first letter, but also two later ones, all addressed 
 in the same way, and easily intercepted by him, as he 
 took care always to have the bag brought first to 
 himself — gave his consent to Philip's returning to the 
 West, and marrying Carita — " that is, if you find she 
 is true to you," he added, grimly. He did not confess 
 to burning her letters until some time later, when a 
 regular correspondence had been established between 
 the two lovers. 
 
 Philip remained in England during the winter to 
 gratify his mother, who was still in delicate health, 
 and who pleaded that she had seen so little of him 
 
 for some years. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " How strange it was that Edward Arundel should 
 have come from so near your home, Phil!" said Carita 
 one day, as they sat once more under the aspens in 
 Silverdale. 
 
 " Not very, dearest ; it was through hearing of this 
 wonderful climate from the Newtons, our friends in 
 Gratton, that Mr. Arundel sent the poor fellow to 
 Colorado Springs, unfortunately too late to be of any 
 service to him. I had not heard of his going, as the 
 Newtons had been abroad, and only just returned 
 
"Take Joy Home." 243 
 
 when I rode over that day to see George. By the 
 way, George is coming out here next month, in time 
 to be my groomsman, Carrie. He and Joyce Heath 
 will make a very nice pair, don't you think so ? " 
 
 Philip and Carita were married in the leafy month 
 of June, by her true friend, Mr. Grahame. She looked 
 very lovely in a dress made by Mrs. Carey's daughters, 
 under the superintendence of the clergyman's wife, 
 with some beautiful ornaments — Mrs. Emerson's wed- 
 ding gift. Stephen gave away the bride, although 
 he had so lately said he would never part with her to 
 any one. Tom, Alick, and Ronnie were in high feather. 
 They were glad to think there would be a chance of 
 coming to visit Carrie in her Colorado home some- 
 time, the idea of a city life being not so welcome to 
 them as to their mother. Even Mrs. Warner looked 
 smiling and happy. To tell the truth, she was a little 
 
 glad to see Carita disposed of. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Philip's wedding gift was one which delighted Carita 
 inexpressibly. It was Elk Ranch itself, which Mr. 
 Warner was glad enough to sell to him. So the newly 
 married pair were near to the Heaths, a great thing 
 for the young wife, who valued Mrs. Heath's friend- 
 ship and that of Joyce so highly. George Newton 
 
244 Candalarta. 
 
 seemed in no hurry to return to Cheshire ; Pepper- 
 box Flat had a strong attraction for him. 
 
 One day little Dorothy asked him to write his name 
 in her birthday book, which was one of those with 
 verses from different poets. 
 
 " Tell me your birthday, and I will find the place," 
 said Dorothy. 
 
 George gave her the date. 
 
 " Why, how funny ! " cried the child. 
 
 " Read up, Dolly," said Ben ; " what's his verse ? " 
 
 And Dolly read solemnly Jean Ingelow's lines, 
 whilst her sister became rosy red and did not know 
 where to look. 
 
 "Take Joy home, and make thou room in thy great 
 heart for her." 
 
 " Here, Dolly, let me write my name," interrupted 
 George. 
 
 " But I want to read you the rest." 
 
 " Oh, I will have the rest later on," said he ; " that 
 is, if Joy will let me," he added, turning so that only 
 Joyce could hear his last words. Before the winter set 
 in, he took Joy home to England with him, but they 
 returned together the following spring ; and whilst 
 George broke up the land of his mountain farm, Joy 
 came and sang as he worked amongst the furrows. 
 
27, Paternoster Row, London. 
 
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 ORIENT BOYS : A Tale of School Life. 
 
 A BRAVE RESOLVE; or, The Siege of Stralsund. A 
 
 Story of Heroism and Adventure. By J. B. de Liefde, Author 
 of "The Great Dutch Admirals," etc. With Eight full-page 
 Illustrations. 
 
 THE BEGGARS; or, The Founders of the Dutch Re- 
 public. By the same Author. With Four Illustrations. 
 
 WILD ADVENTURES ROUND THE POLE; or, The 
 
 Cruise of the Snowbird Crew in the Arrandoon. 
 By Dr. Gordon Stables, R.N. With Eight Illustrations. 
 
 i FLOOD THAT LED ON TO FORTUNE: A Tale of 
 Australian Life. By Old Boomerang, Author of " In the 
 Depths of the Sea," etc. With Eight full-page Illustrations. 
 
 POOR BOYS WHO BECAME FAMOUS. By Sarah K. 
 Bolton. 
 
 SHORE AND SEA. Stories of Great Vikings and Sea 
 Captains. By W. H. Davenport Adams. Ten Illustrations. 
 
 jREY HAWK : Life and Adventures among the Red 
 Indians. An Old Story Retold. By Dr. James Macaulay, 
 Author of "Thrilling Tales," "All True," "Wonderful Stories," 
 etc. With Eleven Illustrations. 
 
 PUNCHING AWAY; or, Roger Larksway's Strange 
 Mission. With Frontispiece. By the Author of "The Pioneer 
 of the Family," etc. 
 
 3 
 
Cfte :p? Stories- 
 
 Handsomely bound in cloth, 2s., gilt edges, 2s. 6d. 
 
 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. With Four Illustrations. By Harriet 
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 PRINCE OF THE HOUSE OF DAVID ; or, Three Years 
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 STRAWBERRY HILL. By Clara Vance, Author of "Andy 
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 TALBURY GIRLS. By the same Author. Four Illustrations. 
 
 THE JUDGE'S SONS. A Story of Wheat and Tares. 
 
 With Four Illustrations. 
 
 BARBARA. A Story of Cloud and Sunshine. By Clara 
 
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 THE RED HOUSE IN THE SUBURBS. By Mrs. 
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 THE LOST SILVER OF BRIFFAULT. By A. E. Barr, 
 Author of " Cluny Macpherson," etc. With Frontispiece. 
 
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 INGLESIDE ; cr, Without Christ and With Him. By 
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 LYLE HARCOURT. By A. E. W., Author of " Soldier Harold," 
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 AUNT TABITHA'S TRIAL. By Lina Orman Cooper, Author 
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 4 
 
J13eto jFfoe ©filling: ©tortes, 
 
 THE WILLOUGHBY CAPTAINS. A School Story. 
 By Talbot Baines Reed, Author of " My Friend Smith," " The 
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 trations. Crown 8vo. cloth, 5s. 
 
 MORE TRUE THAN TRUTHFUL. A Story by C. M. 
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 STEPPING HEAVENWARD. By Mrs. Prentiss. With 
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 THE SUNDAY BOOK OF STORY AND PARABLE. 
 
 With numerous Illustrations. Large 4to, handsomely bound in 
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 il3eto ©totm 
 
 Price 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 EUNICE. By the Author of "The Bairns." With Eight full-page 
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 CANDALARIA. A Heroine of the Wild West. By Mrs. 
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 FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS, AND HOW THEY GREW. 
 
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 SUKIE'S BOY. A Story by Sarah Tytler, Author of "Com- 
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 THE BOY WITHOUT A NAME. By W. M. Thayer, 
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 5 
 
jQcto filling; Series. 
 
 Attractively bound In cloth, crown 8vo, with Frontispiece. 
 
 I. THE BASKET OF FLOWERS. 
 II. THE HISTORY OF LUCY CLARE. 
 
 III. THE BABES IN THE BASKET. 
 
 IV. THE HISTORY OF SUSAN GRAY. 
 
 STORIES BY MISS DOUDNEY. 
 
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 A SON OF THE MORNING. With Frontispiece. 3s. 6d. 
 
 II. 
 WHEN WE WERE GIRLS TOGETHER. With Four 
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 IV. 
 A LONG LANE WITH A TURNING. With Sixteen Illus- 
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 WHAT'S IN A NAME? With Eight Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 
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 VI. 
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 VII. 
 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. With Frontispiece. New and 
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 "The humour and pathos of these stories are beyond all praise."— 
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 6 
 
BY W. H. G. KINGSTON. 
 
 " The best writer for boys who ever lived was Mr. W. H. G. Kingston. Equally 
 accurate and entertaining whether conducting a fight at sea, hunting elephants in 
 India, chasing the bison of American prairies, or portraying the struggles of the 
 early colonists." — Fortnightly Revietv. 
 
 " Mr. Kingston's delightful adventures." — Punch. 
 
 I. 
 
 FROM POWDER MONKEY TO ADMIRAL. A Story of 
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 Handsomely bound. Gilt edges, 5s. 
 
 "Kingston's tales require no commendation. They are full of go. All 
 lads enjoy them, and many men. This is one of his best stories — a youthful 
 critic assures us his very best." — Sheffield Independent. 
 
 II. 
 
 JAMES BRAITHWAITE, THE SUPERCARGO. The 
 Story of his Adventures Ashore and Afloat. With 
 Eight Illustrations, Portrait, and Short Account of the Author. 
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 "The supercargo's exploits at sea during the early part of this century 
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 is a healthy, hearty, enjoyable story." — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 III. 
 
 JOVINIAN. A Tale of Early Papal Rome. With Eight 
 Illustrations. Cheap Edition. Fcap. 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 " It is a powerful and thrilling story." — Methodist Recorder. 
 IV. 
 
 HENDRICKS THE HUNTER; or, The Border Farm. 
 A Tale of Zululand. With Five Illustrations. Seventh 
 Thousand. Crown 8vo. Handsomely bound in cloth. Gilt 
 edges, 3s. 6d. 
 
 "A delightful book of travel and adventure in Zululand." — Athenceum. 
 " A boy may be happy all day with Mr. Kingston's ' Hendricks the 
 Hunter.' " — Saturday Review. 
 
 V. 
 
 CLARA MAYNARD;or, The True and the False. A 
 Tale for the Times. Tenth Thousand. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " An admirable story, in which the mischievous results of Ritualistic 
 teaching are effectively shown. " — Rock. 
 
 VI. 
 PETER TRAWL; or, The Adventures of a Whaler. 
 With Eight Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Handsomely bound 
 in cloth. Crown 8vo, gilt edges, 5s. 
 
 "Here will be found shipwrecks and desert islands, and hair-breadth 
 escapes of every kind, all delightful and spirit-stirring." — Court Journal. 
 
 "It is a manly sort of book, with a good deal of information in it, as 
 well as the adventures which boys love." — Athenaeum. 
 
 7 
 
THE SUNDAY BOOK OF STORY AND PARABLE. 
 
 A ROUND OF SUNDAY STORIES. By L. G. SfcuiK 
 Author of " Rural England," "Black Forest," etc. Witl 
 numerous Illustrations by F. A. Fraser, Fred. Barnard, Townle 
 Green, W. Small, and others. Handsomely bound in cloth, 55 
 
 Contents : — Bread cast on the Waters — A Missionary in the East — Th 
 Cottage by the Pool — No Friends — Dr. Ellerton — How Tom Dyer came t< 
 a Knowledge of Himself — There was Joy in Heaven — Only a Little Child- 
 A Lady Indeed— " What does it Matter?"— The Harvest Bride— Th 
 Lambeth Pedlar — Little Bertha's Monument — The Rabbi — An Eastern Stop 
 — The Samphire Gatherer — My Bullfinch — An Incident of Summer Trave 
 in Germany — The " Mission" in the Village — Mrs. Wray's Temper — A Lif( 
 Worth Knowing About — Peggy's Baby — At the Praying Rock — Evensong— 
 A Visit to Marie, a French Heroine — The Lost Child — A Red-Cross Heroimi 
 —Nina— God's Field— "The Sabbath-Breaking Mill "—The Fountain o 
 Recovery — The Hospital Flowers — The Good Servant. 
 
 1 ' They are brief, bright, and illustrated with excellent woodcuts. It i* 
 the kind of book often earnestly desired when, on a wet Sabbath, the childrer 
 are restless and beg to have something read to amuse them. Then such £ 
 work as this seems of priceless value." — Freeman. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S PASTIME: Pictures and Stories.: 
 By L. G. S£guin, Author of " Walks in Algiers," etc. With' 
 200 illustrations. Square crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 STORY AFTER STORY of Land and Sea, Man and Beast. 
 
 By the Author of " Sunday Evenings with my Children," 
 etc. With 130 illustrations. Square crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 "For young people this volume must prove quite an attractive mine of 
 amusement. It will make an excellent prize." — Schoolmaster. 
 "A most attractive and useful volume for young readers." — Rock. 
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 CHEERFUL SUNDAYS: Stories, Parables, and Poems 
 for Children. With 150 illustrations. Square cr. 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " 'Cheerful Sundays' is the title of another volume of religious stories and 
 verses for children. It is well done, and is excellently illustrated." — Scotsman 
 "A good book for Sunday reading for little ones." — Standard. 
 
 SEPPEL; or, The Burning of the Synagogue at Munich. 
 By Gustav Nieritz. With Frontispiece, is. 6d. 
 11 The narrative is of thrilling interest." — Edinburgh Daily Review. 
 
 BUSY HANDS AND PATIENT HEARTS; or, The 
 Blind Boy of Dresden and his Friends. By the same 
 Author. Eighth Edition. Crown 8vo, illustrated, is. 6d. 
 
 " One of the most beautiful stories ever written for children." — Nonconformist. 
 " A real and genuine Christmas story." — Times. 
 
 8 
 
A ROUND OF SUNDAY STORIES. 
 Specimen of the Illustrations. 
 
 An Unusually Formal Interview with Mrs. U,llis. 
 
 9 
 
WORKS BY W. M. THAYER. 
 
 FROM THE TANYARD TO WHITE HOUSE I 
 
 THE STORY OF PRESIDENT GRANT'S LIFE. 
 
 With Portrait and Illustrations. Crown Svo, cloth, 2 s - 6d- an d 2s - &d- May also H 
 had handsomely bound in half calf 6s. net. 
 
 "General Grant's romantic and noble story is here popularly told with greaj 
 effectiveness. Mr. Thayer seems destined to be the popular historian of American 
 presidents — Washington, Lincoln, and Garfield have already been portrayed by hii| 
 pen ; and now in General Grant he has found a hero second to none of them. Htj 
 has many high qualifications for his task. The book is one of romantic and 
 enthralling interest." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 "The life is written in a style that should suit all boys thoroughly; there isf 
 incident enough in all conscience, and from the birth to the death of the great] 
 general there is a running fire of lively and humorous anecdote." — Times. 
 
 THE TRUE WOMAN. 
 
 OF CHARACTER DRAWN FROM TH 
 MARY LYON AND OTHERS. 
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, $s. 
 
 One of the best books for young women that has lately been issued. Every 
 phase of character and of life seems to be dealt with and handled well. The thought- 
 ful young cannot read the book without being prompted to pursue the noblest and 
 worthiest aims in life." — Christian. 
 
 The following works may be had handsomely bound in Gustav 
 half calf, price six shillings each :■ — 
 
 BY THE REV. H. C. ADAMS, M.A. FOR JAMES OR GEORGE. A 
 
 Schoolboy's Tale of 1745. 
 
 BY DR. MACAULAY. ALL TRUE. 
 
 BY DR. MACAULAY. TRUE TALES OF TRAVEL AND ADVEN- 
 TURE, VALOUR AND VIRTUE. 
 
 BYW. M. THAYER. FROM THE TANYARD TO WHITE HOUSE. 
 The Story of President Grant's Life. 
 
 BY W. M. THAYER. FROM LOG CABIN TO WHITE HOUSE. 
 
 The Story of President Garfield's Life, 
 
 BY W. M. THAYER. GEORGE WASHINGTON. His Boyhood and 
 Manhood. 
 
 BY W.M. THAYER. THE PIONEER BOY, AND HOW HE BECAME 
 PRESIDENT. The Story of President Lincoln's Life. 
 
WORKS BY W. M. THAYER. 
 
 ZHEAP EDITION. Tenth Thousand, handsomely bound, y. 6d. With Steel 
 Portrait. May also be had in Gustav half calf, 6s. 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON: 
 
 HIS BOYHOOD AND MANHOOD. 
 
 , " The character of Washington was a very noble one, and his life may well be taken as an example 
 I boys. The biography is written in a lively and pleasant tone, and without any of the dryness 
 diich is too often the accompaniment of this form of literature. While the details are all strictly 
 istorical, the characters are made to live and breathe." — Standard. 
 
 " Mr. Thayer has before this displayed exceptional skill as a biographer, and he repeats his success 
 nth the present volume. The story of Washington's life is told rather by means of a series of 
 necdotes and incidents than in the formal way generally adopted, and a very graphic and entertaining 
 arrative is thus presented."— Rock. 
 
 :HEAP EDITION. Sixteenth Thousand, handsomely bound, $s. 6d, with Portrait. 
 May also be had in Gustav half calf , 6s. 
 
 rHE PIONEER BOY, and HOW HE BECAME 
 PRESIDENT ; 
 
 THE STORY OF THE LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Many of the details of this work were furnished by President Lincoln himself, 
 and by his early associates and friends. 
 
 I Mr. Thayer is not merely a biographer, a compiler of dry details, but he invests his subject with 
 halo of delightful romance, and the result is as pleasing as the most imaginative book of fiction. So 
 
 'everly has the author done his work, that the result is a combination of pictures from the life of this 
 
 reat man, with humorous anecdote and stirring narrative." — Society. 
 "The author has done his work thoroughly well, and the result is a book of exciting narrative, of 
 
 timorous anecdote, and of lifelike portraiture." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Now Ready. 29th Edition, completing 17 1st Thousand. 
 
 ROM LOG CABIN TO WHITE HOUSE; 
 
 THE STORY OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD'S LIFE. 
 
 In Paper Boards, Illustrated Cover, with Fine Steel Portrait. 
 
 Paper, is. ; Cloth Edition, is. 6d. ; Cloth Gilt, 2s 6d. and 3s. 6d. ; 
 
 Illustrated Edition, Gilt Edges, 5s. Suitable lor Presents, 
 
 Prizes, and School Libraries. 
 
 May also be had in Gustav half calf , 6s. 
 One of the most romantic stories of our time."— British Quarterly Rez'iew. 
 
 Fourteenth Thousand. Crown Svo, cloth, handsomely bound, 3s. 6d. 
 
 TACT, PUSH, AND PRINCIPLE: 
 
 A BOOK FOR THOSE WHO WISH TO SUCCEED IN LIFE. 
 
 A very interesting book, which may stimulate many a young nature of the ardently practical kind 
 
 steady and determined exertion." — Daily Telegraph. 
 I " Few better books could be imagined for presenting to a youth on his entrance upon the duties of 
 H tive life. We pity the young man who could read these pages without being wonderfully helped." — 
 
 hristian. 
 
 II 
 
B Y DR. MA CA ULA Y, Editor of " The Leisure Hour! 
 I. 
 
 ALL TRUE. Records of Peril and Adventure by Sea and Land 
 Remarkable Escapes and Deliverances — Wonders of Nature aj 
 Providence, etc. With Twelve Illustrations. Crown 8vo, clc 
 gilt, 5& 
 
 " 'All True' contains records of adventures by sea and land, remarka 
 escapes and deliverances, missionary enterprises, etc.; is as entertaining 
 the majority of such books are depressing, and may be welcomed as 
 welcome present for children. The illustrations are above the average 
 those vouchsafed to us in children's books." — Spectator. 
 
 II. 
 
 TRUE TALES OF TRAVEL AND ADVENTUR! 
 VALOUR AND VIRTUE. 
 
 Crown Svo, cloth, $s. With Thirteen Illustrations. 
 
 "Dr. Macaulay's name is a voucher for spirited work, and 'True Tal 
 are instructive as well as interesting." — Times. 
 
 " Full of stirring incident." — Daily News. 
 
 " With no little vigour and power of condensation he tells of such achie v 
 ments, and such perils and suffering as fell to the lot of the early Australi 
 explorers, of the Garibaldians, and of the Arctic navigators ; relieved 
 tales of such victories as those of Trafalgar and the Nile. Suitable b 
 graphies are skilfully introduced." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 III. 
 
 GREY HAWK: Life and Adventures among the Rcl 
 Indians. An Old Story Retold. Eleven Illustration 
 Handsomely bound, gilt edges, 3s. 6d. 
 
 "The story itself is told with the simplicity of ' Robinson Crusoe,' a; 
 brings the details of savage life among savage people before the reader's ev^ 
 with the same vivid reality."' — Guardian. 
 
 " The story is graphically told, and will be sure to become a favourite wij 
 boys." — Globe. 
 
 " These adventures are spirit-stirring as the wildest romance ; and Coo 
 might have borrowed his heroes from the ' ower true tale ' without scrup! 
 Not only is the story of ' Grey Hawk ' an amusing and instructive book f: 
 boys, but it is likewise a most valuable book of reference as to the conditic 
 of the Indian race at the period of the tale, compared with what is now behe 
 at the present day."— Court Journal. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ACROSS THE FERRY: First Impressions of Americ 
 
 and its People. With Nine Illustrations. Price 5s. 
 
 ' ' Dr. Macaulay not only records his own impressions, but he incorporah 
 with them much of the useful and interesting information which an intell 
 gent traveller not only picks up, but takes special pains to furnish himse 
 with. The volume is a series of photographs of America as it was in 187c 
 and is full, therefore, of practical interest." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 12 
 
 I 
 
 
STIRRING STORIES OF PEACE AND WAR. 
 Specimen of the Illustrations. 
 
 The First Shot Fired against the Spanish Armada. 
 13 
 
BY DR. GORDON STABLES, R.N. 
 
 I. 
 
 ON SPECIAL SERVICE: A Tale of Life at Sea. With, 
 Eight Full-page Illustrations by J. Finnemore. Handsomely] 
 bound in cloth, gilt edges, 5s. 
 
 II. 
 STANLEY GRAHAME. A Tale of the Dark Continent. 
 
 With Eighteen Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, 5s. 
 
 M The story never flags from beginning to end, and there can be no shadow 
 of doubt that it will be received with delight by every healthy-minded lad. 
 The illustrations are very good." — Scotsman. 
 
 " A fine book for boys, full of admirably vigorous and picturesque writing, 
 and of wholesome manly form." — Society. 
 
 III. 
 
 ADVENTURES ROUND THE POLE; or, The Cruise 
 of the M Snowbird" Crew in the ** Arrandoon." Eight 
 Illustrations. Handsomely bound, gilt edges, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " It is a story of thrilling interest, the essence of a dozen Arctic voyages, 
 lighted up by a good deal of fun and frolic, and chastened by manly religious 
 feeling. It has excited us as we have read." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE CRUISE OF THE "SNOWBIRD." A Story 
 Arctic Adventure. With Nine Full-page lllustratioi 
 Handsomely bound, gilt edges, 5s. 
 
 " This is a capital story of adventure of the sort that all true boys deli^ 
 in." — Academy. 
 
 V. 
 
 FROM POLE TO POLE. A Tale of the Sea. With Twelve 
 Full-page Illustrations. Handsomely bound in cloth, gilt edges, 
 5* 
 
 " Boys who like excitement an<l adventure will find plenty of both in this 
 spirited story of a yachting voyage from the Arctic to the Antarctic regions. 
 The author's wonderful store of anecdote seems to be quite inexhaustible. 
 There is abundance of incident, and adventures of the most thrilling and 
 varied description in almost every page. The author has, as usual, worked 
 up the essence of a dozen narratives of travel and adventure into a single 
 tale of absorbing interest, while it is hardly necessary to say that the tone is 
 in every way admirable." — Academy. 
 
 VI. 
 THE CRUISE OF THE LAND YACHT "WANDERER"; 
 or, Thirteen Hundred Miles in my Caravan. By 
 Gordon Stables, M.D., R.N. With Photograph and Illustra- 
 tions. Handsomely bound, 8vo, 9s. 
 
 14 
 

 ON SPECIAL SERVICE. 
 
 Specimen of the Illustrations. 
 
 We Cheeked as we Clambered on Board. 
 
 is 
 
WORKS BY MRS. G. S. REANEY. 
 I. 
 
 JUST IN TIME; or, Howard Clarion's Rescue. Hand- 
 somely bound, crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 II. 
 
 New and Cheaper Edition. 
 
 DAISY SNOWFLAKE'S SECRET. A Story of English 
 Home Life. Elegantly bound, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " Winning in style, pure and earnest in tone, and of commanding interest.' ' 
 
 Daily Review. 
 III. 
 
 OUR DAUGHTERS: Their Lives Here and Hereafter. 
 
 Cheap Edition, nicely bound in cloth, is. 6d. 
 "A thoroughly wise and helpful book." — Christian. 
 IV. 
 
 MORNING THOUGHTS FOR OUR DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Sixth Thousand. Handsomely bound, is. 6d. 
 
 V. 
 
 OUR BROTHERS AND SONS. Fourth Thousand. Elegantly 
 
 bound, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " One of her best books, written in excellent English, and with a racy, 
 earnest pen." — Evangelical Magazine. 
 
 MRS. REANEY "S SHILLING SERIES. 
 Tastefully bound in cloth, is. each. 
 
 Found at Last. 
 
 Little Glory's Mission. 
 
 Unspoken Addresses. 
 
 Number Four, and other 
 Chippings. [Stories 
 
 Not Alone in the World. 
 
 "Written with all the author's well-known sweetness and persuasiveness! 
 of style."— The Outlook. 
 
 " Good little books in Mrs. Reaney's very best style. We hope they will; 
 sell by hundreds of thousands." — Sword and Trozvel. 
 
 BY ISAAC PLEYDELL. 
 IN A CORNER OF THE VINEYARD. A Village Story. 
 
 With Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, 5s. 
 
 " The hard, rough life of the men is vigorously drawn." — Athenceum. 
 
 " The characters are drawn with graphic skill, and the story is one of 
 absorbing interest." — Derby Mercury. 
 
 " A touching and stimulating story." — Christian World. 
 
 16 
 
a jQeto (ZEigbteenpenng ©eries. 
 
 KITTY DEANE OF REED FARM. By Mrs. O'Reilly, 
 Author of " The Red House," etc. With Thirteen Illustrations 
 by Townley Green. Crown 8vo, cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 EVA GRANT'S ESCAPE. By Mrs. H. B. Paull. With Four 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 EYES TO THE BLIND. By C. Birley, Author of " Undine : 
 a Romance of Modern Days," etc. With Four Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 THE POSTMAN'S BAG. By John de Liefde. With Illus- 
 trations. Crown 8vo, is. 6d. 
 
 GLENCOE PARSONAGE. By Mrs. A. E. Porter. With 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, is. 6d. 
 
 THE NEAR AND THE HEAVENLY HORIZONS. 
 
 By the Countess de Gasparin. Crown 8vo, cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS. By Dr. Taylor. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 Handsomely bound, with numerous Illustrations, 2s. 6d. 
 
 SLYBOOTS, 
 
 AND OTHER FARMYARD CHRONICLES. 
 
 By BEATA FRANCIS, 
 
 Author of " Fables and Fancies." 
 
 " Delightfully simple and natural, and lighted up with gleams of fun and humour." 
 
 Literary World. 
 
 " There is a subtle moral in each of these chronicles, and the style is extremely 
 lumorous. A most enjoyable volume." — Derby Mercury, 
 
 17 b 
 
CAPITAL FOR WORKING BOYS. Chapters on 
 Character Building. By J. E. M'Conaughy. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 THORNTON HALL ; or, Old Questions in Young Lives. ' 
 
 By Phcebe J. MgKeen. Crown 8vo, nicely bound, 3s. 6d. 
 
 '* An interesting and well- written story. The characters of the girls are 
 well drawn, and the tone of the book excellent throughout." — Church Sunday 
 School Magazine. 
 
 THEODORA CAMERON. A Home Story. By the same 
 Author. With Five full-page Illustrations. Seventh Thousand. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. 
 
 "A pretty story of the great civil war, which, though issued in a single 
 volume, comprises not less matter than an ordinary novel, and introduces the 
 reader to many varieties of character, and numerous stirring scenes in the 
 home and on the battle-field." — Daily News. 
 
 THE WINTHROP FAMILY. A Story of New England 
 Life Fifty Years Ago. By the Author of " May Chester," 
 etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " A very dainty, winsome volume." — Freeman. 
 
 " Primitive New England life, hospitality, and home-heartedness are finely 
 wrought out in it. There is a quiet, easy grace, a pleasant sparkle, and a 
 genial attractiveness in the style which exactly suits the life, manner, and 
 personages of the narrative. A most admirable one for home interest and 
 delight. — Golden Hours. 
 
 YENSIE WALTON. An American Story. By J. R. 
 
 Graham Clark. With Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. 
 
 " In tone and spirit, plan and execution, this is a superb story. Rich in 
 delineation of character, and in descriptions of real experience. A more 
 fascinating and inspiring picture of a schoolmistress, in one prolonged, 
 prayerful, and sustained endeavour to lead an orphan pupil to Christ, was 
 never drawn." — General Baptist Magazine. 
 
 YENSIE WALTON'S WOMANHOOD. By the same 
 Author. With Three Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. 
 
 The present volume introduces Yensie Walton in a new home, and under 
 new conditions. She enters the family of a friend as an instructor of the 
 younger members, and the narrative of her experiences will specially interest 
 those who have to do with the moral and mental training of children. While 
 there a call from Valley Farm reaches her. Ever prompt to do duty's bidding, 
 Yensie quits this happy home for the sterner requirements of her uncle s 
 family. It is then that the hitherto silenced wooer refuses to be longer quiet, 
 and our heroine goes out from the old red farmhouse to her wedded home. 
 18 
 

 BY L. T. MEADE, Author of "Scamp ami I," etc., etc. 
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 22 
 
IN THE FORT. 
 
CLUNY MACPHERSON. 
 
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 34 
 
SOME OF OUR FELLOWS. 
 
 Specimen of the Illustrations. 
 
CHEAP ILLUSTRATED EDITIONS OF J. B. DE LIEFDE'S STORIES.] 
 
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 26 
 
A BRA VE RESOL VE. 
 Specimen of the Illustrations. 
 
 Captain W yndham surprised by a visit from Helena.' 
 27 
 
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 in JUNO on a JOURNEY. 
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 28 
 
BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE CHILDREN OF INDIA," etc. 
 
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ALBERT, THE PRINCE CONSORT. A Biography foi 
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 30 
 
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