University of California Berkeley 
 
 Gift of 
 THEODORE H. KOUNDAKJIAN 
 
HUMOROUS BOOKS. 
 
 THE PAGAN CHILD 
 
 OTHER SKETCHES. 
 
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 BRET HARTE. 
 
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BEETON'S HUMOROUS BOOKS. 
 
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 London: WAED, LOCK AND T*LEB t AVarwick House, Paternoster Row, B.C. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE PAGAN CHILD i 
 
 A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF MR. JOHN OAKHURST 42 
 
 WAN LEE, THE PAGAN 75 
 
 How OLD MAN PLUNKETT WENT HOME 97 
 
 THE FOOL OF FIVE FORKS 122 
 
 BABY SYLVESTER 155 
 
 A JERSEY CENTENARIAN .< 177 
 
THE PAGAN CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT was nearly two o'clock in the morning. The 
 lights were out in Robinson's Hall, where there 
 had been dancing and revelry; and the moon, riding 
 high, painted the black windows with silver. The 
 cavalcade, that, an hour ago had shocked the sedate 
 pines with song and laughter, were all dispersed. 
 One enamoured swain had ridden east, another west, 
 another north, another south; and the object of 
 their adoration, left within her bower at Chemisal 
 Ridge, was calmly going to bed. 
 
 I regret that I am not able to indicate the exact 
 stage of that process. Two chairs were already filled 
 with delicate imvrappings and white confusion; and 
 the young lady herself, half hidden in the silky 
 threads of her yellow hair, had at one time borne 
 a faint resemblance to a partly-husked ear of Indian 
 corn. But she was now clothed in that one long, 
 formless garment that makes all women equal; and 
 the round shoulders an 4 neat waist, that an hour 
 
8 The Pao-an Child, 
 
 '5* 
 
 ago had been so fatal to the peace of mind of Four 
 Forks, had utterly disappeared. The face above it 
 was very pretty : the foot below, albeit shapely, was 
 not small. " The flowers, as a general thing, don't 
 raise their heads much to look after me," she had 
 said with superb frankness to one of her lovers. 
 
 The expression of the " Rose " to-night was con 
 tentedly placid. She walked slowly to the window, 
 and, making the smallest possible peep-hole through 
 the curtain, looked out. The motionless figure of 
 a horseman still lingered on the road, with an excess 
 of devotion that only a coquette, or a woman very 
 much in love, could tolerate. The "Rose," at that 
 moment, was neither, and, aftei a reasonable pause, 
 turned away, saying quite audibly that' it was "too 
 ridiculous for anything.'' As she came back to hex 
 dressing-table, it was noticeable that she walked 
 steadily and erect, without that slight affectation of 
 lameness common to people with whom bare feel 
 are only an episode. Indeed, it was only four yeara 
 ago, that, without shoes or stockings, a long-limbed, 
 colty girl, in a waistless calico gown, she had leaped 
 from tLe tailboard of her father's emigrant wagon 
 when it first drew up at Chemisal Ridge. Certain 
 wild habits of the "Rose" had outlived transplanting 
 and cultivation. 
 
 A knock at the door surprised her. In another 
 moment she had leaped into bed, and, with darkly 
 frowning eyes, from its secure recesses demanded, 
 'Who's there?" 
 
The Pagan Child. g 
 
 ' An apologetic murmur on the other side of the 
 door was the response. 
 
 " Why, father, is that you ? " 
 
 There were further murmurs, affirmative, depre 
 catory, and persistent. . 
 
 "Wait," said the " Rose." She got up, unlocked the 
 door, leaped nimbly into bed again, and said, " Come." 
 
 The door opened timidly. The broad, stooping 
 shoulders and grizzled head of a man past the middle 
 age appeared : after a moment's hesitation, a pair of 
 large, diffident feet, shod with canvas slippers, con 
 cluded to follow. When the apparition was complete, 
 it closed the door softly, and stood there, a very 
 shy ghost indeed, with apparently more than the 
 usual spiritual indisposition to begin a conversation. 
 The " Rose " resented this impatiently, though, I fear, 
 not altogether intelligibly. 
 
 " Do, father, I declare ! " 
 
 " You was abed, Jinny," said Mr. McClosky, slowly, 
 glancing, with a singular mixture of masculine awe 
 and paternal pride, upon the two chairs and their 
 contents, "you was abed and ondressed." 
 
 " I was." 
 
 " Surely," said Mr. McClosky, seating himself on 
 the extreme edge of the bed, and painfully tucking 
 his feet away under it, "surely." After a pause, he 
 rubbed a short, thick, stumpy beard, that bore a 
 general resemblance to a badly worn blacking-brush, 
 with the palm of his hand, and went on ; " You hart 
 a good time. Jinny ? " 
 
io The Pagan Child. 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " They was all there ? " 
 
 "Yes, Ranee and York and Ryder and Jack." 
 
 " And Jack ! " Mr. McClosky endeavoured to throw 
 an expression of arch inquiry into his small tremu 
 lous eyes ; but meeting the unabashed, widely opened 
 lid of his daughter, he winked rapidly, and blushed 
 to the roots of his hair. 
 
 "Yes, Jack was there/' said Jinny, without change 
 of colour, or the least self-consciousness in her great 
 grey eyes; "and he came home with me." She 
 paused a moment, locking her two hands under her 
 head, and assuming a more comfortable position on 
 the pillow. " He asked me that same question again, 
 father, and I said, 'Yes.' It's to be soon. We're 
 going to live at Four Forks, in his own house ; and 
 next winter we're going to Sacramento. I suppose 
 it's all right, father, eh?" She emphasised the ques 
 tion with a slight kick through the bedclothes, as 
 the parental McClosky had fallen into an abstract 
 reverie. 
 
 "Yes, surely," said Mr. McClosky, recovering 
 himself with some confusion. After a pause, he 
 looked down at the bedclothes, and, patting them 
 tenderly, continued, 
 
 "You couldn't have done better, Jinny. There 
 isn't a girl in Tuolumne ez could strike it ez rich as 
 you hev even if they got the chance." He paused 
 again, and then said, 
 
 "Jinny?" 
 
The Pagan Child. II 
 
 - "Yes, father." 
 
 "You'se in bed, and ondressed?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You couldn't," said Mr. McClosky, glancing hope 
 lessly at the two chairs, and slowly rubbing his chin, 
 " you couldn't dress yourself again, could yer ? " 
 
 "Why, father?" 
 
 " Kinder get yourself into them things again ? " he 
 added, hastily. "Not all of 'em, you know, but 
 some of 'em. Not if I helped you, sorter stood by, 
 and lent a hand now and then with a strap, or a 
 buckle, or a necktie, or a shoe-string ? " he continued, 
 still looking at the chairs, and evidently trying to 
 boldly familiarise himself with their contents. 
 
 "Are you crazy, father?" demanded Jinny, sud 
 denly sitting up with a portentous switch of her 
 yellow mane. 
 
 Mr. McClosky rubbed one side of his beard, which 
 already had the appearance of having been quite 
 worn away by that process, and faintly dodged the 
 question. 
 
 "Jinny," he said, tenderly stroking the bedclothes 
 as he spoke, "this yer's what's the matter. Thar is 
 a stranger downstairs, a stranger to you, lovey, but 
 a man ez I've knowed a long time. He's been here 
 about an hour, and he'll be here ontil fower o'clock, 
 when the up-stage passes. Now I wants ye, Jinny 
 dear, to get up and come downstairs, and kinder 
 help me pass the time with him. It's no use, 
 Jinny," he went on, gently raising his hand to depre- 
 
12 The Pagan Child. 
 
 cate any interruption, " it's no use ! He won't go to 
 bed; he won't play keerds; whiskey don't take no 
 effect on him ! Ever since I knowed him, he was the 
 most unsatisfactory critter to hev round " 
 
 "What do you have him round for, then? " inter 
 rupted Miss Jinny, sharply. 
 
 Mr. McClosky's eyes fell. " Ef he hedn't kern out 
 of his way to-night to do me a good turn, I wouldn't 
 ask ye, Jinny. I wouldn't, so help me ! But I 
 thought, ez I couldn't do anything with him, you 
 might come down, and sorter fetch him, Jinny, as 
 you did the others." 
 
 Miss Jinny shrugged her pretty shoulders. 
 
 "Is he old, or young?" 
 
 " He's young enough, Jinny ; but he knows a power 
 of things." 
 
 " What does he do?" 
 
 "Not much, I reckon. He's got money in the 
 mill at Four Forks. He travels round a good deal. 
 I've heard, Jinny, that he's a poet writes them 
 rhymes, you know." Mr. McClosky here appealed 
 submissively but directly to his daughter. He re 
 membered that she had frequently been in receipt of 
 printed elegiac couplets known as " mottos," contain 
 ing inclosures equally saccharine. 
 
 Miss Jinny slightly curled her pretty lip. She had 
 that fine contempt for the illusions of fancy which 
 belongs to the perfectly healthy young animal. 
 
 "Not," continued Mr. McClosky, rubbing his head 
 reflectively, " not ez I'd advise ye, Jinny, to say any- 
 
The Pagan Child. 13 
 
 thing about poetry. It ain't twenty minutes ago ez / 
 did. I set the whiskey afore him in the parlour. 
 I wound up the music-box, and set it goin'. Then 
 I sez to him, sociable-like and free, 'Jest consider 
 yourself in your own house, and repeat what you 
 allow to be your finest production/ and he raged. 
 That man, Jinny, jest raged ! Thar's no end of the 
 names he called me. You see, Jinny," continued 
 Mr. McClosky, apologetically, " he's known me a long 
 time." 
 
 But his daughter had already dismissed the question 
 with her usual directness. " I'll be down in a few 
 moments, father," she said, after a pause, " but don't 
 say anything to him about it don't say I was abed." 
 
 Mr. McClosky's face beamed. " You was allers a 
 good girl, Jinny," he said, dropping on one knee, the 
 better to imprint a respectful kiss on her forehead. , 
 But Jinny caught him by the wrists, and for a moment 
 held him captive. " Father/' said she, trying to fix 
 his shy eyes with the clear, steady glance of her own, 
 " all the girls that were there to-night had some one 
 with them. Mame Robinson had her aunt; Lucy 
 Ranee had her mother ; Kate Pierson had her sister- 
 all, except me, had some other woman. Father dear/'" 
 her lip trembled just a little, " I wish mother hadn't 
 died when I was so small. I wish there was some 
 other woman in the family besides me. I ain't lonely 
 with you, father dear ; but if there was only some one, 
 you know, when the time comes for John and me " 
 
 Her voice here suddenly gave out, but not her brave 
 
14 The Pagan Child. 
 
 eyes, that were still fixed earnestly upon his face. Mr. 
 McClosky, apparently tracing out a pattern on the bed- 
 quilt, essayed words of comfort. 
 
 "Thar ain't one of them gals ez you've named, 
 Jinny, ez could do what you've done, with a whole 
 Noah's ark of relations at their backs ! Thar ain't one 
 ez wouldn't sacrifice her nearest relation to make the 
 strike that you hev. Ez to mothers, maybe, my dear, 
 you're doin 1 better without one." He rose suddenly, 
 and walked toward the door. When he reached it, 
 he turned, and, in his old deprecating manner, said, 
 " Don't be long, Jinny," smiled, and vanished from 
 the head downward, his canvas slippers asserting 
 themselves resolutely to the last. 
 
 When Mr. McClosky reached his parlour again, his 
 troublesome guest was not there. The decanter stood 
 on the table untouched ; three or four books lay upon 
 the floor; a number of photographic views of the 
 Sierras were scattered over the sofa ; two sofa-pillows, 
 a newspaper, and a Mexican blanket lay on the 
 carpet, as if the late occupant of the room had tried 
 to read in a recumbent position. A French window 
 opening upon a verandah, which never before in the 
 history of the house had been unfastened, now be 
 trayed by its waving lace-curtain the way that the 
 fugitive had escaped. Mr. McClosky heaved a sigh 
 of despair. He looked at the gorgeous carpet pur 
 chased in Sacramento at a fabulous price, at the 
 crimson satin and rosewood furniture unparalleled in 
 the history of Tuolumne, at the massively framed pictures 
 
The Pagan Child. 15 
 
 on the walls, and looked beyond it, through the open 
 window, to the reckless man, who, fleeing these syba 
 ritic allurements, was smoking a cigar upon the 
 moonlit road. This room, which had so often awed 
 the youth of Tuolumne into filial respect, was 
 evidently a failure. It remained to be seen if the 
 " Rose " herself had lost her fragrance. " I reckon 
 Jinny will fetch him yet," said Mr. McClosky, with 
 parental faith. 
 
 He stepped from the window upon the verandah ; 
 but he had scarcely done this, before his figure was 
 detected by the stranger, who at once crossed the 
 road. When within a few feet of McClosky, he 
 stopped. " You persistent old plantigrade !" he said 
 in a low voice, audible only to the person addressed, 
 and a face full of affected anxiety ; " why don't you go 
 to bed ? Didn't I tell you to go and leave me here 
 alone ? In the name of all that's idiotic and imbecile, 
 why do you continue to shuffle about here ? Or are 
 you trying to drive me crazy with your presence, as 
 you have with that wretched music-box that I've just 
 dropped under yonder tree ? It's an hour and a half 
 yet before the stage passes : do you think, do you 
 imagine for a single moment, that I can tolerate you 
 until then, eh ? Why don't you speak ? Are you 
 asleep ? You don't mean to say that you have the 
 audacity to add somnambulism to your other weak 
 nesses ? You're not lo\v enough to repeat yourself 
 under any such weak pretext as that, eh ? " 
 
 A fit of nervous coughing ended this extraordinary 
 
16 The Pagan Child. 
 
 exordium ; and half sitting, half leaning against the 
 verandah, Mr. McClosky's guest turned his face and 
 part of a slight elegant figure towards his host. The 
 lower portion of this upturned face wore an habitual 
 expression of fastidious discontent, with an occasional 
 line of physical suffering. But the brow above was 
 frank and critical ; and a pair of dark, mirthful eyes 
 sat in playful judgment over the supersensitive mouth 
 and its suggestion. 
 
 " I allowed to go to bed, Ridgeway." said Mr. Me 
 Closky, meekly ; " but my girl Jinny's jist got back from 
 a little tear up at Robinson's, and ain't inclined to turn 
 in yet. You know what girls is. So I thought we 
 three would jist have a social chat together to pass 
 away the time." 
 
 " You mendacious old hypocrite ! She got back an 
 hour ago," said Ridgeway, "as that savage-looking 
 escort of hers, who has been haunting the house ever 
 since, can testify. My belief is that, like an enter 
 prising idiot as you are, you've dragged that girl out 
 of her bed, that we might mutually bore each other.'' 
 
 Mr. McClosky was too much stunned by this evi 
 dence of Ridge way's apparently superhuman pene 
 tration to reply. After enjoying his host's confusion 
 for a moment with his eyes, Ridgeway's mouth asked 
 grimly, 
 
 " And who is this girl, anyway ? " 
 
 " Nancy's." 
 
 "Your wife's ?" 
 
 " Yes. But look yar ; Ridgeway," said McClosky, 
 
The Pagan Child. 17 
 
 laying one hand imploringly on Ridgeway's sleeve, 
 "not a word about her to Jinny. She thinks her 
 mother's dead died in Missouri. Eh ! " 
 
 Ridgeway nearly rolled from the verandah in an 
 excess of rage. " Good God ! Do you mean to say 
 that you have been concealing from her a fact that any 
 day, any moment, may come to her ears ? That you've 
 been letting her grow up in ignorance of something 
 that by this time she might have outgrown and for 
 gotten ? That you have been, like a besotted old ass, 
 all these years slowly forging a thunderbolt that any 
 one may crush her with? That" but here Ridge- 
 way's cough took possession of his voice, and even 
 put a moisture into his dark eyes, as he looked at 
 McClosky's aimless hand feebly employed upon his 
 beard. 
 
 " But," said McClosky, " look how she's done. She's 
 held her head as high as any of 'em. She's to be 
 married in a month to the richest man in the country ; 
 and," he added, cunningly, "Jack Ashe ain't the kind 
 o' man to sit by and hear anything said of his wife or 
 her relations, you bet ! But hush that's her foot on 
 the stairs. She's cummin'. " 
 
 She came. I don't think the French window ever 
 held a finer view than when she put aside the curtains, 
 and stepped out. She had dressed herself simply and 
 hurriedly, but with a woman's knowledge of her best 
 points ; so that you got the long curves of her shapely 
 limbs, the shorter curves of her round waist and 
 shoulders, the long sweep of her yellow braids, the 
 
 2 
 
i8 The Pagan Child. 
 
 light of her gray eyes, and even the delicate rose of 
 her complexion, without knowing how it was delivered 
 to you. 
 
 The introduction by Mr. McClosky was brief. 
 When Ridgeway had got over the fact that it was 
 two o'clock in the morning, and that the cheek of 
 this Tuolumne goddess nearest him was as dewy and 
 fresh as an infant's, that she looked like Marguerite, 
 without, probably, ever having heard of Goethe's 
 heroine, he talked, I dare say, very sensibly. When 
 i Miss Jinny who from her childhood had been 
 brought up among the sons of Anak, and who was 
 accustomed to have the supremacy of our noble sex 
 presented to her as a physical fact found herself in 
 the presence of a new and strange power in the slight 
 and elegant figure beside her, she was at first fright 
 ened and cold. But finding that this power, against 
 which the weapons of her own physical charms were 
 of no avail, was a kindly one, albeit general, she fell 
 to worshipping it, after the fashion of woman, and 
 casting before it the fetishes and other idols of her 
 youth. She even confessed to it. So that, in half an 
 hour, Ridgeway was in possession of all the facts 
 connected with her life, and a great many, I fear, 
 of her fancies except one. When Mr. McClosky 
 found the young people thus amicably disposed, he 
 calmly went to sleep. 
 
 It was a pleasant time to each. To Miss Jinny it 
 had the charm of novelty; and she abandoned herself 
 to it, for that reason, much more freely and inno- 
 
The Pagan Child. 19 
 
 cently than her companion, who knew something 
 more of the inevitable logic of the position. I do not 
 think, however, he had any intention of love-making. 
 I do not think he was at all conscious of being in the 
 attitude. I am quite positive he would have shrunk 
 from the suggestion of disloyalty to the one woman 
 whom he admitted to himself he loved. But, like 
 most poets, he was much more true to an idea than a 
 fact, and having a very lofty conception of woman 
 hood, with a very sanguine nature, he saw in each 
 new face the possibilities of a realisation of his ideal. 
 It was, perhaps, an unfortunate thing for the woman, 
 particularly as he brought to each trial a surprising 
 freshness, which was very deceptive, and quite distinct 
 from the blase familiarity of the man of gallantry. It 
 was this perennial virginity of the affections that most 
 endeared him to the best women, who were prone to 
 exercise toward him a chivalrous protection as of 
 one likely to go astray, unless looked after and in 
 dulged in the dangerous combination of sentiment 
 with the highest maternal instincts. It was this 
 quality which caused Jinny to recognise in him a 
 certain boyishness that required her womanly care, 
 and even induced her to offer to accompany him to 
 the cross-roads when the time for his departure arrived 
 With her superior knowledge of woodcraft and the 
 locality, she would have kept him from being lost. 1 
 wot not but that she would have protected him from 
 bears or wolves ; but chiefly, I think, from the feline 
 fascinations of Mame Robinson and Lucy Ranee, who 
 
 2* 
 
2O The Pagan Child. 
 
 might be lying in wait for this tender young poet. 
 Nor did she cease to be thankful that Providence 
 had, so to speak, delivered him as a trust into her 
 hands. 
 
 It was a lovely night. The moon swung low, and 
 languished softly on the snowy ridge beyond. There 
 were quaint odours in the still air ; and a strange in 
 cense from the woods perfumed their young blood, 
 and seemed to swoon in their pulses. Small wonder 
 that they lingered on the white road, that their feet 
 climbed unwillingly the little hill where they were to 
 part, and that, when they at last reached it, even the 
 saving grace of speech seemed to have forsaken them. 
 
 For there they stood alone. There was no sound 
 nor motion in earth, or woods, or heaven. They 
 might have been the one man and woman for whom 
 this goodly earth that lay at their feet, rimmed with 
 the deepest azure, was created. And, seeing this, 
 they turned toward each other with a sudden instinct, 
 and their hands met, and then their lips in one long 
 kiss. 
 
 And then out of the mysterious distance came the 
 sound of voices, and the sharp clatter of hoofs and 
 wheels, and Jinny slid away a white moonbeam 
 from the hill. For a moment she glimmered through 
 the trees, and then, reaching the house, passed her 
 sleeping father on the verandah, and darting into her 
 bedroom, locked the door, threw open the window, 
 and falling on her knees beside it leaned her hot 
 cheeks upon her hands and listened Tn a few 
 
The Pagan Child. 21 
 
 moments she was rewarded by the sharp clatter of 
 hoofs on the stony road, but it was only a horseman, 
 whose dark figure was swiftly lost in the shadows of 
 the lower road. At another time she might have 
 recognised the man ; but her eyes and ears were now 
 all intent on something else. It came presently with 
 dancing lights, a musical rattle of harness, a cadence 
 of hoof-beats, that set her heart to beating in unison 
 and was gone. A sudden sense of loneliness came 
 over her, and tears gathered in her sweet eyes. 
 
 She arose, and looked around her. There was the 
 little bed, the dressing-table, the roses that she had 
 worn last night, still fresh and blooming in the little 
 vase. Everything was there, but everything looked 
 strange. The roses should have been withered, for 
 the party seemed so long ago. She could hardly 
 remember when she had worn this dress that lay upon 
 the chair. So she came back to the window, and 
 sank down beside it with her cheek, a trifle paler, 
 leaning on her hand, and her long braids reaching to 
 the floor. The stars paled slowly, like her cheek ; 
 yet with eyes that saw not she still looked from her 
 window for the coming dawn. 
 
 It came, with violet deepening into purple, with 
 purple flushing into rose, with rose shining into silver, 
 and glowing into gold. The straggling line of black 
 picket-fence below, that had faded away with the 
 stars, came back with the sun. What was that object 
 moving by the fence? Jinny raised her head, and 
 looked intently. It was a man endeavouring to climb 
 
22 The Pagan Child. 
 
 the pickets, and falling backward with each attempt. 
 Suddenly she started to her feet, as if the rosy flushes 
 of the dawn had crimsoned her from forehead to 
 shoulders ; then she stood, white as the wall, with her 
 hands clasped upon her bosom; then, with a single 
 bound, she reached the door, and with flying braids 
 and fluttering skirts, sprang down the stairs and out to 
 the garden walk. When within a few feet of the 
 fence she uttered a cry, the first she had given the 
 cry of a mother over her stricken babe, of a tigress 
 over her mangled cub ; and in another moment she 
 had leaped the fence, and knelt beside Ridgeway, 
 with his fainting head upon her breast. 
 
 " My boy, my poor, poor boy ! who has done this? " 
 
 Who, indeed ? His clothes were covered with 
 dust ; his waistcoat was torn open ; and his hand 
 kerchief, wet with the blood it could not stanch, fell 
 from a cruel stab beneath his shoulder. 
 
 "Ridgeway, my poor boy, tell me what has hap 
 pened." 
 
 Ridgeway slowly opened his heavy blue-veined lids, 
 and gazed upon her. Presently a gleam of mischief 
 came into his dark eyes, a smile stole over his lips as 
 he whispered slowly, 
 
 it W as your kiss did it, Jinny dear ! I had 
 forgotten how high-priced the article was here. 
 Never mind, Jinny ! " he feebly raised her hand to 
 his white lips, " it was worth it," and fainted away. 
 
 Jinny started to her feet, and looked wildly around 
 her. Then, with a sudden resolution, she stooped 
 
The Pagan Child. $3 
 
 over the insensible man, and with one strong effort 
 lifted him in her arms as if he had been a child. 
 When her father, a moment later, rubbed his eyes and 
 awoke from his sleep upon the verandah, it was to see 
 a goddess, erect and triumphant, striding toward the 
 house with the helpless body of a man lying across 
 that breast where man had never lain before -a god 
 dess, at whose imperious mandate he arose, and cast 
 open the doors before her. And then, when she had 
 laid her unconscious burden on the sofa, the goddess 
 fled ; and a woman, helpless and trembling, stood 
 before him a woman that cried out that she had 
 "killed him," that she was "wicked, wicked!" and 
 that, even saying so, staggered, and fell beside her late 
 burden. And all ,that Mr. McClosky could do was to 
 feebly rub his beard, and say to himself, vaguely and 
 incoherently, that " Jinny had fetched him." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BEFORE noon the next day, it was generally be* 
 lieved throughout Four Forks that Ridgeway 
 Dent had been attacked and wounded at Chemisal 
 Ridge by a highwayman, who fled on the approach of 
 the Wingdam coach. It is to be presumed that this 
 statement met with Ridgeway's approval, as he did 
 not contradict it, nor supplement it with any details. 
 His wound was severe, but not dangerous. After the 
 first excitement had subsided, there was, I think, a 
 prevailing impression common to the provincial mind 
 
24 *Thc Pagan Child. 
 
 that his misfortune was the result of the defective 
 moral quality of his being a stranger, and was, in a 
 vague sort of a way, a warning to others and a lesson 
 to him. " Did you hear how that San Francisco feller 
 was took down the other night ? " was the average tone 
 of introductory remark. Indeed, there was a general 
 suggestion that Ridgeway's presence was one that no 
 self-respecting, high-minded highwayman, honourably 
 conservative of the best interests of Tuolumne County, 
 could for a moment tolerate. 
 
 Except for the few words spoken on that eventful 
 morning, Ridgeway was reticent of the past. When 
 Jinny strove to gather some details of the affray that 
 might offer a clue to his unknown assailant, a subtle 
 twinkle in his brown eyes was the only response. 
 When Mr. McClosky attempted the same process, the 
 young gentleman threw abusive epithets, and even 
 tually slippers, teaspoons, and other lighter articles 
 within the reach of an invalid, at the head of his 
 questioner. " I think he's coming round, Jinny," 
 said Mr. McClosky ; " he laid for me this morning 
 with a candlestick." 
 
 It was about this time that Miss Jinny, having 
 sworn her father to secrecy regarding the manner in 
 which Ridgeway had been carried into the house, 
 conceived the idea of addressing the young man as 
 " Mr. Dent," and of apologising for intruding when 
 ever she entered the room in the discharge of her 
 household duties. It was about this time that she 
 became more rigidly conscientious to those duties, 
 
The Pagan Child. 25 
 
 and less general in her attentions. It was at this time 
 that the quality of the invalid's diet improved, and 
 that she consulted him less frequently about it. It 
 was about this time that she began to see more com 
 pany, that the house was greatly frequented by her 
 former admirers, with whom she rode, walked, and 
 danced. It was at about this time also, and when 
 llidgeway was able to be brought out on the verandah 
 in a chair, that, with great archness of manner, she 
 introduced to him Miss Lucy Ashe, the sister of her 
 betrothed, a flashing brunette and terrible heart-breaker 
 of Four Forks. And in the midst of this gaiety she 
 concluded that she would spend a week with the 
 Robinsons, to whom she owed a visit. She enjoyed 
 herself greatly there, so much, indeed, that she became 
 quite hollow-eyed ; the result, as she explained to her 
 father, of a too frequent indulgence in festivity. "You 
 see, father, I won't have many chances after John and 
 I are married ; you know how queer he is, and I must 
 make the most of my time.' 7 And she laughed an odd 
 little laugh which had lately become habitual to her. 
 "And how is Mr. Dent getting on?" Her father 
 replied that he w r as getting on very well indeed ; so 
 well, in fact, that he was able to leave for San Francisco 
 two days ago. "He wanted to be remembered to 
 you, Jinny 'remembered kindly' yes, they is the 
 very words he used," said Mr. McClosky, looking 
 down and consulting one of his large shoes for cor- 
 roboration. Miss Jinny was glad to hear that he was 
 so much better. Miss Jinny could not imagine any- 
 
26 The Pagan Child. 
 
 thing that pleased her more than to know that ne \vas 
 jo strong as to be able to rejoin his friends again, 
 who must love him so much and be so anxious about 
 him. Her father thought she would be pleased, and, 
 now that he was gone, there was really no necessity 
 for her to hurry back. Miss Jinny, in a high metallic 
 voice, did not know that she had expressed any desire 
 to stay ; still if her presence had become distasteful at 
 home, if her own father was desirous of getting rid of 
 her, if, when she was so soon to leave his roof for ever, 
 he still begrudged her those few days remaining, if 
 
 "My God, Jinny, so help me !" said Mr. McClosky, 
 clutching despairingly at his beard, " I didn't go for 
 to say anything of the kind. I thought that you " 
 
 " Never mind, father," interrupted Jinny, magnani 
 mously, " you misunderstood me ; of course you did, 
 you couldn't help it you're a MAN ! " 
 
 Mr. McClosky, sorely crushed, would have vaguely 
 protested; but his daughter having relieved herself after 
 the manner of her sex, with a mental personal applica 
 tion of an abstract statement, forgave him with a kiss. 
 
 Nevertheless, for two or three days after her return, 
 Mr. McClosky followed his daughter about the house 
 with yearning eyes, and occasionally with timid, dif 
 fident feet. Sometimes he came upon her suddenly 
 at her household tasks with an excuse so palpably false, 
 and a careless manner so outrageously studied, that 
 she was fain to be embarrassed for him. Later, he took 
 to rambling about the house at night, and was often 
 seen noiselessly passing and repassing through the 
 
The Pagan Child. 27 
 
 ball after she had retired. On one occasion he was 
 surprised, first by sleep and then by the early-rising 
 Jinny, as he lay on the rug outside her chamber-door. 
 
 " You treat me like a child, father," said Jenny. 
 
 " I thought, Jinny," said the father apologetically, 
 " I thought I heard sounds as if you was takin' on 
 inside, and listenin' I fell asleep." 
 
 " You dear, old simple-minded baby ! " said Jinny, 
 looking past her father's eye sand lifting his grizzled locks 
 one by one with meditative fingers : " what should I 
 be takin' on for? Look how much taller I am than 
 you ! " she said, suddenly lifting herself up to the ex 
 treme of her superb figure. Then rubbing his head 
 rapidly with both hands, as if she were anointing his 
 hair with some rare unguent, she patted him on the 
 back, and returned to her room. The result of this and 
 one or two other equally sympathetic interviews was to 
 produce a change in Mr. McClosky's manner, which 
 was, if possible, still more discomposing. He grew 
 unjustifiably hilarious, cracked jokes with the servants, 
 and repeated to Jinny humorous stories, with the 
 attitude of facetiousness carefully preserved through 
 out the entire narration, and the point utterly ignored 
 and forgotten. Certain incidents reminded him of 
 funny things, which invariably turned out to have not 
 the slightest relevancy or application. He occasionally 
 brought home with him practical humourists, with a 
 sanguine hope of setting them going, like the music- 
 box, for his daughter's edification. He essayed the 
 singing of melodies with great freedom of style, and 
 
28 The Pagan Child. 
 
 singular limitation of note. He sang " Come, haste 
 to the wedding, ye lasses and maidens,' 7 of which 
 he knew a single line, and that incorrectly, as being 
 peculiarly apt and appropriate. Yet away from the 
 house and his daughter's presence he was silent and 
 distraught. His absence of mind was particularly 
 noted by his workmen at the Empire Quartz-mill. 
 " Ef the old man don't look out and wake up," said 
 his foreman, " he'll hev them feet of his yet under the 
 stamps. When he ain't givin' his mind to em' they is 
 altogether too promiskuss." 
 
 A few nights later, Miss Jinny recognised her 
 father's hand in a timid tap at the door. She opened 
 it, and he stood before her, with a valise in his hand, 
 equipped as fora journey. "I takes the stage to-night, 
 Jinny dear, from Four Forks to 'Frisco. Maybe I 
 may drop in on Jack afore I go. I'll be back in a 
 week. Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye." He still held her hand. Presently he 
 drew her back into the room, closing the door care 
 fully, and glancing around. There was a look of 
 profound cunning in his eye as he said slowly, 
 
 "Bear up, and keep dark, Jinny dear, and trust to 
 the old man. Various men has various ways. Thar 
 is ways as is common, and ways as is oncommon ; 
 ways as is easy, and ways as is oneasy. Bear up, and 
 keep dark." With this Delphic utterance he put his 
 finger to his lips, and vanished. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when he reached Four Forks. A 
 few minutes later he stood on the threshold of that 
 
The Pagan Child. 29 
 
 dwelling described by the Four Forks "Sentinel" as 
 " the palatial residence of John Ashe," and known 
 to the local satirist as the " ashe-box." 
 
 " Hevin' to lay by two hours, John," he said to his 
 prospective son-in-law, as he took his hand at the 
 door, "a few words of social converse, not on business, 
 but strictly private, seems to be about as nat'ral a 
 thing as a man can do." 
 
 This introduction, evidently the result of some 
 study, and plainly committed to memory, seemed 
 so satisfactory to Mr. McClosky, that he repeated 
 it again, after John Ashe had led him into his 
 private office, where, depositing his valise in the 
 middle of the floor, and sitting down before it, he 
 began carefully to avoid the eye of his host. John 
 Ashe, a tall, dark, handsome Kentuckian, with whom 
 even the trifles of life were evidently full of serious 
 import, waited with a kind of chivalrous respect the 
 further speech of his guest. Being utterly devoid of 
 any sense of the ridiculous, he always accepted Mr. 
 McClosky as a grave fact, singular only from his own 
 want of experience of the class. 
 
 "Ores is running light now," said Mr. McClosky 
 with easy indifference. 
 
 John Ashe returned that he had noticed the same 
 fact in the receipts of the mill at Four Forks. 
 
 Mr. McClosky rubbed his beard, and looked at his 
 valise, as if for sympathy and suggestion. 
 
 "You don't reckon on having any trouble with any 
 of them chaps as you cut out with Jinny ?'' 
 
30 The Pagan Child. 
 
 John Ashe, rather haughtily, had never thought of 
 that. "I saw Ranee hanging round your house the 
 other night when I took your daughter home ; but 
 he gave me a wide berth," he added, carelessly. 
 
 "Surely," said Mr. McClosky, with a peculiar wink 
 ing of the eye. After a pause, he took a fresh de 
 parture from his valise. 
 
 " A few words, John, ez between man and man, ez 
 between my daughter's father and her husband who 
 expects to be, is about the thing, I take it, as is fair 
 and square. I kern here to say them. They're 
 about Jinny, my gal." 
 
 Ashe's grave face brightened, to Mr. McClosky's 
 evident discomposure. 
 
 " Maybe I should have said about her mother ; but, 
 the same bein' a stranger to you, I says naterally, 
 < Jinny/" 
 
 Ashe nodded courteously. Mr. McClosky, with his 
 eyes on his valise, went on, 
 
 " It is sixteen year ago as I married Mrs. McClosky 
 in the State of Missouri. She let on, at the time, to 
 be a widder, a widder with one child. When I say 
 let on, I mean to imply that I subsekently found out 
 that she was not a widder, nor a wife ; and the father 
 of the child was, so to speak, onbeknowst Thet 
 child was Jinny my gal." 
 
 With his eyes on his valise, and quietly ignoring the 
 wholly crimsoned face and swiftly darkening brow of 
 his host, he continued, 
 
 " Many little things sorter tended to make our 
 
The Pagan Child. 31 
 
 home in Missouri onpleasant. A disposition to smash 
 furniture, and heave knives around ; an inclination to 
 howl when drunk, and that frequent ; a habitooal use 
 of vulgar language, and a tendency to cuss the casooal 
 visitor, seemed to pint," added Mr. McClosky with 
 submissive hesitation, " that she was so to speak 
 quite onsuited to the marriage relation in its 
 holiest aspeck." 
 
 " Damnation ! why didn't- " burst out John Ashe, 
 
 erect and furious. 
 
 " At the end of two year," continued Mr. Mc 
 Closky, still intent on the valise, " I allowed I'd get a 
 diworce. Et about thet time, however, Providence 
 sends a circus into thet town, and a feller ez rode 
 three horses to onct. Hevin' allez a taste for athletic 
 sports, she left town with this feller, leavin* me and 
 Jinny behind. I sent word to her thet, if she would 
 give Jinny to me, we'd call it quits. And she did." 
 
 " Tell me," gasped Ashe, " did you ask your daugh 
 ter to keep this from me ? or did she do it of her 
 own accord ? " 
 
 " She doesn't know it," said Mr. McClosky. "She 
 thinks I'm her father, and that her mother's dead." 
 
 " Then, sir, this is your " 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. McClosky, slowly, "ez I've 
 asked any one to marry my Jinny. I don't know ez 
 I've persood that ez a business, or even taken it up as 
 a healthful recreation." 
 
 John Ashe paced the room furiously. Mr. Me- 
 Closky's eyes left the valise, and followed him curiously. 
 
32 The Pagan Child. 
 
 " Where is this woman ? " demanded Ashe, suddenly. 
 McClosky's eyes sought the valise again. 
 
 " She went to Kansas ; from Kansas she went into 
 Texas ; from Texas she eventooally came to Californy. 
 Being here, I've purvided her with money, when her 
 business was slack, through a friend.'' 
 
 John Ashe groaned. " She's gettin' rather old and 
 shaky for hosses, and now does the tight-rope business 
 and flying trapeze. Never hevin' seen her perform/' 
 continued Mr. McClosky with conscientious caution, 
 " I can't say how she gets on. On the bills she looks 
 well. Thar is a poster," said Mr. McClosky glancing 
 at Ashe, and opening his valise, " thar is a poster 
 givin' her performance at Marysville next month." 
 Mr. McClosky slowly unfolded a large yello\v-and- 
 blue printed poster, profusely illustrated. " She calls 
 herself i Mams' elle J. Miglawski, the great Russian 
 Tiapeziste.'" 
 
 John Ashe tore it from his hand. " Of course," 
 he said, suddenly facing Mr. McClosky, "you don't 
 expect me to go on with this ? " 
 
 Mr. McClosky took up the poster, carefully refolded 
 it, and returned it to his valise. " When you break 
 off with Jinny," he said, quietly, "I don't want anything 
 said 'bout this. She doesn't know it. She's a womn\ 
 and I reckon you're a white man." 
 
 "But what am I to say? How am I to go back of 
 my word ? " 
 
 " Write her a note. Say something hez come to 
 your knowledge (don't say what) that makes you break 
 
The Pagan Child. 33 
 
 It off. You needn't be afeard Jinny'll ever ask you 
 what." 
 
 John Ashe hesitated. He felt he had been cruelly 
 wronged. No gentleman, no Ashe, could go on further 
 in this affair. It was preposterous to think of it. But 
 somehow he felt at the moment very unlike a gen 
 tleman or an Ashe, and was quite sure he should 
 break down under Jinny's steady eyes. But then- 
 he could write to her. 
 
 " So ores is about as light here as on the Ridge. 
 Well, I'll reckon they'll come up before the rains. 
 Good-night." Mr. McClosky took the hand that his 
 host mechanically extended, shook it gravely, and was 
 gone. 
 
 When Mr. McClosky a week later stepped again 
 upon his own verandah, he saw through the French 
 window the figure of a man in his parlour. Under 
 his hospitable roof the sight was not unusual ; but for 
 an instant a subtle sense of disappointment thrilled 
 him. When he saw it was not the face of Ashe 
 turned toward him he was relieved ; but when he saw 
 the tawny beard, and quick, passionate eyes of Henry 
 Ranee he felt a new sense of apprehension, so that 
 he fell to rubbing his beard almost upon his very 
 threshold. 
 
 Jinny ran into the hall, and seized her father with 
 
 a little cry of joy. "Father," said Jinny, in a hurried 
 
 whisper, "don't mind ///;//," indicating Ranee with a 
 
 toss of her yellow braids ; " he's going soon. And I 
 
 3 
 
34 The Pagan Child. 
 
 think, father, I've done him wrong. But it's all over 
 with John and me now. Read that note, and see how 
 he's insulted me." Her lip quivered; but she went 
 on, "It's Ridgeway that he means, father; and I 
 believe it was his hand struck Ridgeway down, or 
 that he knows who did. But hush now ; not a word." 
 
 She gave him a feverish kiss, and glided back into 
 the parlour, leaving Mr. McClosky, perplexed and 
 irresolute, with the note in his hand. He glanced at 
 it hurriedly, and saw that it was couched in almost the 
 very words he had suggested. But a sudden, appre 
 hensive recollection came over him. He listened; 
 and, with an exclamation of dismay, he seized his hat 
 and ran out of the house, but too late. At the same 
 moment a quick, nervous footstep was heard upon the 
 verandah ; the French window flew open, and with a 
 light laugh of greeting Ridgeway stepped into the room. 
 
 Jinny's finer ear first caught the step. Jinny's 
 swifter feelings had sounded the depths of hope, of 
 joy, of despair, before he entered the room. Jinny's 
 pale face was the only one that met his self-possessed 
 and self-reliant when he stood before them. An angry 
 flush suffused even the pink roots of Ranee's beard as 
 he rose to his feet. An ominous fire sprang into 
 Ridgeway's eyes, and a spasm of hate and scorn 
 passed over the lower part of his face and left the 
 mouth and jaw immobile and rigid. 
 
 Yet he was the first to speak. "I owe you an 
 apology," he said to Jinny, with a sauve scorn that 
 brought the indignant blood back to her cheek, " for 
 
The Pagan Child. 35 
 
 this intrusion ; but I ask no pardon for withdrawing 
 from the only spot where that man dare confront me 
 with safety." 
 
 With an exclamation of rage, Ranee sprang toward 
 him. But as quickly Jinny stood between them, erect 
 and menacing. "There must be no quarrel here," 
 she said to Ranee. "While I protect your right as 
 my guest, don't oblige me to remind you of mine as 
 your hostess." She turned with a half-deprecatory air 
 to Ridgeway; but he was gone. So was her father. 
 Only Ranee remained, with a look of ill-concealed 
 triumph on his face. 
 
 Without looking at him she passed toward the door. 
 When she reached it she turned. "You asked rne a 
 question an hour ago. Come to me in the garden at 
 nine o'clock to-night and I will answer you. But 
 promise me first to keep away from Mr. Dent. Give 
 me your word not to seek him to avoid him if he 
 seeks you. Do you promise ? It is well." 
 
 He would have taken her hand ; but she waved him 
 away. In another moment he heard the swift rustle 
 of her dress in the hall, the sound of her feet upon 
 the stair, the sharp closing of her bedroom-door, and 
 all was quiet. 
 
 And even thus quietly the day wore away, and the 
 night rose slowly from the valley and overshadowed 
 the mountains with purple wings that fanned the still 
 air into a breeze, until the moon followed it and lulled 
 everything to rest as with the laying on of white and 
 benedictory hands. It was a lovely night; but Henry 
 3* 
 
36 The Pagan Child. 
 
 Ranee, waiting impatiently beneath a sycamore at the 
 foot of the garden, saw no beauty in earth or air or 
 sky. A thousand suspicions common to a jealous 
 nature, a vague suspicion of the spot, filled his mind 
 with distrust and doubt. " If this should be a trick 
 to keep my hands off that insolent pup ! " he muttered. 
 But even as the thought passed his tongue a white 
 figure slid from the shrubbery near the house, glided 
 along the line of picket-fence, and then stopped mid 
 way motionless in the moonlight. 
 
 It was she. But he scarcely recognised her in the 
 white drapery that covered her head and shoulders 
 and breast. He approached her with a hurried whisper. 
 "Let us withdraw from the moonlight. Everybody 
 can see us here." 
 
 " We have nothing to say that cannot be said in the 
 moonlight, Henry Ranee/' she replied, coldly receding 
 from his proffered hand. She trembled for a moment 
 as if with a chill, and then suddenly turned upon him. 
 " Hold up your head, and let me look at you ! I've 
 known only what men are : let me see what a traitor 
 looks like ! " 
 
 He recoiled more from her wild face than her words. 
 He saw from the first that her hollow cheeks and 
 hollow eyes were blazing with fever. He was no 
 coward ; but he would have fled. 
 
 " You are ill, Jinny," he said; "you had best re 
 turn to the house. Another time " 
 
 " Stop ! " she cried, hoarsely, " Move from this 
 spot, and I'll call for help ! Attempt to leave me 
 
The Pagan Child. 37 
 
 now, and I'll proclaim you the assassin that you 
 are ! " 
 
 " It was a fair fight," he said, doggedly. 
 
 "Was it a fair fight to creep behind an unarmed 
 and unsuspecting man ? Was it a fair fight to try to 
 throw suspicion on some one else ? Was it a fair 
 fight to deceive me ? Liar and coward that you are !" 
 
 He made a stealthy step toward her with evil eyes, 
 and a wickeder hand that crept within his breast. 
 She saw the motion ; but it only stung her to newer 
 fury. 
 
 " Strike ! " she said, with blazing eyes, throwing her 
 hands open before him. " Strike ! Are you afraid of 
 the woman who dares you ? Or do you keep your 
 knife for the backs of unsuspecting men ? Strike, 
 I tell you ! No ? Look then ! " 
 
 With a sudden movement she tore from her head and 
 shoulders the thick lace shawl that had concealed her 
 figure, and stood before him. " Look ! " she cried, 
 passionately, pointing to the bosom and shoulders of her 
 white dress, darkly streaked with faded stains and omi 
 nous discolouration, " look ! This is the dress I wore 
 that morning when I found him lying here, fare, 
 bleeding from your cowardly knife. Look ! Do you 
 see? This is his blood, my darling boy's blood! 
 or e drop of which, dead and faded as it is, is more 
 piecious to me than the whole living pulse of any 
 other man. Look ! I come to you to-night, chris 
 tened with his blood, and dare you to strike, dare 
 you to strike him again through me ? and mingle my 
 
38 The Pagan Child. 
 
 blood with his. Strike, I implore you ! Strike ! if 
 you have any pity on me, for God's sake ! Strike ! if 
 you are a man ! Look ! Here lay his head on my 
 shoulder ; here I held him to my breast, where never 
 so help me my God ! another man Ah ! " 
 
 She reeled against the fence, and something that 
 had flashed in Ranee's hand dropped at her feet ; for 
 another flash and report rolled him over in the dust : 
 and across his writhing body two men strode, and 
 caught her ere she fell. 
 
 " She has only fainted," said Mr. McClosky. " Jinny 
 dear, my girl, speak to me ! " 
 
 "What is this on her dress ?" said Ridgeway, 
 kneeling beside her, and lifting his set and colourless 
 face. At the sound of his voice, the colour came 
 faintly back to her cheek : she opened her eyes, and 
 smiled. 
 
 " It's only your blood, dear boy," she said; "but 
 look a little deeper, and you'll find my own." 
 
 She put up her two yearning hands, and drew his 
 face and lips down to her own. When Ridgeway 
 raised his head again, her eyes were closed ; but her 
 mouth still smiled as with the memory of a kiss. 
 
 They bore her to the house, still breathing, but un 
 conscious. That night the road was filled with 
 clattering horsemen ; and the summoned skill of 
 the countryside for leagues away gathered at her couch. 
 The wound, they said, was not essentially dangerous ; 
 but they had grave fears of the shock to a system 
 that already seemed suffering from some strange and 
 
The Pagan Child 39 
 
 unaccountable nervous exhaustion. The best medical 
 skill of Tuolumne happened to be young and observ 
 ing, and waited patiently an opportunity to account 
 for it. He was presently rewarded. 
 
 For toward morning she rallied, and looked feebly 
 around. Then she beckoned her father toward her, 
 and whispered, " Where is he ? " 
 
 " They took him away, Jinny dear, in a cart. He 
 won't trouble you agin." He stopped; for Miss 
 Jinny had raised on her elbow, and was levelling 
 her black brows at him. But two kicks from 
 the young surgeon, and a significant motion to 
 wards the door, sent Mr. McClosky away muttering. 
 "How should I know that 'fie' meant Ridgeway ?" 
 he said, apologetically, as he went and returned with 
 the young gentleman. The surgeon, who was still 
 holding her pulse, smiled, and thought that with a 
 little care and attention the stimulants might be 
 diminished and he might leave the patient for 
 some hours with perfect safety. He would give fur 
 ther directions to Mr. McClosky downstairs. 
 
 It was with great archness of manner that, half an 
 hour later, Mr. McClosky entered the room with a 
 preparatory cough ; and it was with some disappoint 
 ment that he found Ridgeway standing quietly by the 
 window, and his daughter apparently fallen into a 
 light doze. He was still more concerned when, after 
 Ridgeway had retired, noticing a pleasant smile 
 playing about her lips, he said, softly 
 
 "You was thinking of some one, Jinny?" 
 
40 The Pagan Child. 
 
 "Yes, father," the grey eyes met his steadily, "of 
 poor John Ashe ! " 
 
 Her recovery was swift. Nature, that had seemed 
 to stand jealously aloof from her in her mental 
 anguish, was kind to the physical hurt of her favourite 
 child. The superb physique, which had been her 
 charm and her trial, now stood her in good stead. 
 The healing balsam of the pine, the balm of resinous 
 gums, and the rare medicaments of Sierran altitudes, 
 touched her as it might have touched the wounded 
 doe ; so that in two weeks she was able to walk 
 about. And when, at the end of the month, Ridge- 
 way returned from a flying visit to San Francisco, and 
 jumped from the Wingdam coach at four o'clock in 
 the morning, the Rose of Tuolumne, with' the dewy 
 petals of either cheek fresh as when first unfolded to 
 his kiss, confronted him on the road. 
 
 With a common instinct, their young feet both 
 climbed the little hill now sacred to their thought. 
 When they reached its summit, they were both, I think, 
 a little disappointed. There is a fragrance in the un 
 folding of a passion that escapes the perfect flower. 
 Jinny thought the night was not as beautiful ; Ridge- 
 way that the long ride had blunted his perceptions. 
 But they had the frankness to confess it to each other, 
 with the rare delight of such a confession, and the 
 comparison of details which they thought each had 
 forgotten. And with this, and an occasional pitying 
 reference to the blank period when they had not known 
 each other, hand in hand they reached the house, 
 
The Pagan Child. 41 
 
 1 Mr. McClosky was awaiting them impatiently upon 
 the verandah. When Miss Jinny had slipped upstairs 
 to replace a collar that stood somewhat suspiciously 
 awry, Mr. McClosky drew Ridgeway solemnly aside. 
 He held a large theatre poster in one hand, and an 
 open newspaper in the other. 
 
 " I allus said," he remarked, slowly, with the air of 
 merely renewing a suspended conversation, " I allus 
 said that riding three horses to onct wasn't exactly in 
 her line. It would seem that it ain't. From remarks 
 in this yer paper, it would appear that she tried it on 
 at MnrysviJle last week, and broke her neck/' 
 
A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 
 MR. JOHN OAKHURST. 
 
 HE always thought it must have been fate. 
 Certainly nothing could have been more in 
 consistent with his habits than to have been in the 
 Plaza at seven o'clock of that midsummer morning. 
 The sight of his colourless face in Sacramento was 
 rare at that season, and indeed at any season, any 
 where publicly, before two o'clock in the afternoon. 
 Looking bacK upon it in after-years in the light of a 
 chanceful life, he determined, with the characteristic 
 philosophy of his profession, that it must have been 
 fate. 
 
 Yet it is my duty, as a strict chronicler of facts, to 
 state that Mr. Oakhurst's presence there that morning 
 was due to a very simple cause. At exactly half-past 
 six, the bank being then a winner to the amount of 
 twenty thousand dollars, he had risen from the faro- 
 table, relinquished his seat to an accomplished assis 
 tant, and withdrawn quietly, without attracting a 
 glance from the silent, anxious faces bowed over the 
 
Mr. John Oakhurst. 43 
 
 table. But when he entered his luxurious sleeping- 
 room, across the passage-way, he was a little shocked 
 at finding the sun streaming through an inadvertently 
 opened window. Something in the rare beauty of 
 the morning, perhaps something in the novelty of the 
 idea, struck him as he was about to close the blinds ; 
 and he hesitated. Then, taking his hat from the table, 
 he stepped down a private staircase into the street. 
 
 The people who were abroad at that early hour were 
 of a class quite unknown to Mr. Oakhurst. There 
 were milkmen and hucksters delivering their wares, 
 small tradespeople opening their shops, housemaids 
 sweeping doorsteps, and occasionally a child. These 
 Mr. Oakhurst regarded with a certain cold curiosity 
 perhaps quite free from the cynical disfavour with 
 which he generally looked upon the more pretentious 
 of his race whom he was in the habit of meeting. 
 Indeed, I think he was not altogether displeased with 
 the admiring glances which these humble women threw 
 after his handsome face and figure, conspicuous even 
 in a country of fine-looking men. While it is very 
 probable that this wicked vagabond, in the pride of 
 his social isolation, would have been coldly indifferent 
 to the advances of a fine lady, a little girl who ran 
 admiringly by his side in a ragged dress had the power 
 to call a faint flush into his colourless cheek. He 
 dismissed her at last, but not until she had found out 
 what, sooner or later, her large hearted and discri 
 minating sex inevitably did that he was exceedingly 
 free and open handed with his money, and also 
 
44 -4 Passage in the Life 
 
 what, perhaps, none other of her sex ever did that 
 the bold black eyes of this fine gentleman were in 
 reality of a brownish and even tender grey. 
 
 There was a small garden before a white cottage in. 
 a side-street that attracted Mr. Oakhurst's attention. 
 It was filled with roses, heliotrope, and verbena 
 flowers familiar enough to him in the expensive and 
 more portable form of bouquets, but, as it seemed to 
 him then, never before so notably lovely. Perhaps it 
 was because the dew was yet fresh upon them ; per 
 haps it was because they were unplucked ; but Mr. 
 Oakhurst admired them not as a possible future 
 tribute to the fascinating and accomplished Miss 
 Ethelinda, then performing at the Varieties, for Mr. 
 Oakhurst's especial benefit, as she had often assured 
 him ; nor yet as a douceur to the enthralling Miss 
 Montmorrissy, with whom Mr. Oakhurst expected to 
 sup that evening; but simply for himself, and may 
 hap for the flowers' sake. Howbeit he passed on, 
 and so out into the open Plaza, where, finding a bench 
 under a cotton-wood tree, he first dusted the seat with 
 his handkerchief, and then sat down. 
 
 It was a fine morning. The air was so still and 
 calm that a sigh from the sycamores seemed like 
 the deep-drawn breath of the just awakening tree, 
 and the faint rustle of its boughs as the outstretching 
 of cramped and reviving limbs. Far away the Sierras 
 stood out against a sky so remote as to be of no posi 
 tive colour so remote that even the sun despaired 
 of ever reaching it, and so expended its strength 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 45 
 
 recklessly on the whole landscape, until it fairly 
 glittered in a white and vivid contrast. With a very 
 rare impulse, Mr. Oakhurst took off his hat, and half- 
 reclined on the bench, with his face to the sky. Cer 
 tain birds who had taken a critical attitude on a spray 
 above him, apparently began an animated discussion 
 regarding his possible malevolent intentions. One or 
 two, emboldened by the silence, hopped on the 
 ground at his feet, until the sound of wheels on the 
 gravel-walk frightened them away. 
 
 Looking up, he saw a man coming slowly toward 
 him, wheeling a nondescript vehicle, in which a woman 
 was partly sitting, partly reclining. Without knowing 
 why, Mr. Oakhurst instantly conceived that the car 
 riage was the invention and workmanship of the man, 
 partly from its oddity, partly from the strong, mecha 
 nical hand that grasped it, and partly from a certain 
 pride and visible consciousness in the manner in 
 which the man handled it. Then Mr. Oakhurst saw 
 something more : the man's face was familiar. With 
 that regal faculty of not forgetting a face that had 
 ever given him professional audience, he instantly 
 classified it under the following mental formula : "At 
 'Frisco, Polka Saloon. Lost his week's wages. I 
 reckon seventy dollars on red. Never came again." 
 There was, however, no trace of this in the calm eyes 
 and unmoved face that he turned upon the stranger, 
 who, on the contrary, blushed, looked embarrassed, 
 hesitated, and then stopped with an involuntary motion 
 that brought the carriage and its fair occupant face to 
 face with Mr. Oakhurst 
 
46 A Passage in the Life 
 
 I should hardly do justice to the position she will 
 occupy in this veracious chronicle by describing the 
 lady now, if, indeed, I am able to do it at all. Cer 
 tainly the popular estimate was conflicting. The late 
 Col. Starbottle to whose large experience of a 
 charming sex I have before been indebted for many 
 valuable suggestions had, I regret to say, depreciated 
 her fascinations. " A yellow-faced cripple, by dash ! 
 a sick woman, with mahogany eyes ; one of your 
 blanked spiritual creatures with no flesh on her 
 bones." On the other hand, however, she enjoyed 
 later much complimentary disparagement from her 
 own sex. Miss Celestina Howard, second leader in 
 the ballet at the Varieties, had, with great alliterative 
 directness, in after-years, denominated her as an 
 "aquiline asp." Mile. Brimborion remembered that 
 she had always warned "Mr. Jack" that this woman 
 would "empoison" him. But Mr. Oakhurst, whose 
 impressions are perhaps the most important, only saw 
 a pale, thin, deep-eyed woman, raised above the level 
 of her companion by the refinement of long suffering 
 and isolation, and a certain shy virginity of manner. 
 There was a suggestion of physical purity in the folds 
 of her fresh-looking robe, and a certain picturesque 
 tastefulness in the details, that, without knowing why, 
 made him think that the robe was her invention and 
 handiwork, even as the carriage she occupied was 
 evidently the work of her companion. Her own 
 hand, a trifle too thin, but well-shaped, subtle-fingered, 
 and gentlewomanly, rested on the side of the carriage, 
 
of Mr. John Oakhursi. 47 
 
 the counterpart of the strong mechanical grasp of her 
 companion's. 
 
 There was some obstruction to the progress of the 
 vehicle, and Mr. Oakhurst stepped forward to assist. 
 While the wheel was being lifted over the curbstone, 
 it was necessary that she should hold his arm ; and 
 for a moment her thin hand rested there, light and 
 cold as a snow-flake, and then, as it seemed to him, 
 like a snow-flake melted away. Then there was a 
 pause, and then conversation, the lady joining occa 
 sionally and shily. 
 
 It appeared that they were man and wife ; that for 
 the past two years she had been a great invalid, and 
 had lost the use of ,her lower limbs from rheumatism ; 
 that until lately she had been confined to her bed, 
 until her husband who was a master-carpenter had 
 bethought himself to make her this carriage. He 
 took her out regularly for an airing before going to 
 work, because it was his only time, and they attract 
 ed, less attention. They had tried many doctors, but 
 without avail. They had been advised to go to the 
 Sulphur Springs ; but it was expensive. Mr. Decker, 
 the husband, had once saved eighty dollars for that 
 purpose, but while in San Francisco had his pocket 
 picked Mr. Decker was so senseless ! (The intelli 
 gent reader need not be told that it is the lady who is 
 speaking.) They had never been able to make up 
 the sum again, and they had given up the idea. It 
 was a dreadful thing to have one's pocket picked. 
 Did he not think so ? 
 
48 A Passage in the Life 
 
 Her husband's face was crimson; but Mr. Oak- 
 hurst's countenance was quite calm and unmoved, as 
 he gravely agreed with her, and walked by her side 
 until they passed the little garden that he had ad 
 mired. Here Mr. Oakhurst commanded a halt, and, 
 going to the door, astounded the proprietor by a pre 
 posterously extravagant offer for a choice of the 
 flowers. Presently he returned to the carriage with 
 his arms full of roses, heliotrope, and verbena, and 
 cast them in the lap of the invalid. While she was 
 bending over them with childish delight, Mr. Oak- 
 hurst took the opportunity of drawing her husband 
 aside, 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, in a low voice, and a manner 
 quite free from any personal annoyance, " perhaps 
 it's just as well that you lied to her as you did. You 
 can say now that the pickpocket was arrested the 
 other day, and you got your money back." Mr. 
 Oakhurst quietly slipped four twenty-dollar gold- 
 pieces into the broad hand of the bewildered Mr. 
 Decker. "Say that or anything you like but the 
 truth. Promise me you won't say that." 
 
 The man promised. Mr. Oakhurst quietly returned 
 to the front of the little carriage. The sick woman 
 was still eagerly occupied with the flowers, and, as she 
 raised her eyes to his, her faded cheek seemed to have 
 caught some colour from the roses, and her eyes some 
 of their dewy freshness. But at that instant Mr. Oak 
 hurst lifted his hat, and before she could thank him 
 was gone. 
 
of Mr. John Oakhitrsi. 49 
 
 I grieve to say that Mr. Decker shamelessly broke 
 his promise. That night, in the very goodness of 
 his heart and uxorious self-abnegation, he, like all 
 devoted husbands, not only offered himself, but his 
 friend and benefactor, as a sacrifice on the family 
 altar. It is only fair, however, to add that he spoke 
 with great fervour of the generosity of Mr. Oakhurst, 
 and dwelt with an enthusiasm quite common with his 
 class on the mysterious fame and prodigal vices of the 
 gambler. 
 
 "And now, Elsie, dear, say that you'll forgive me," 
 said Mr. Decker, dropping on one knee beside his 
 wife's couch. " I did it for the best. It was .jjpr you, 
 deary, that I put that money on them cards that 
 night in 'Frisco. I thought to win a heap enough 
 to take you away, and enough left to get you a new 
 dress/' 
 
 Mrs. Decker smiled, and pressed her husband's 
 hand. " I do forgive you, Joe, dear/' she said, still 
 smiling, with eyes abstractedly fixed on the ceiling; 
 "and you ought to be whipped for deceiving me so, 
 you bad boy, and making me make such a speech. 
 There, say no more about it. If you'll be very good 
 hereafter, and will just now hand me that cluster of 
 roses, I'll forgive you." She took the branch in her 
 fingers, lifted the roses to her face, and presently said, 
 behind their leaves, 
 
 "Joe!" 
 
 "What is it, lovey?" 
 
 "Do you think that this Mr. what do you call 
 4 
 
go A Passage in the Life 
 
 him? Jack Oakhurst would have given that money 
 back to you, if I hadn't made that speech ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "If he hadn't seen me at all?" 
 
 Mr. Decker looked up. His wife had managed in 
 some way to cover up her whole face with the roses 
 except her eyes, which were dangerously bright. 
 
 " No ! It was you, Elsie it was all along of seeing 
 you that made him do it." 
 
 " A poor sick woman like me ? " 
 
 "A sweet, little, lovely, pooty Elsie Joe's own 
 little wifey ! How could he help it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Decker fondly cast one arm around her hus 
 band's neck, still keeping the roses to her face with 
 the other. From behind them she began to murmur 
 gently and idiotically, " Dear ole square Joey. Elsie's 
 oney bootul big bear." But, really, I do not see that 
 my duty as a chronicler of facts compels me to con 
 tinue this little lady's speech any farther; and, out of 
 respect to the unmarried reader, I stop. 
 
 Nevertheless, the second morning Mrs. Decker 
 betrayed some slight and apparently uncalled-for 
 irritability on reaching the Plaza, and presently de 
 sired her husband to wheel her back home. More 
 over, she was very much astonished at meeting Mr. 
 Oakhurst just as they were returning, and even 
 doubted if it were he, and questioned her husband 
 as to his identity with the stranger of yesterday as he 
 approached. Her manner to Mr. Oakhurst, also, was 
 quite in contrast with her husband's frank welcome. 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 51 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst instantly detected it. "Her husband 
 has told her all, and she dislikes me," he said to 
 himself, with that fatal appreciation of the half-truths 
 of a woman's motives that causes the wisest masculine 
 critic to stumble. He lingered only long enough to 
 take the business address of the husband, and then, 
 lifting his hat gravely, without looking at the lady, 
 went his way. It struck the honest master-carpenter 
 as one of the charming anomalies of his wife's 
 character, that, although the meeting was evidently 
 very much constrained and unpleasant, instantly after 
 ward his wife's spirits began to rise. " You was hard 
 on him, a leetle hard; wasn't you, Elsie?" said Mr. 
 Decker, deprecatingly. " I'm afraid he may think 
 I've broke my promise." "Ah, indeed!" said the 
 lady, indifferently. Mr. Decker instantly stepped 
 round to the front of the vehicle. " You look like 
 an A i first-class lady riding down Broadway in her 
 own carriage, Elsie,'* said he ; " I never seed you 
 lookin' so peart and sassy before." 
 
 A few days later, the proprietor of the San Isabel 
 Sulphur Springs received the following note in Mr. 
 Oakhurst's well-known dainty hand : 
 
 DEAR STEVE, I've been thinking over your proposition to 
 buy Nichols's quarter-interest, and have concluded to go in. 
 But I don't see how the thing will pay until you have more 
 accommodation down there, and for the best class I mean my 
 customers. What we want is an extension to the main building, 
 and two or three cottaes put up. I send down a builder to 
 take hold of the job at once. He takes his sick wife with him ; 
 and you are to look after them as you would for one of us. 
 
 4* 
 
53 A Passage in the Life 
 
 I may run down there myself, after the races, just to look 
 after things ; but I shan't set up any game this season. Yours 
 always, JOHN OAKHURST. 
 
 It \vas only the last sentence of this letter that 
 provoked criticism. "I can understand," said Mr. 
 Hamlin, a professional brother, to whom Mr. Oak- 
 hurst's letter was shown, " I can understand why 
 Jack goes in heavy and builds ; for it's a sure spec, 
 and is bound to be a mighty soft thing in time, r 
 he comes here regularly. But why in blank he don't 
 set up a bank this season, and take the chance of 
 getting some of the money back that lie puts into 
 circulation in building, is what gets me. I wonder 
 now," he mused deeply, "what is his little game." 
 
 The season had been a prosperous one to Mr. 
 Oakhurst, and proportionally disastrous to several 
 members of the legislature, judges, colonels, and 
 others who had enjoyed but briefly the pleasure of 
 Mr. Oakhurst's midnight society. Ana yet Sacra 
 mento had become very dull to him. He had lately 
 formed a habit of early morning walks, so unusual 
 and startling to his friends, both male and female, as 
 to occasion the intensest curiosity. Two or three of 
 the latter set spies upon his track ; but the inquisition 
 resulted only in the. discovery that Mr. Oakhurst 
 walked to the Plaza, sat down upon one particular 
 bench for a few moments, and then returned without 
 seeing anybody ; and the theory that there was a 
 woman in the case was abandoned. A few super 
 stitious gentlemen of his own profession believed that 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 53 
 
 he did it for "luck." Some others, more practical, 
 declared that he went out to " study points." 
 
 After the races at Marysville, Mr. Oakhurst went 
 to San Francisco; from that place he returned to 
 Marysville, but a few days after was seen at San 
 Jose', Santa Cruz, and Oakland. Those who met 
 him declared that his manner was restless and 
 feverish, and quite unlike his ordinary calmness 
 and phlegm. Col. Starbottle pointed out the fact 
 that at San Francisco, at the club, Jack had de 
 clined to deal. " Hand shaky, sir ; depend upon it 
 Don't stimulate enough blank him ! " 
 
 From San Josd he started to go to Oregon by land 
 with a rather expensive outfit of horses and camp 
 equipage; but, on reaching Stockton, he suddenly 
 diverged, and four hours later found him with a single 
 horse entering the canon of the San Isabel Warm 
 Sulphur Springs. 
 
 It was a pretty triangular valley lying at the foot of 
 three sloping mountains, dark with pines, and fantastic 
 with madrono and manzanita. Nestling against the 
 mountain-side, the straggling buildings and long piazza 
 of the hotel glittered through the leaves, and here and 
 there shone a white toy-like cottage. Mr. Oakhurst 
 was not an admirer of nature ; .but he felt something 
 of the same novel satisfaction in the view that he 
 experienced in his first morning walk in Sacramento. 
 And now carriages began to pass him on the road, 
 filled with gaily-dressed women; and the cold Cali 
 fornia outlines of the landscape began to take upon 
 
54 ^ Passage in the Life 
 
 themselves somewhat of a human warmth and colour. 
 And then the long hotel piazza came in view, efflores 
 cent with the full-toiletted fair. Mr. Oakhurst, a good 
 rider after the California fashion, did not check his 
 speed as he approached his destination, but charged 
 the hotel at a gallop, threw his horse on his haunches 
 within a foot of the piazza, and then quietly emerged 
 from the cloud of dust that veiled his dismounting. 
 
 Whatever feverish excitement might have raged 
 within, all his habitual calm returned as he stepped 
 upon the piazza. With the instinct of long habit he 
 turned and faced the battery of eyes with the same 
 cold indifference with which he had for years en 
 countered the half-hidden sneers of men and the half- 
 frightened admiration of women. Only one person 
 stepped forward to welcome him. Oddly enough, it 
 was Dick Hamilton, perhaps the only one present, 
 who by birth, education, and position might have 
 satisfied the most fastidious social critic. Happily 
 for Mr. Oakhurst's reputation, he was also a very rich 
 banker and social leader. " Do you know who that 
 is you spoke to ? " asked young Parker with an alarmed 
 expression. " Yes," replied Hamilton, with character 
 istic effrontery, " the man you lost a thousand dollars 
 to last week. / only know him socially" "But isn't 
 he a gambler?'* queried the youngest Miss Smith. 
 " He is," replied Hamilton ; " but I wish, my dear 
 young lady, that we all played as open and honest a 
 game as our friend yonder, and were as willing as he 
 is to abide by its fortunes." 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. $$ 
 
 But Mr. Oakhurst was happily out of hearing of 
 this colloquy, and was even then lounging listlessly 
 yet watchfully along the upper hall. Suddenly he 
 heard a light footstep behind him, and then his name 
 called in a familiar voice that drew the blood quickly 
 to his heart. He turned, and she stood before him. 
 
 But how transformed ! If I have hesitated to de 
 scribe the hollow-eyed cripple, the quaintly-dressed 
 artisan's wife, a few pages ago, what shall I do with 
 this graceful, shapely, elegantly-attired gentlewoman 
 into whom she has been merged within these two 
 months? In good faith she was very pretty. You 
 and I, my dear madam, would have been quick to see 
 that those charming dimples were misplaced for true 
 beauty, and too fixed in their quality for honest mirth- 
 fulness ; that the delicate lines around these aquiline 
 nostrils were cruel and selfish ; that the sweet virginal 
 surprise of these lovely eyes were as apt to be opened 
 on her plate as upon the gallant speeches of her 
 dinner partner ; that her sympathetic colour came and 
 went more with her own spirits than yours. But you 
 and I are not in love with her, dear madam, and Mr. 
 Oakhurst is. And, even in the folds of her Parisian 
 gown, I am afraid this poor fellow saw the same 
 subtle strokes of purity that he had seen in her home 
 spun robe. And then there was the delightful revela 
 tion that she could walk, and that she had dear little 
 feet of her own in the tiniest slippers of her French 
 shoemaker, with such preposterous blue bows, and 
 
56 A Passage in the Life 
 
 ChappelPs own stamp Rue de something or other, 
 Paris on the narrow sole. 
 
 He ran toward her with a heightened colour and 
 outstretched hands. But she whipped her own behind 
 her, glanced rapidly up and down the long hall, and 
 stood looking at him with a half-audacious, half- 
 mischievous admiration, in utter contrast to her old 
 reserve. 
 
 " I've a great mind not to shake hands with you at 
 all. You passed me just now on the piazza without 
 speaking; and I ran after you, as I suppose many 
 another poor woman has done." 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst stammered that she was so changed. 
 
 "The more reason why you should know me. Who 
 changed me ? You. You have recreated me. You 
 found a helpless, crippled, sick, poverty-stricken 
 woman, with one dress to her back, and that her own 
 make, and you gave her life, health, strength, and for 
 tune. You did ; and you know it, sir. How do you 
 like your work?" She caught the side-seams of her 
 gown in either hand, and dropped him a playful 
 curtsey. Then, with a sudden, relenting gesture, she 
 gave him both her hands. 
 
 Outrageous as this speech was, and unfeminine as I 
 trust every fair reader will deem it, I fear it pleased 
 Mr. Oakhurst. Not but that he was accustomed to a 
 certain frank female admiration; but then it was of 
 the coulisse, and not of the cloister, with which he 
 always persisted in associating Mrs. Decker. To be 
 addressed in this way by an invalid Puritan, a sick 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 57 
 
 saint with the austerity of suffering still clothing her, 
 woman who had a Bible on the dressing-table, wh(f 
 went to church three times a day, and was devoted ti 
 her husband, completely bowled him over. He still 
 held her hands as she went on, 
 
 "Why didn't you come before? What were you 
 doing in Marysville, in San Jose, in Oakland ? You 
 see I have followed you. I saw you as you came down 
 the canon, and knew you at once. I saw your letter to 
 Joseph, and knew you were coming. Why didn't you 
 write to me ? You will some time ! Good evening, 
 Mr. Hamilton.'* 
 
 She had withdrawn her hands, but not until Hamil 
 ton, ascending the staircase, was nearly abreast of 
 them. He raised his hat to her with well-bred com 
 posure, nodded familiarly to Oakhurst, and passed on. 
 When he had gone, Mrs. Decker lifted her eyes to Mr. 
 Oakhurst. " Some day I shall ask a great favour of 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst begged that it should be now. " No, 
 not until you know me better. Then, some day, I 
 shall want you to kill that man ! " 
 
 She laughed such a pleasant little ringing laugh, 
 such a display of dimples albeit a little fixed in the 
 corners of her mouth, such an innocent light in her 
 brown eyes, and such a lovely colour in her cheeks, 
 that Mr. Oakhurst (who seldom laughed), was fain to 
 laugh too. It was as if a lamb had proposed to a fox 
 a foray into a neighbouring sheepfold. 
 
 A. few evenings after this, Mrs. Decker arose from 
 
58 A Passage in the Life 
 
 a charmed circle of her admirers on the hotel piazza, 
 excused herself for a few moments, laughingly de 
 clined an escort, and ran over to her little cottage 
 one of her husband's creation across the road. 
 Perhaps from the sudden and unwonted exercise in 
 her still convalescent state, she breathed hurriedly 
 and feverishly as she entered her boudoir, and once 
 or twice placed her hand upon her breast. She was 
 startled on turning up the light to find her husband 
 lying on the sofa. 
 
 " You look hot and excited, Elsie love/ 1 said Mr. 
 Decker. " You ain't took worse, are you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Decker's face had paled, but now flushed 
 again. "No," she said; "only a little paiiT here," as 
 she again placed her hand upon her corsage. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you?" said Mr. Decker, 
 rising with affectionate concern. 
 
 " Run over to the hotel and get me some brandy, 
 quick !" Mr. Decker ran. 
 
 Mrs. Decker closed and bolted the door, and then, 
 putting her hand to her bosom, drew out the pain. It - 
 was folded four-square, and was, I grieve to say, in 
 Mr. Oakhnrst's handwriting. 
 
 She devoured it with burning eyes and cheeks until 
 there came a step upon the porch; then she hurriedly 
 replaced it in her bosom, and unbolted the door. 
 Her husband entered. She raised the spirits to her 
 lips, and declared herself better. 
 
 "Are you going over there again to-night ?" asked 
 Mr. Decker, submissively. 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 59 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Decker, with her eyes fixed 
 dreamily on the floor. 
 
 " I wouldn't if I was you," said Mr. Decker, with a 
 sigh of relief. After a pause, he took a seat on the 
 sofa, and, drawing his wife to his side, said, " Do you 
 know what I was thinking of when you came in, 
 Elsie?" 
 
 Mrs. Decker ran her fingers through his stiff black 
 hair, and couldn't imagine. 
 
 " I was thinking of old times, Elsie : I was think 
 ing of the days when I built that kerridge for 
 you, Elsie when I used to take you out to ride, 
 and was both hoss and driver. We was poor then, 
 and you was sick, Elsie ; but we was happy. We've 
 got money now, and a house; and you're quite 
 another woman. I may say, dear, that you're a new 
 woman. And that's where the trouble comes in. 
 I could build you a kerridge, Elsie I could build 
 you a house, Elsie but there I stopped. I couldn't 
 build up you. You're strong and pretty, Elsie, and 
 fresh and new. But somehow, Elsie, you ain't no 
 work of mine ! " 
 
 He paused. 
 
 With one hand laid gently on his forehead, and the 
 other pressed upon her bosom, as if to feel certain ot 
 the presence of her pain, she said, sweetly and sooth 
 ingly, " But it was your work, dear." 
 
 Mr. Decker shook his head sorrowfully. "No 
 Elsie, not mine. I had the chance to do it once, and 
 I let it go. It's done now but not by me/' 
 
60 A Passage in the Life 
 
 Mrs. Decker raised her surprised, innocent eyes to 
 his. He kissed her tenderly, and then went on in a 
 more cheerful voice, 
 
 "That ain't all I was thinking of, Elsie. I was 
 thinking that maybe you give too much of your 
 company to that Mr. Hamilton. Not that there's any 
 wrong in it, to you or him ; but it might make people 
 talk. You're the only one here, Elsie," said the 
 master-carpenter, looking fondly at his wife, "who 
 isn't talked about, whose work ain't inspected or 
 condemned." 
 
 Mrs. Decker was glad he had spoken about it. 
 She had thought so too. But she could not well be 
 uncivil to Mr. Hamilton, who was a fine -gentleman, 
 without making a powerful enemy. " And he's always 
 treated me as if I was a born lady in hi3 own circle," 
 added the little woman, with a certain pride that 
 made her husband fondly smile. "But I have 
 thought of a plan. He will not stay here if I 
 should go away. If, for instance, I went to San 
 Francisco to visit ma for a few days, he would be 
 gone before I should return." 
 
 Mr. Decker was delighted. "By all means," he 
 said, "go to-morrow. Jack Oakhurst is going down; 
 and I'll put you in his charge." 
 
 Mrs. Decker did not think it was prudent. " Mr. 
 Oakhurst is our friend, Joseph; but you know his 
 reputation." In fact, she did not know that she 
 ought to go now, knowing that he was going the 
 same day; but, with a kiss, Mr. Decker overcame her 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 61 
 
 scruples. She yielded gracefully. Few women, in 
 fact, knew how to give up a point as charmingly as 
 she. 
 
 She stayed a week in San Francisco. When she 
 returned, she was a trifle thinner and paler than she 
 had been. This she explained as the result of 
 perhaps too active exercise and excitement. " I was 
 out-of-doors nearly all the time, as ma will tell you," 
 she said to her husband, " and always alone. I am 
 getting quite independent now," she added, gaily. 
 "I don't want any escort. I believe, Joey dear, I 
 could get along even without you, I'm so brave ! " 
 
 But her visit, apparently, had not been productive 
 of her impelling design. Mr. Hamilton had not 
 gone, but had remained, and called upon them that 
 very evening. 
 
 " I've thought of a plan, Joey dear," said Mrs. 
 Decker, when he had departed. " Poor Mr. Oak- 
 hurst has a miserable room at the hotel. Suppose 
 you ask him, when he returns from San Francisco, to 
 stop with us. He can have our spare room. I don't 
 think," she added, archly, "that Mr. Hamilton will 
 call often." 
 
 Her husband laughed, intimated that she was a 
 little coquette, pinched her cheek, and complied. 
 
 " The queer thing about a woman," he said after 
 ward, confidentially, to Mr. Oakhurst, "is, that 
 without having any plan of her own, she'll take 
 anybody's, and build a house on it entirely different 
 to suit herself. And dern my skin if you'll be able 
 
62 A Passage in the Life 
 
 to say whether or not you didn't give the scale and 
 measurements yourself! That's what get's me ! " 
 
 The next week Mr. Oakhurst was installed in the 
 Decker's cottage. The business relations of the 
 husband and himself were known to all, and her 
 own reputation was above suspicion. Indeed, few 
 women were more popular. She was domestic, she 
 was prudent, she was pious. In a country of great 
 icininine freedom and latitude, she never rode or 
 walked with anybody but her husband. In an epoch 
 of slang and ambiguous expression, she was always 
 precise and formal in her speech. In the midst of a 
 fashion of ostentatious decoration, she never wore a 
 diamond, nor a single valuable jewel. She never per 
 mitted an indecorum in public. She never coun 
 tenanced the familiarities of California society. She 
 declaimed against the prevailing tone of infidelity and 
 scepticism in religion. Few people who were present 
 will ever forget the dignified yet stately manner with 
 which she rebuked Mr. Hamilton in the public 
 parlour for entering upon the discussion of a work 
 on materialism lately published; and some among 
 them, also, will not forget the expression of amused 
 surprise on Mr. Hamilton's face, that gradually 
 changed to sardonic gravity, as he courteously 
 waived his point; certainly not Mr. Oakhurst, who, 
 from that moment, began to be uneasily impatient of 
 his friend, and even if such a term could be ap 
 plied to any moral quality in Mr. Oakhurst to fear 
 him. 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 63 
 
 For during this time Mr. Oakhurst had begun to 
 show symptoms of a change in his usual habits. He 
 was seldom, if ever, seen in his old haunts, in a bar 
 room, or with his old associates. Pink and white 
 ?,otes, in distracted handwriting, accumulated on the 
 dressing-table in his rooms at Sacramento. It was 
 given out in San Francisco that he had some organic 
 disease of the heart, for which his physician had 
 prescribed perfect rest. He read more ; he took long 
 walks ; he sold his fast horses ; he went to church. 
 
 1 have a very vivid recollection of his first appear 
 ance there. He did not accompany the Deckers, nor 
 did he go into their pew, but came in as the service 
 commenced, and. took a seat quietly in one of the 
 back pews. By some mysterious instinct, his presence 
 became presently known to the congregation, some of 
 whom so far forgot themselves, in their curiosity, as to 
 face around, and apparently address their responses 
 to him. Before the service was over, it was pretty 
 well understood that " miserable sinners" meant Mr. 
 Oakhurst. Nor did this mysterious influence fail to 
 affect the officiating clergyman, who introduced an 
 allusion to Mr. Oakhurst's calling and habits in a 
 sermon on the architecture of Solomon's temple, and 
 in a manner so pointed, and yet laboured, as to cause 
 the youngest of us to flame with indignation. Hap 
 pily, however, it was lost upon Jack: I do not think 
 he even heard it. His handsome, colourless face, 
 albeit a trifle worn and thoughtful, was inscrutable. 
 Only once, during the singing of a hymn, at a certain 
 
64 A Passage in the Life 
 
 note in the contralto's voice, there crept into his dark 
 eyes a look of wistful tenderness, so yearning and yet 
 so hopeless, that those who were watching him felt 
 their own glisten. Yet I retain a very vivid remem 
 brance of his standing up to receive the benedic 
 tion, with the suggestion, in his manner and tightly 
 buttoned coat, of taking the fire of his adversary at 
 ten paces. After church he disappeared as quietly as 
 he had entered, and fortunately escaped hearing the 
 comments on his rash act. His appearance was gener 
 ally considered as an impertinence, attributable only 
 to some wanton fancy, or possibly a bet. One or two 
 thought that the sexton was exceedingly remiss in not 
 turning him out after discovering who he was ; and a 
 prominent pew-holder remarked that, if he couldn't 
 take his wife and daughters to that church without ex 
 posing them to such an influence, he would try to 
 find some church where he could. Another traced 
 Mr. Oakhurst's presence to certain Broad Church radi 
 cal tendencies which he regretted to say he had lately 
 noted in their pastor. Deacon Sawyer, whose deli 
 cately-organised, sickly wife had already borne him 
 eleven children, and died in an ambitious attempt to 
 complete the dozen, avowed that the presence of a 
 person of Mr. Oakhurst's various and indiscriminate 
 gallantries was an insult to the memory of the de 
 ceased that, as a man, he could not brook. 
 
 It was about this time that Mr. Oakhurst, contrasting 
 himself with a conventional world in which he had 
 hitherto rarely mingled, became aware that there was 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 65 
 
 something in his face, figure, and carriage quite unlike 
 other men something that, if it did not betray his 
 former career, at least showed an individuality and 
 originality that was suspicious. In this belief, he 
 shaved off his long, silken mustache, and religiously 
 brushed out his clustering curls every morning. He 
 even went so far as to affect a negligence of dress, and 
 hid his small, slim, arched feet in the largest and 
 heaviest walking-shoes. There is a story told that he 
 went to his tailor in Sacramento, and asked him to 
 make him a suit of clothes like everybody else. The 
 tailor, familiar with Mr. Oakhurst's fastidiousness, did 
 not know what he meant. " I mean," said Mr. Oak- 
 hurst, savagely, " something respectable something 
 that doesn't exactly fit me, you know." But, however 
 Mr. Oakhurst might hide his shapely limbs in 
 homespun and home-made garments, there was some 
 thing in his carriage, something in the pose of his 
 beautiful head, something in the strong and fine manli 
 ness of his presence, something in the perfect and 
 utter discipline and control of his muscles, something 
 in the high repose of his nature a repose not so 
 much a matter of intellectual ruling as of his very 
 nature that, go where he would, and with whom, he 
 was always a notable man in ten thousand. Perhaps 
 this was never so clearly intimated to Mr. Oakhurst as 
 when, emboldened by Mr. Hamilton's advice and as 
 sistance, and his own predilections, he became a San 
 Francisco broker. Even before objection was made to 
 his presence in the Board the objection, I remember, 
 5 
 
66 A Passage in the Life 
 
 was urged very eloquently by Watt Sanders, who was 
 supposed to be the inventor of the " freezing-out " 
 system of disposing of poor stockholders, and who 
 also enjoyed the reputation of havirg been the im 
 pelling cause of Briggs of Tuolumne's ruin and 
 suicide even before this formal protest of respec 
 tability against lawlessness, the aquiline suggestions of 
 Mr. Oakhurst's mien and countenance, not only pre 
 maturely fluttered the pigeons, but absolutely occa 
 sioned much uneasiness among the fish-hawks who 
 circled below him with their booty. " Dash me ! but 
 lie's as likely to go after us as anybody," said Joe 
 Fielding. 
 
 It wanted but a few days before the close of the 
 brief summer season at San Isabel Warm Springs. 
 Already there had been some migration of the more 
 fashionable ; and there was an uncomfortable sugges 
 tion of dregs and lees in the social life that remained. 
 Mr. Oakhurst was moody. It was hinted that even 
 the secure reputation of Mrs. Decker could no longer 
 protect her from the gossip which his presence excited. 
 It is but fair to her to say that, during the last few 
 weeks of this trying ordeal, she looked like a sweet, 
 pale martyr, and conducted herself toward her tradu- 
 cers with the gentle, forgiving manner of one who 
 relied not upon the idle homage of the crowd, but 
 upon the security of a principle that was dearer than 
 popular favour. " They talk about myself and Mr. 
 Oakhurst, my dear," she said to a friend; "but Heaven 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 67 
 
 and my husband can best answer their calumny. It 
 never shall be said that my husband ever turned his 
 back upon a friend in the moment of his adversity* 
 because the position was changed because his friend 
 was poor, and he was rich." This was the first inti 
 mation to the public that Jack had lost money, 
 although it was known generally that the Deckers 
 had lately bought some valuable property in Saia 
 Francisco. 
 
 A few evenings after this, an incident occurred whick 
 seemed to unpleasantly discord with the general social! 
 harmony that had always existed at San Isabel. li 
 was at dinner ; and Mr. Oakhurst and Mr. Hamilton^ 
 who sat together at a separate table, were observed t@ 
 rise in some agitation. When they reached the hall, 
 by a common instinct they stepped into a little 
 breakfast-room which was vacant, and closed the door. 
 Then Mr. Hamilton turned with a half-amused, half- 
 serious smile toward his friend, and said, 
 
 "If we are to quarrel, Jack Oakhurst you and f 
 in the name of all that is ridiculous, don't let it be 
 about a " 
 
 I do not know what was the epithet intended. It 
 was either unspoken or lost ; for at that very ins tans- 
 Mr. Oakhurst raised a wineglass, and dashed its con 
 tents into Hamilton's face. 
 
 As they faced each other, the men seemed to have 
 changed natures. Mr. Oakhurst was trembling witk 
 excitement, and the wineglass that he returned to the 
 table shivered between his fingers. Mr. Hamilton 
 
 5* 
 
68 A Passage in the Life 
 
 stood there, greyish white, erect, and dripping. After 
 a pause, he said, coldly, 
 
 " So be it. But remember, our quarrel commences 
 here. If I fall by your hand, you shall not use it to 
 clear her character : if you fall by mine, you shall not 
 be called a martyr. I am sorry it has come to this ; 
 but amen, the sooner now, the better." 
 
 He turned proudly, dropped his lids over his cold 
 steel-blue eyes, as if sheathing a rapier, bowed, and 
 passed coldly out 
 
 They met twelve hours later, in a little hollow two 
 miles from the hotel, on the Stockton Road. As Mr. 
 Oakhurst received his pistol from Col. Starbottle's 
 hands, he said to him in a low voice, " Whatever 
 turns up or down, I shall not return to the hotel. 
 You will find some directions in my room. Go 
 there " But his voice suddenly faltered, and he 
 turned his glistening eyes away, to his second's intense 
 astonishment. " I've been out a dozen times with 
 Jack Oakhurst," said Col. Starbottle afterward, " and 
 I never saw him anyways cut before. Blank me if I 
 didn't think he was losing his sand, till he walked to 
 position." 
 
 The two reports were almost simultaneous. Mr. 
 Oakhurst's right arm dropped suddenly to his side, 
 and his pistol would have fallen from his paralysed 
 fingers ; but the discipline of trained nerve and muscle 
 prevailed, and he kept his grasp until he had shifted 
 it to the other hand, without changing his position. 
 Then there was a silence that seemed interminable, a 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 69 
 
 gathering of two or three dark figures where a smoke- 
 curl still lazily floated, and then the hurried, husky, 
 panting voice of Col. Starbottle in his ear, " He's hit 
 hard through the lungs you must run for it ! " 
 
 Jack turned his dark, questioning eyes upon his 
 second, but did not seem to listen rather seemed to 
 hear some other voice, remoter in the distance. He 
 hesitated, and then made a step forward in the direc 
 tion of the distant group. Then he paused again as 
 the figures separated, and the surgeon came hastily 
 toward him. 
 
 " He would like to speak with you a moment," 
 said the man. "You have little time to lose, I know; 
 but," he added, in a lower voice, "it is my duty to tell 
 you he has still less." 
 
 A look of despair, so hopeless in its intensity, swept 
 over Mr. Oakhurst's usually impassive face, that the 
 surgeon started. "You are hit," he said, glancing at 
 Jack's helpless arm. 
 
 " Nothing a mere scratch," said Jack, hastily. 
 Then he added, with a bitter laugh, " I'm not in luck 
 to-day. But come : we'll see what he wants.' 7 
 
 His long, feverish stride outstripped the surgeon's ; 
 and in another moment he stood where the dying man 
 lay like most dying men the one calm, composed, 
 central figure of an anxious group. Mr. Oakhurst's 
 face was less calm as he dropped on one knee beside 
 him, and took his hand. "I want to speak with this 
 gentleman alone/' said Hamilton, with something of 
 his eld imperious manner, as he turned to those about 
 
jo A Passage in the Life 
 
 When they drew back, he looked up in Oak- 
 burst's face. 
 
 " I've something to tell you, Jack." 
 
 His own face was white, but not so white as that 
 which Mr. Oakhurst bent over him a face so ghastly, 
 with haunting doubts, and a hopeless presentiment of 
 coming evil a face so piteous in its infinite weariness 
 and envy of death, that the dying man was touched, 
 even in the languor of dissolution, with a pang of 
 compassion ; and the cynical smile faded from his lips. 
 
 " Forgive me, Jack," he whispered, more feebly, 
 " for what I have to say. I don't say it in anger, but 
 nly because it must be said. I could not do my 
 duty to you, I could not die contented, until you knew 
 k all. It's a miserable business at best, all around. 
 ]But it can't be helped now. Only I ought to have 
 idlen by Decker's pistol, and not yours." 
 
 A flush like fire came into Jack's cheek, and lie 
 would have risen ; but Hamilton held him fast. 
 
 4 ' Listen ! In my pocket you will find two letters. 
 Take them there ! You will know the handwriting. 
 3hit promise you will not read them until you are in a 
 3>lace of safety. Promise me." 
 
 Jack did not speak, but held the letters between l.i$ 
 lagers as if they had been burning coals. 
 
 " Promise me," said Hamilton, faintly. 
 
 " Why?" asked Oakhurst, dropping his friend's hand 
 coldly. 
 
 " Because," said the dying man, with a bitter smile, 
 " because when you have read them you will 
 back to capture and death ? " 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 71 
 
 They were his last words. He pressed Jack's hand 
 faintly. Then his grasp relaxed, and he fell back a 
 corpse. 
 
 It was nearly ten o'clock at night, and Mrs. Decker 
 reclined languidly upon the sofa with a novel in her 
 hand, while her husband discussed the politics of the 
 country in the bar-room of the hotel. It was a warm 
 night; and the French window looking out upon a 
 little balcony was partly open. Suddenly she heard a 
 foot upon the balcony, and she raised her eyes from 
 the book with a slight start. The next moment the 
 window was hurriedly thrust wide, and a man entered. 
 
 Mrs. Decker rose to her feet with a little cry of alarm. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Jack, are you mad ? He has 
 only gone for a little while he may return at any 
 moment. Come an hour later, to-morrow, any time 
 when I can get rid of him but go, now, dear, at once/' 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst walked toward the door, bolted it, and 
 then faced her without a word. His face was haggard ; 
 his coat-sleeve hung loosely over an arm that was 
 bandaged and bloody. 
 
 Nevertheless her voice did not falter as she turned 
 again toward him. " What has happened, Jack ? 
 Why are you here?" 
 
 He opened his coat, and threw two letters in her lap. 
 
 "To return your lover's letters; to kill you and 
 then myself," he said, in a voice so low as to be almost 
 inaudible. 
 
 Among the many virtues of this admirable woman 
 was invincible courage. She did not faint ; she did 
 
72 A Passage in the Life 
 
 not cry out ; she sat quietly down again, folded her 
 hands in her lap, and said, calmly, 
 
 " And why should you not? " 
 
 Had she recoiled, had she shown any fear or con 
 trition, had she essayed an explanation or apology, 
 Mr. Oakhurst would have looked upon it as an evi 
 dence of guilt. But there is no quality that courage 
 recognises so quickly as courage. There is no condi 
 tion that desperation bows before but desperation. 
 And Mr. Oakhurst's power of analysis was not so keen 
 as to prevent him from confounding her courage with 
 a moral quality. Even in his fury he could not help 
 admiring this dauntless invalid. 
 
 "Why should you not? " she repeated, with a smile. 
 " You gave me life, health, and happiness, Jack. You 
 gave me your love. Why should you not take what 
 you have given ? Go on. I am ready." 
 
 She held out her hands with that same infinite grace 
 of yielding with which she had taken his own on the 
 first day of their meeting at the hotel. Jack raised 
 his head, looked at her for one wild moment, dropped 
 upon his knees beside her, and raised the folds of her 
 dress to his feverish lips. But she was too clever not 
 to instantly see her victory ; she was too much of a 
 woman, with all her cleverness, to refrain from pressing 
 that victory home. At the same moment, as with the 
 impulse of an outraged and wounded woman, she rose, 
 and, with an imperious gesture, pointed to the window. 
 Mr. Oakhurst rose in his turn, cast one glance upon 
 her, and without another word passed out of her 
 presence for ever. 
 
of Mr. John Oakhurst. 73 
 
 When ne had gone, she closed the window and 
 bolted it, and, going to the chimney-piece, placed the 
 letters, one by one, in the flame of the candle until 
 they were consumed. I would not have the reader 
 think that, during this painful operation, she was 
 unmoved. Her hand trembled, and not being a 
 brute for some minutes (perhaps longer) she felt 
 very badly, and the corners of her sensitive mouth 
 were depressed. When her husband arrived, it was 
 with a genuine joy that she ran to him, and nestled 
 against his broad breast with a feeling of security that 
 thrilled the honest fellow to the core. 
 
 " But I've heard dreadful news to-night, Elsie," 
 said Mr. Decker, after a few endearments were ex 
 changed. 
 
 "Don't tell me anything dreadful, dear: I'm not 
 well to-night," she pleaded, sweetly. 
 
 " But it's about Mr. Oakhurst and Hamilton." 
 
 "Please!" 
 
 Mr. Decker could not resist the petitionary grace of 
 those white hands and that sensitive mouth, and took 
 her to his arms. Suddenly he said, " What's that ? " 
 
 He was pointing to the bosom of her white dress. 
 Where Mr. Oakhurst had touched her, there was a 
 spot of blood. 
 
 It was nothing : she had slightly cut her hand in 
 closing the window ; it shut so hard ! If Mr. Decker 
 had remembered to close and bolt the shutter before 
 he went out, he might have saved her this. There 
 was such a genuine irritability and force in this re- 
 
74 Mr. John Oakhurst. 
 
 mark that Mr. Decker was quite overcome by re 
 morse. But Mrs. Becker forgave him with that 
 graciousness which I have before pointed out in these 
 pages. And with the halo of that forgiveness and 
 marital confidence still lingering above the pair, with 
 the reader's permission we will leave them, and return 
 to Mr. Oakhurst. 
 
 But not for two weeks. At the end of that time 
 he walked into his rooms in Sacramento, and in his 
 old manner took his seat at the faro- table. 
 
 " How's your arm, Jack ? " asked an incautious 
 player. 
 
 There was a smile followed the question, which, 
 however, ceased as Jack looked up quietly at the 
 speaker. 
 
 " It bothers my dealing a little ; but I can shoot as 
 well with my left." 
 
 The game was continued in that decorous silence 
 which usually distinguished the table at which Mr. 
 John Oakhurst presided. 
 
WAN LEE, THE PAGAN. 
 
 AS I opened Hop Sing's letter, there fluttered to 
 the ground a square strip of yellow paper 
 covered with hieroglyphics, which, at first glance, I 
 innocently took to be the label from a pack of 
 Chinese fire-crackers. But the same envelope also 
 contained a smaller strip of rice-paper, with two 
 Chinese characters traced in India ink, that I at once 
 knew to be Hop Sing's visiting-card. The whole, as 
 afterwards literally translated, ran as follows : 
 
 To the stranger the gates of my house are not closed : the 
 
 rice-jar is on the left, and the sweatmeats on the right, 
 
 as you enter. 
 Two sayings of the Master : 
 
 Hospitality is the virtue of the son and the wisdom of 
 
 the ancestor. 
 
 The Superior man is light-hearted after the crop. 
 
 gathering : he makes a festival. 
 When the stranger is in your melon-patch, observe him not 
 
 too closely : inattention is often the highest form of 
 
 civility. 
 
 Happiness, Peace, and Prosperity. 
 
 HOP SING. 
 
76 Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 Admirable, certainly, as was this morality and 
 proverbial wisdom, and although this last axiom was 
 very characteristic of my friend Hop Sing, who was 
 that most sombre of all humourists, a Chinese 
 philosopher, I must confess that, even after a very 
 free translation, I was at a loss to make any immediate 
 application of the message. Luckily I discovered a 
 third inclosure in the shape of a little note in 
 English, and Hop Sing's own commercial hand. It 
 ran thus : 
 
 The pleasure of your company is requested at No. , Sacra 
 mento Street, on Friday evening at eight o'clock. A cup of tea 
 at nine, sharp. HOP SING. 
 
 This explained all. It meant a visit to Hop Sing's 
 warehouse, the opening and exhibition of some rare 
 Chinese novelties and curios, a chat in the back 
 office, a cup of tea of a perfection unknown beyond 
 these sacred precincts, cigars, and a visit to the 
 Chinese theatre or temple. This was, in fact, the 
 favourite programme of Hop Sing when he exercised 
 his functions of hospitality as the chief factor or 
 superintendent of the Ning Foo Company. 
 
 At eight o'clock on Friday evening I entered the 
 warehouse of Hop Sing. There was that deliciously 
 commingled mysterious foreign odour that I had so 
 often noticed ; there was the old array of uncouth- 
 looking objects, the long procession of jars and 
 crockery, the same singular blending of the grotesque 
 and the mathematically neat and exact, the same 
 
Wan Lee, the Pagan. 77 
 
 endless suggestions of frivolity and fragility, the same 
 want of harmony in colours, that were each, in them 
 selves, beautiful and rare. Kites in the shape of 
 enormous dragons and gigantic butterflies; kites so 
 ingeniously arranged as to utter at intervals, when 
 facing the wind, the cry of a hawk ; kites so large as 
 to be beyond any boy's power of restraint so large 
 that you understood why kite-flying in China was an 
 amusement for adults ; gods of china and bronze so 
 gratuitously ugly as to be beyond any human interest 
 or sympathy from their very impossibility; jars of 
 sweetmeats covered all over with moral sentiments 
 from Confucius; hats that looked like baskets, and 
 baskets that looked like hats; silks *o light that I 
 hesitate to record the incredible number of square 
 yards that you might pass through the ring on your 
 little finger, these, and a great many other inde 
 scribable objects, were all familiar to me. I pushed 
 my way through the dimly-lighted warehouse, until I 
 reached the back office, or parlour, where I found 
 Hop Sing waiting to receive me. 
 
 Before I describe him, I want the average reader to 
 discharge from his mind any idea of a Chinaman that 
 he may have gathered from the pantomime. He did 
 not wear beautifully scalloped drawers fringed with 
 little bells (I never met a Chinaman who did) ; he did 
 not habitually carry his forefinger extended before him 
 at right angles with his body ; nor did I ever hear him 
 utter the mysterious sentence, "Ching a ring a ring 
 chaw," nor dance, under any provocation. He was, 
 
78 Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 on the whole, a rather grave, decorous, handsome 
 gentleman. His complexion, which extended all over 
 his head, except where his long pigtail grew, was like 
 a very nice piece of glazed brown paper-muslin. His 
 eyes were black and bright, and his eyelids set at an 
 angle of fifteen degrees ; his nose straight, and deli 
 cately formed ; his mouth small ; and his teeth white 
 and clean. He wore a dark-blue silk blouse ; and in 
 the streets, on cold days, a short jacket of astrachan 
 fur. He wore, also, a pair of drawers of blue brocade, 
 gathered tightly over his calves and ankles, offering 
 a general sort of suggestion that he had forgotten his 
 trousers that morning, but that, so gentlemanly were 
 his manners, his friends had forborne to mention the 
 fact to him. His manner was urbane, although quite 
 serious. He spoke French and English fluently. In 
 brief, I doubt if you could have found the equal of 
 this Pagan shopkeeper among the Christian traders 
 of San Francisco. 
 
 There were a few others present a judge of the 
 Federal Court, an editor, a high Government official, 
 and a prominent merchant. After we had drunk our 
 tea, and tasted a few sweatmeats from a mysterious 
 jar that looked as if it might contain a preserved 
 mouse among its other nondescript treasures, Hop 
 Sing arose, and, gravely beckoning us to follow him, 
 began to descend to the basement. When we got 
 there we were amazed at finding it brilliantly lighted, 
 s.nd that a number of chairs were arranged in a half- 
 circle on the asphalt pavement. AVhen he had cour 
 teously seated us, he said, 
 
Wan Lee, the Pagan. 79 
 
 " I have invited you to witness a performance which 
 I can at least promise you no other foreigners but 
 yourselves have ever seen. Wang, the Court juggler, 
 arrived here yesterday morning. He has never given 
 a performance outside of the palace before. I have 
 asked him to entertain my friends this evening. He 
 requires no theatre, stage accessories, or any confe 
 derate nothing more than you see here. Will you be 
 pleased to examine the ground yourselves, gentlemen." 
 
 Of course we examined the premises. It was the 
 ordinary basement or cellar of the San Francisco store 
 house, cemented to keep out the damp. We poked 
 our sticks into the pavement, and rapped on the walls, 
 to satisfy our polite host but for no other purpose. 
 We were quite content to be the victims of any clever 
 deception. For myself, I knew I was ready to be 
 deluded to any extent, and, if I had been offered an 
 explanation of what followed, I should have probably 
 declined it. 
 
 Although I am satisfied that Wang's general per 
 formance was the first of that kind ever given on 
 American soil, it has probably since become so fami 
 liar to many of my readers that I shall not bore them 
 with it here. He began by setting to flight, with the 
 aid of his fan, the usual number of butterflies, made 
 before our eyes of little bits of tissue-paper, and kept 
 them in the air during the remainder of the perform 
 ance. I have a vivid recollection of the judge trying 
 to catch one that had lit on his knee, and of its evad 
 ing him with the pertinacity of a living insect And,, 
 
8o Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 even at this time, Wang, still plying his fan, was taking 
 chickens out of hats, making oranges disappear, pulling 
 endless yards of silk from his sleeve, apparently filling 
 the whole area of the basement with goods that ap 
 peared mysteriously from the ground, from his own 
 sleeves, from nowhere ! He swallowed knives to the 
 ruin of his digestion for years to come ; he dislocated 
 every limb of his body ; he reclined in the air, appa 
 rently upon nothing. But his crowning performance, 
 which I have never yet seen repeated, was the most 
 weird, mysterious, and astounding. It is my apology 
 for this long introduction, my sole excuse for writing 
 this article, and the genesis of this veracious history. 
 
 He cleared the ground of its encumbering articles 
 for a space of about fifteen feet square, and then in 
 vited us all to walk forward and again examine it. We 
 did so gravely. There was nothing but the cemented 
 pavement below to be seen or felt. He then asked 
 for the loan of a handkerchief; and, as I chanced to 
 be nearest him, I offered mine. He took it, and 
 spread it open upon the floor. Over this he spread 
 a large square of silk, and over this, again, a large 
 shawl nearly covering the space he had cleared. He 
 then took a position at one of the points of this rect 
 angle, and began a monotonous chant, rocking his 
 body to and fro in time with the somewhat lugubrious 
 air. 
 
 We sat still and waited. Above the chant we could 
 hear the striking of the city clocks, and the occasional 
 rattle of a cart in the street overhead. The absolute 
 
Wan Lee, the Pagan. Si 
 
 watchfulness and expectation, the dim, mysterious 
 half-light of the cellar falling in a grewsome way upon 
 the misshapen bulk of a Chinese deity in the back 
 ground, a faint smell of opium-smoke mingling with 
 spice, and the dreadful uncertainty of what we were 
 really waiting for, sent an uncomfortable thrill down 
 our backs, and made us look at each other with a 
 forced and unnatural smile. This feeling was height 
 ened when Hop Sing slowly rose, and without a 
 word pointed with his ringer to the centre of the shawl. 
 
 There was something beneath the shawl. Surely 
 and something that was not there before : at first a 
 mere suggestion in relief, a faint outline, but growing 
 more and more distinct and visible every moment. 
 The chant still continued ; the perspiration began to 
 roll from the singer's face; gradually the hidden object 
 took upon itself a shape and bulk that raised the shawl 
 in its centre some five or six inches. It was now un 
 mistakably the outline of a small but perfect human 
 figure, with extended arms and legs. One or two of 
 us turned pale. There was a feeling of general uneasi 
 ness, until the editor broke the silence by a gibe, that, 
 poor as it was, was received with spontaneous en 
 thusiasm. The chant suddenly ceased. Wang arose, 
 and with a quick dexterous movement stripped both 
 shawl and silk away, and discovered, sleeping peace 
 fully upon my handkerchief, a tiny Chinese baby. 
 
 The applause and uproar which followed this reve 
 lation ought to have satisfied Wang, even if his audience 
 was a small oner it was loud enough to awaken the 
 6 
 
8a Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 baby, a pretry little boy about a year old, looking 
 like a Cupid cut out of sandal-wood. He was whisked 
 away almost as mysteriously as he appeared. When 
 Hop Sing returned my handkerchief to me with a bow, 
 I asked if the juggler was the father of the baby. " No 
 sabe ! " said the imperturbable Hop Sing, taking refuge 
 in that Spanish form of non-committalism so common 
 in California. 
 
 "But does he have a new baby for every per 
 formance ? " I asked. 
 
 " Perhaps : who knows ? " 
 "But what will become of this one?" 
 " Whatever you choose, gentlemen," replied Hop 
 Sing, with a courteous inclination. " It was born 
 here : you are its godfathers." 
 
 There were two characteristic peculiarities of any 
 Californian assemblage in 1856 it was quick to take 
 a hint, and generous to the point of prodigality in its 
 response to any charitable appeal. No matter how 
 sordid or avaricious the individual, he could not resist 
 the infection of sympathy. I doubled the points of 
 my handkerchief into a bag, dropped a coin into it, 
 and, without a word, passed it to the judge. He 
 quietly added a twenty-dollar gold-piece, and passed 
 it to the next. When it was returned to me, it con 
 tained over a hundred dollars. I knotted the money 
 in the handkerchief, and gave it to Hop Sing. 
 "For the baby, from its godfathers/' 
 " But what name ? " said the judge. 
 There was a running fire of " Erebus/' " Nox," 
 
Vvan Lee, the Pagan. 83 
 
 "Plutus," "Terra Cotta, ' "Antaeus," &a Finally 
 the question was referred to our host. 
 
 " Why not keep his own name?" he said, quietly, 
 "Wan Lee?" And he did 
 
 And thus was Wan Lee, on the night of Friday, the 
 5th of March, 1856, born into this veracious chronicle. 
 
 The last forme of the Northern Star for the 
 of July, 1865 the only daily paper published in 
 Klamath County had just gone to press ; and at 
 three, a.m., I was putting aside my proofs and manu 
 scripts, preparatory to going home, when I discovered 
 a letter lying under some sheets of paper, which I 
 must have overlooked. The envelope was considerably 
 soiled : it had no post-mark ; but I had no difficulty 
 in recognising the hand of my friend Plop Sing. I 
 opened it hurriedly, and read as follows : 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, I do not know whether the bearer will 
 suit you ; but, unless the office of "devil " in your newspaper is a 
 purely technical one, I think he has all the qualities required. He 
 is very quick, active, and intelligent ; understands English better 
 than he speaks it ; and makes up for any defect by his habits of 
 observation and imitation. You have only to show him how to 
 do a thing once, and he will repeat it, whether it is an offence or 
 a virtue. But you certainly know him already. You are one of 
 his godfathers ; for is he not Wan Lee, the reputed son of Wang 
 the conjurer, to whose performances I had the honour to introduce 
 you ? But perhaps you have forgotten it. 
 
 I shall send him with a gang of coolies to Stockton, thence 
 by express to your town. If you can use him there, you will do 
 me a favour, and probably save his life, which is at present in 
 great peril from the hands of the younger members of your 
 Christian and highly civilised race who attend the enlightened 
 schools in San Francisco. 
 
84 Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 He has acquired some singular habits and customs from "his 
 experience of Wang's profession, which he followed for some 
 years until he became too large to go in a hat, or be produced 
 from his father's sleeve. The money you left with me has been, 
 expended on his education. He has gone through the Tri-literal 
 Classics, but I think without much benefit. He knows but 
 little of Confucius, and absolutely nothing of Mencius. Owin^ 
 to the negligence of his father, he associated, perhaps, too much 
 with American children. 
 
 I should have answered your letter before, by post ; but 1 
 thought that Wan Lee himself would be a belter messenger for 
 this. Yours respectfully, HOP SING. 
 
 And this was the long-delayed answer to my letter to 
 Hop Sing. But where was " the bearer " ? How was 
 the letter delivered? I summoned hastily the foreman, 
 printers, and office-boy, but without eliciting anything. 
 No one had seen the letter delivered, nor knew any 
 thing of the bearer. A few days later I had a visit 
 from my laundry-man, Ah Ri. 
 
 "You wantee debbil? All lightee : me catchee 
 him." 
 
 He returned in a few moments with a bright-looking 
 Chinese boy, about ten years old, with whose appear 
 ance and general intelligence I was so greatly impressed 
 that I engaged him on the spot. When the business 
 was concluded, I asked his name. 
 
 " Wan Lee," said the boy. 
 
 " What ! Are you the boy sent out by Fiop Sing ? 
 What the devil do you mean by not coming here 
 before ? And how did you deliver that letter ? " 
 
 Wan Lee looked at me, and laughed. " Lie pitches 
 in top side window." 
 
Wan Lee, the Pagan. 85 
 
 I did not understand. He looked for a moment 
 perplexed, and then, snatching the letter out of my 
 hand, ran down the stairs. After a moment's pause, to 
 my great astonishment, the letter came flying in the 
 window, circled twice around the room, and then 
 dropped gently, like a bird, upon my table. Before I 
 had got over my surprise, Wan Lee reappeared, smiled, 
 looked at the letter and then at me, said, " So, John," 
 and then remained gravely silent. I said nothing 
 further ; but it was understood that this was his first 
 official act. 
 
 His next performance, I grieve to say, was not 
 attended with equal success. One of our regular 
 paper-carriers fellsick, and, at a pinch, Wan Lee was 
 ordered to fill his place. To prevent mistakes, he was 
 shown over the route the previous evening, and supplied 
 at about daylight with the usual number of subscribers' 
 copies. He returned, after an hour, in good spirits, 
 and without the papers. He had delivered them all, 
 he said. 
 
 Unfortunately for Wan Lee, at about eight o'clock 
 indignant subscribers began to arrive at the office. 
 They had received their copies ; but how ? In the 
 form of hard-pressed cannon-balls, delivered by a 
 single shot, and a mere tour deforce, through the glass 
 of bedrapm-windows. They had received them full in 
 the face, like a base ball, if they happened to be up 
 and stirring ; they had received them in quarter-sheets 
 tucked in at separate windows ; they had found them 
 in the chimney, pinned against the door, shot through 
 
86 Wan Lee, the, Pagan. 
 
 attic-windows, delivered in long slips through con 
 venient keyholes, stuffed into ventilators, and occupy 
 ing the same can with the morning's milk. One 
 subscriber, who waited for some time at the office-door 
 to have a personal interview with Wan Lee (then 
 comfortably locked in my bedroom), told me, with 
 tears of rage in his eyes, that he had been awakened 
 at five o'clock by a most hideous yelling below his 
 windows ; that, on rising in great agitation, he was 
 startled by the sudden appearance of the Northern 
 Star, rolled hard, and bent into the form of a 
 boomerang, or East Indian club, that sailed into the 
 window, described a number of fiendish circles in the 
 room, knocked over the light, slapped the baby's face, 
 " took " him (the subscriber) " in the jaw," and then 
 returned out of the window, and dropped helplessly in 
 the area. During the rest of the day, wads and strips 
 of soiled paper, purporting to be copies of the 
 Northern Star of that morning's issue, were brought 
 indignantly to the office. An admirable editorial on 
 the " Resources of Humboldt County," which I had 
 constructed the evening before, and which, I had 
 reason to believe, might have changed the whole 
 balance of trade during the ensuing year, and left San 
 Francisco bankrupt at her wharves, was in this way 
 Host to the public. 
 
 It was deemed advisable for the next three weeks to 
 ^ecp Wan Lee closely confined to the printing-office, 
 and the purely mechanical part of the business. Here 
 he developed a surprising quickness and adaptability, 
 
Wan Lee, the Pagan. 87 
 
 winning even the favour and goodwill of the printers 
 and foreman, who at first looked upon his introduction 
 into the secrets of their trade as fraught with the 
 gravest political significance. He learned to set type 
 readily and neatly, his wonderful skill in manipulation 
 aiding him in the mere mechanical act, and his 
 ignorance of the language confining him simply to the 
 mechanical effort, confirming the printer's axiom that 
 the printer who considers or follows the ideas of his 
 copy makes a poor compositor. He would set up 
 deliberately long diatribes against himself, composed 
 by his fellow-printers, and hung on his hook as copy, 
 and even such short sentences as "Wan Lee is the 
 devil's own imp," "Wan Lee is a Mongolian rascal," 
 and bring the proof to me with happiness beaming 
 from every tooth, and satisfaction shining in his 
 huckleberry eyes. 
 
 It was not long, however, before he learned to re 
 taliate on his mischievous persecutors. I remember 
 one instance in which his reprisal came very near in 
 volving me in a serious misunderstanding. Our fore 
 man's name was Webster ; and Wan Lee presently 
 learned to know and recognise the individual and 
 combined letters of his name. It was during a poli 
 tical campaign ; and the eloquent and fiery Col. Star- 
 bottle, of Siskyou, had delivered an effective speech, 
 which was reported especially for the Northern 
 Star. In a very sublime peroration, Col. Starbottle 
 had said, " In the language of the godlike Webster, I 
 repeat" and here followed the quotation, which I 
 
88 Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 have forgotten. Now it chanced that Wan Lee, look 
 ing over the galley after it had been revised, saw the 
 name of his chief persecutor, and, of course, imagined 
 the quotation his. After the forme was locked up 
 Wan Lee took advantage of Webster's absence to re 
 move the quotation, and substitute a thin piece of 
 lead, of the same size as the type, engraved with 
 Chinese characters, making a sentence, which, I had 
 reason to believe, was an utter and abject confession 
 of the incapacity and offensiveness of the Webster 
 family generally, and exceedingly eulogistic of Wan 
 Lee himself personally. 
 
 The next morning's paper contained Col. Star- 
 bottle's speech in full, in which it appeared that the 
 " godlike " Webster had, on one occasion, uttered his 
 thoughts in excellent but perfectly enigmatical Chinese. 
 The rage of Col. Starbottle knew no bounds. I have 
 a vivid recollection of that admirable man walking 
 into my office, and demanding a retraction of the 
 statement. 
 
 "But my dear sir," I asked, "are you willing to 
 deny, over your own signature, that Webster ever ut 
 tered such a sentence? Dare you deny, that, with 
 Mr. Webster's well-known attainments, a knowledge of 
 Chinese might not have been among the number? 
 Are you willing to submit a translation suitable to the 
 capacity of our readers, and deny, upon your honour 
 as a gentleman, that the late Mr. Webster ever uttered 
 such a sentiment ? If you are, sir, I am willing to 
 publish your denial." 
 
Wan Lee, the Pagan. 89 
 
 The colonel was not, and left, highly indignant. 
 
 Webster, the foreman, took it more coolly. Happily, 
 he was unaware that, for two days after, Chinamen 
 from the laundries, from the gulches, from the kitchens, 
 looked in the front office-door, with faces beaming 
 with sardonic delight ; that three hundred extra copies 
 of the Star were ordered for the wash-houses on 
 the river. He only knew that during the day Wan 
 Lee occasionally went off into convulsive spasms, and 
 that he was obliged to kick him into consciousness 
 again. A week after the occurrence, I called Wan 
 Lee into my office. 
 
 " Wan," I said, gravely, " I should like you to give 
 me, for my own personal satisfaction, a translation of 
 that Chinese sentence which my gifted countryman, the 
 late godlike Webster, uttered upon a public occasion." 
 
 Wan Lee looked at me intently, and then the 
 slightest possible twinkle crept into his black eyes. 
 Then he replied, with equal gravity, 
 
 " Mishtel Webstel, he say, * China boy makee me 
 belly much foolee. China boy makee me heap sick.'" 
 Which I have occasion to think was true. 
 
 But I fear I am giving but one side, and not the 
 best, of Wan Lee's character. As he imparted it to 
 me, his had been a hard life. He had known scarcely 
 any childhood : he had no recollection of a father or 
 mother. The conjurer Wang had brought him up. 
 He had spent the first seven years of his life in ap 
 pearing from baskets, in dropping out of hats, in 
 climbing ladders, in putting his little limbs out of joint 
 
go Wan Lcc, the Pagan. 
 
 in posturing. He had lived in an atmosphere of 
 trickery and deception. He had learned to look upon 
 mankind as dupes of their senses : in fine, if he had 
 thought at all, he would have been a sceptic ; if he 
 had been a little older, he would have been a cynic ; 
 if he had been older still, he would have been a philo 
 sopher. As it was, he was a little imp. A good- 
 natured imp it was, too an imp whose moral nature 
 had never been awakened an imp up for a holiday, 
 and willing to try virtue as a diversion. I don't know 
 that he had any spiritual nature. He was very super 
 stitious. He carried about with him a hideous little 
 porcelain god, which he was in the habit of alternately 
 reviling and propitiating. He was too intelligent for 
 the commoner Chinese vices of stealing or gratuitous 
 lying. Whatever discipline he practised was taught by 
 his intellect. 
 
 I am inclined to think that his feelings were not 
 altogether unimpressible, although it was almost im 
 possible to extract an expression from him ; and I 
 conscientiously believe he became attached to those 
 who were good to him. What he might have become 
 under more favourable conditions than the bondsman 
 of an overworked, under-paid literary man, I don't 
 know : I only know that the scant, irregular, impul 
 sive kindnesses that I showed him were gratefully re 
 ceived. He was very loyal and patient, two qualities 
 rare in the average American servant. He was like 
 Malvolio, " sad and civil " with me. Only once, and 
 then, under great provocation, do I remember of his 
 
Wan Lee, the Pagan. 91 
 
 exhibiting any impatience. It was my hal*t, after 
 leaving the office at night, to take him with me to my 
 rooms, as the bearer of any supplemental or happy 
 after-thought, in the editorial way, that might occur to 
 me before the paper went- to press. One night I had 
 been scribbling away past the usual hour of dismissing 
 Wan Lee, and had become quite oblivious of his pre 
 sence in a chair near my door, when suddenly I 
 became aware of a voice saying, in plaintive accents, . 
 something that sounded like "Chy Lee." 
 
 I faced around sternly. " What did you say ? " 
 
 " Me say, ' Chy Lee.' " 
 
 " Well ? " I said, impatiently. 
 
 " You sabe, ' How do, John ' ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You sabe, ' So long, John ' ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, ' Chy Lee ' allee same ! " 
 
 I understood him quite plainly. It appeared that 
 "Chy Lee" was a form of "goodnight/' and that 
 W r an Lee was anxious to go home. But an instinct of 
 mischief, which, I fear, I possessed in common with 
 him, impelled me to act as if oblivious of the hint. I 
 muttered something about not understanding him, and 
 again bent over my work. In a few minutes I heard 
 his wooden shoes pattering pathetically over the floor. 
 I looked up. He was standing near the door. 
 
 "You no sabe, < Chy Lee'?" 
 
 "'No," I said, sternly. 
 
 " You sabe muchee big foolee ! allee same ! " 
 
92 Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 And, with this audacity upon his lips, he fled. The 
 next morning, however, he was as meek and patient 
 as before, and I did not recall his offence. As a 
 probable peace-offering, he blacked all my boots a 
 duty never required of him including a pair of buff 
 deerskin slippers and an immense pair of horseman's 
 jack-boots, on which he indulged his remorse for two 
 hours. 
 
 I have spoken of his honesty as being a quality of 
 his intellect rather than his principle ; but I recall 
 about this time two exceptions to the rule. I was 
 anxious to get some fresh eggs as a change to the heavy 
 diet of a mining town ; and, knowing that Wan Lee's 
 countrymen were great poultry-raisers, I applied to 
 him. He furnished me with them regularly every 
 morning > but refused to take any pay, saying that the 
 man did not sell them, a remarkable instance of self- 
 abnegation, as eggs were then worth half-a-dollar 
 apiece. One morning my neighbour Forster dropped 
 In upon me at breakfast, and took occasion to bewail 
 his own ill-fortune, as his hens had lately stopped lay 
 ing, or wandered off in the bush. Wan Lee, who was 
 present during our colloquy, preserved his character 
 istic sad taciturnity. When my neighbour had gone, 
 he turned to me with a slight chuckle: "FlostePs 
 hens Wan Lee's hens allee same ! " His other 
 offence was more serious and ambitious. It was a 
 season of great irregularities in the mails, and Wan 
 Lee had heard me deplore the delay in the delivery 
 of my letters and newspapers. On arriving at my 
 
Wan Lee, the Pagan. 93 
 
 office one day, I was amazed to find my table covered 
 with letters, evidently just from the post-office, but, 
 unfortunately, not one addressed to me. I turned to 
 Wan Lee, who was surveying them with a calm satis 
 faction, and demanded an explanation. To my horror 
 he pointed to an empty mail-bag in the corner, and 
 said, " Postman he say, * No lettee, John ; no lettee^ 
 John/ Postman plentee lie ! Postman no good. 
 Me catchee lettee last night allee same ! " Luckily it 
 was still early : the mails had not been distributed. I 
 had a hurried interview with the postmaster ; and 
 Wan Lee's bold attempt at robbing the United States 
 mail was finally condoned by the purchase of a new 
 mail-bag, and the whole affair thus kept a secret. 
 
 If my liking for my little Pagan page had not been 
 sufficient, my duty to Hop Sing was enough to cause 
 me to take Wan Lee with me when I returned to San 
 Fransisco after my two years' experience with the 
 Northern Star. I do not think he contemplated the 
 change with pleasure. I attributed his feelings to a 
 nervous dread of crowded public streets (when he had 
 to go across town for me on an errand he always made 
 a circuit of the outskirts), to his dislike for the disci 
 pline of the Chinese and English school to which I 
 proposed to send him, to his fondness for the free 
 vagrant life of the mines, to sheer wilmlness. That it 
 might have been a superstitious premonition did not 
 occur to me until long after. 
 
 Nevertheless it really seemed as if the opportunity 
 I had long looked for and confidently expected had 
 
94 Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 come the opportunity of placing Wan Lee under 
 gently restraining influences, of subjecting him to a 
 life and experience that would draw out of him what 
 good my superficial care and ill-regulated kindness 
 could not reach. Wan Lee was placed at the school 
 of a Chinese missionary, an intelligent and kind- 
 hearted clergyman, who had shown great interest in 
 the boy, and who, better than all, had a wonderful faith 
 in him. A home was found for him in the family 
 of a widow, who had a bright and interesting daughter 
 about two years younger than Wan Lee. It was this 
 bright, cheery, innocent, and artless child that touched 
 and reached a depth in the boy's nature that hitherto 
 had been unsuspected ; that awakened a moral suscep 
 tibility which had lain for years insensible alike to the 
 teachings of society, or the ethics of the theologian. 
 
 These few bright months bright with a promise 
 that we never saw fulfilled must have been happy 
 ones to Wan Lee. He worshipped his little friend 
 with something of the same superstition, but without 
 any of the caprice, that he bestowed upon his porce 
 lain Pagan god. It was his delight to walk behind 
 her to school, carrying her books a service always 
 fraught with danger to him from the little hands of his 
 Caucasian Christian brothers. He made her the most 
 marvellous toys ; he would cut out of carrots and tur 
 nips the most astonishing roses and tulips ; he made 
 life-like chickens out of melon-seeds ; he constructed 
 fans and kites, and was singularly proficient in the 
 making of dolls' paoer dresses. On the other hand, 
 
Wan Lee, the Pagan. 95 
 
 she played and sang to him, taught him a thousand 
 little prettinesses and refinements only known to girls, 
 gave him a yellow ribbon for his pig-tail, as best 
 suiting his complexion, read to him, showed him 
 wherein he was original and valuable, took him to 
 Sunday-school with her, against the precedents of the 
 school, and, small woman-like, triumphed. I wish I 
 could add here that she effected his conversion, and 
 made him give up his porcelain idol. JRut I am tell 
 ing a true story ; and this little girl was quite content 
 to nil him with her own Christian goodness, without 
 letting him know that he was changed. So they got 
 along very well together, this little Christian girl with 
 her shining cross hanging around her plump, white 
 little neck; and this dark little Pagan, with his 
 hideous porcelain god hidden away in his blouse. 
 
 There were two days of that eventful year which 
 will long be remembered in San Francisco ; two days 
 when a mob of her citizens set upon and killed un 
 armed, defenceless foreigners, because they were 
 foreigners, and of another race, religion,, and colour, 
 and worked for what wages they could get. There 
 were some public men so timid that, seeing this, they 
 thought that the end of the world had come. There 
 were some eminent statesmen, whose names I am 
 ashamed to write here, who began to think that the 
 passage in the Constitution which guarantees civil 
 and religious liberty to every citizen or foreigner was 
 a mistake. But there were also some men who were 
 not so easily frightened; and in twenty-fo^r hours we 
 
g& Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 had things so arranged that the timid men could 
 wring their hands in safety, and the eminent states 
 men utter their doubts without hurting anybody or 
 anything. And in the midst of this I got a note from 
 Hop Sing, asking me to come to him immediately. 
 
 I found his warehouse closed, and strongly guarded 
 by the police against any possible attack of the rioters. 
 Hop Sing admitted me through a barred grating with 
 his usual imperturbable calm, but, as it seemed to me, 
 with more than his usual seriousness. Without a 
 word he took my hand and led me to the rear of the 
 room, and thence downstairs into the basement. It 
 was dimly lighted ; but there was something lying on 
 the floor covered by a shawl. As I approached he 
 drew the shawl away with a sudden gesture, and re- 
 vealed Wan Lee, the Pagan, lying there dead. 
 
 Dead, my reverend friends, dead ; stoned to death 
 in the streets of San Francisco, in the year of grace 
 1869, by a mob of half-grown boys and Christian 
 school-children ! 
 
 As I put my hand reverently upon his breast, I 
 felt something crumbling beneath his blouse. I looked 
 inquiringly at Hop Sing. He put his hand between 
 the folds of silk, and drew out something, with the 
 first bitter smile I had ever seen on the face of that 
 Pagan gentleman. 
 
 It was Wan Lee's porcelain god, crushed by a stone 
 from the hands of those Christian iconoclasts ! 
 
HOW OLD MAN PLUNKETT 
 WENT HOME. 
 
 I THINK we all loved him. Even after he mis 
 managed the affairs of the Amity Ditch Company, 
 we commiserated him, although most of us were stock 
 holders, and lost heavily. I remember that the 
 blacksmith went so far as to say that " them chaps as 
 put that responsibility on the old man oughter be 
 lynched." But the blacksmith was not a stockholder ; 
 and the expression was looked upon as the excusable 
 extravagance of a large, sympathising nature, that, 
 when combined with a powerful frame, was unworthy 
 of notice. At least, that was the way they put it. 
 Yet I think there was a general feeling of regret that 
 this misfortune would interfere with the old man's 
 long-cherished plan of "going home." 
 
 Indeed, for the last ten years he had been " going 
 home." He was going home after a six months' 
 sojourn at Monte Flat; he was going home after the 
 first rains ; he was going home when the rains were 
 ov jr ; he was going home when he had cut the timber 
 7 
 
gS How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 
 
 on Buckeye Hill, when there was pasture on Dow's 
 Flat, when he struck pay-dirt on Eureka Hill, when 
 the Amity Company paid its first dividend, when the 
 election was over, when he had received an answer 
 from his wife. And so the years rolled by, the spring 
 rains came and went, the woods of Buckeye Hill 
 were level with the ground, the pasture on Dow's Flat 
 grew sear and dry, Eureka Hill yielded its pay-dirt and 
 swamped its owner, the first dividends of the Amity 
 Company were made from the assessments of stock 
 holders, there were new county officers at Monte Flat, 
 his wife's answer had changed into a persistent ques 
 tion, and still old man Plunkett remained. 
 
 It is only fair to say that he had made several dis 
 tinct essays towards going. Five years before, he had 
 bidden good-bye to Monte Hill with much effusion and 
 hand-shaking. But he never got any farther than the 
 next town. Here he was induced to trade the sorrel 
 colt he was riding for a bay mare a transaction that 
 at once opened to his lively fancy a vista of vast and 
 successful future speculation. A few days after, Abner 
 Dean of Angel's received a letter from him, stating 
 that he was going to Visalia to buy horses. " I am 
 satisfied," wrote Plunkett, with that elevated rhetoric 
 for which his correspondence was remarkable, " I am 
 satisfied that we are at last developing the real re 
 sources of California. The world will yet look to 
 Dow's Flat as the great stock-raising centre. In view 
 of the interests involved, I have deferred my depar 
 ture for a month." It was two before he again 
 
How Old Man Phmkctt went Home. 99 
 
 returned to us penniless. Six months later, he 
 was again enabled to start for the Eastern States ; and 
 this time he got as far as San Francisco. I have before 
 me a letter which I received a few days after his 
 arrival, from which I venture to give an extract : " You 
 know, my dear boy, that I have always believed that 
 gambling, as it is absurdly called, is still in its infancy 
 in California. I have always maintained that a per 
 fect system might be invented by which the game of 
 poker may be made to yield a certain percentage to 
 the intelligent player. I am not at liberty at present 
 to disclose the system ; but before leaving this city I 
 intend to perfect it." He seems to have done so, and 
 returned to Monte Flat with two dollars and thirty- 
 seven cents, the absolute remainder of his capital after 
 such perfection. 
 
 It was not until 1868 that he appeared to have 
 finally succeeded in going home. He left us by 
 the overland route a route which he declared 
 would give great opportunity for the discovery 
 of undeveloped resources. His last letter was dated 
 Virginia City. He was absent three years. At 
 the close of a very hot day in midsummer, he alighted 
 from the Wingdam stage, with hair and beard pow 
 dered with dust and age.- There was a certain shyness 
 about his greeting, quite different from his usual frank 
 volubility, that did not, however, impress us as any 
 accession of character. For some days he was re 
 served regarding his recent visit, contenting himself 
 with asserting, with more or less aggressiveness, that 
 7* 
 
TOO How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 
 
 he had " always said he was going home, and now he 
 had been there." Later he grew more communicative, 
 and spoke freely and critically of the manners and 
 customs of New York and Boston, commented on the 
 social changes in the years of his absence, and, I re 
 member, was very hard upon what he deemed the 
 follies incidental to a high state of civilisation. Still 
 later he darkly alluded to the moral laxity of the 
 higher planes of Eastern society ; but it was not long 
 before he completely tore away the veil, and revealed 
 the naked wickedness of New York social life in a 
 way I even now shudder to recall. Vinous intoxi 
 cation, it appeared, was a common habit of the first 
 ladies of the city. Immoralities which he scarcely 
 dared name were daily practised by the refined of both 
 sexes. Niggardliness and greed were the common 
 vices of the rich. " I have always asserted," he con 
 tinued, " that corruption must exist where luxury and 
 riches are rampant, and capital is not used to develop 
 the natural resources of the country. Thank you 
 I will take mine without sugar. 7 ' It is possible that 
 some of these painful details crept into the local jour 
 nals. I remember an editorial in the Monte Flat 
 Monitor, entitled the "Effete East,' 7 in which the 
 fatal decadence of New York and New England 
 was elaborately stated, and California offered as a 
 means of natural salvation. "Perhaps, 77 said the 
 Monitor, "we might add that Calaveras County 
 offers superior inducements to the Eastern visitor with 
 capital." 
 
How Old Man Plunkctt went Home. 101 
 
 Later he spoke of his family. The daughter he had 
 left a child had grown into beautiful womanhood. 
 The son was already taller and larger than his father ; 
 and, in a playful trial of strength, " the young rascal," 
 added Plunkett, with a voice broken with paternal 
 pride and humorous objurgation, had twice thrown his 
 doting parent to the ground. But it was of his daugh 
 ter he chiefly spoke. Perhaps emboldened by the 
 evident interest which masculine Monte Flat held in 
 feminine beauty, he expatiated at some length on 
 her various charms and accomplishments, and filially 
 produced her photograph that of a very pretty girl 
 to their infinite peril. But his account of his first 
 meeting with her was so peculiar that I must fain give 
 it after his own methods, which were, perhaps, some 
 shades less precise and elegant than his written style. 
 
 " You see, boys, it's always been my opinion that a 
 man oughter be able to tell his own flesh and blood 
 by instinct. It's ten years since I'd seen my Melindy; 
 and she was then only seven, and about so high. So, 
 when I went to New York, what did I do ? Did I go 
 straight to my house, and ask for my wife and daugh 
 ter, like other folks ? No, sir ! I rigged myself up 
 as a pedlar, as a pedlar, sir; and I rang the bell. 
 When the servant came to the door, I wanted don't 
 you see? to show the ladies some trinkets. Then 
 there was a voice over the bannister says, ' Don't want 
 anything : send him away.' * Some nice laces, ma'am, 
 smuggled, 7 I says, looking up. * Get out, you wretch !' 
 says she. I knew the voice, boys : it was my wife, 
 
102 II ow Old Man Plunkeit went Home. 
 
 sure as a gun. Thar wasn't any instinct thar. 'Maybe 
 the young ladies want something' I said. * Did you hear 
 me ? ' says she. And with that she jumps forward, and 
 I left. It's ten years, boys, since I've seen the old 
 woman ; but somehow, when she fetched that leap, 
 I naterally left." 
 
 He had been standing beside the bar his usual 
 attitude when he made this speech ; but at this 
 point he half-faced his auditors, with a look that was 
 very effective. Indeed, a few who had exhibited some 
 signs of scepticism and lack of interest at once as 
 sumed an appearance of intense gratification and 
 curiosity as he went on, 
 
 " Well, by hanging round there for a day or two, I 
 found out at last it was to be Melindy's birthday next 
 week, and that she was goin' to have a big party. I 
 tell ye what, boys, it weren't no slouch of a reception. 
 The whole house was bloomin' with flowers, and 
 blazin' with lights ; and there was no end of servants 
 and plate and refreshments and fixin's " 
 
 " Uncle Joe." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Where did they get the money ? " 
 
 Plunkett faced his interlocutor with a severe glance. 
 
 " I always said," he replied, slowly, " that, when I 
 went home, I'd send on ahead of me a draft for ten 
 thousand dollars. I always said that, didn't I ? Eh ? 
 &nd I said I was goin' home and I've been home, 
 haven't I? Well?" 
 
 Either there was something irresistibly conclusive 
 
Plow Old Man Plunkett went Home. 103 
 
 in this logic, or else the desire to hear the remainder 
 of Plimkett's story was stronger, but there was no 
 more interruption. His ready good-humour quickly 
 returned, and, with a slight chuckle, he went on. 
 
 " I went to the biggest jewelry shop in town, and I 
 bought a pair of diamond earrings, and put them in 
 my pocket, and went to the house. ' What name ? ' 
 says the chap who opened the door; and he looked 
 like a cross 'twixt a restaurant waiter and a parson. 
 4 Skeedcks,' said T. He takes me in, and pretty soon 
 my wife comes sailin' into the parlour, and says, ' Ex 
 cuse me; but I don't think I recognise the name/ 
 She was mighty polite, for I had on a red wig and 
 side whiskers. 'A friend of your husband's from 
 California, rna'am, with a present for your daughter, 
 
 Miss ,' and I made as I had forgot the name. 
 
 But all of a sudden a voice said, ' That's too thin ; ' 
 and in walked Melindy. * It's playing it rather low 
 down, father, to pretend you don't know your daugh 
 ter's name ; ain't it now ? How are you, old man ? ' 
 And with that she tears off my wig and whiskers, and 
 throws her arms around my neck instinct, sir, pure 
 instinct ! " 
 
 Emboldened by the laughter which followed his 
 description of the filial utterances of Melinda, he 
 again repeated her speech, with more or less elabora 
 tion, joining in with, and indeed often leading, the 
 hilarity that accompanied it, and returning to it, with 
 more or less incoherency, several times during the 
 evening. 
 
IO4 How Old Man Piunkeit went Home. 
 
 And so, at various times and at various places, but 
 chiefly in bar-rooms, did this Ulysses of Monte Flat 
 recount the story of his wanderings. There were 
 several discrepancies in his statement ; there was- 
 sometimes considerable prolixity of detail ; there was 
 occasional change of character and scenery; there 
 was once or twice an absolute change in the denoii- 
 ment : but always the fact of his having visited his- 
 wife and children remained. Of course, in a sceptical 
 community like that of Monte Flat a community 
 accustomed to great expectation and small realisation 
 a community wherein, to use the local dialect,. 
 " they got the colour, and struck hardpan," more fre 
 quently than any other mining-camp in such a com 
 munity, the fullest credence was not given to old man 
 Plunkett's facts. There was only one exception to the 
 general unbelief Henry York, of Sandy Bar. It was 
 he who was always an attentive listener; it was his 
 scant purse that had often furnished Plunkett with 
 means to pursue his unprofitable speculations ; it w r as- 
 to him that the charms of Melinda were more fre 
 quently rehearsed ; it was he that had borrowed her 
 photograph ; and it was he that, sitting alone in his- 
 little cabin one night, kissed that photograph, until 
 his honest, handsome face glowed again in the fire 
 light. 
 
 It was dusty in Monte Flat. The ruins of the long: 
 dry season were crumbling everywhere : everywhere 
 the dying summer had strewn its red ashes a foot 
 deep, or exhaled its last breath in a red cloud above 
 
How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 105 
 
 the troubled highways. The alders and cotton woods 
 that marked the line of the water-courses were grimy 
 with dust, and looked as if they might have taken 
 root in the open-air. The gleaming stones of the 
 parched water-courses themselves were as dry bones 
 in the valley of death. The dusty sunset at times- 
 painted the flanks of the distant hills a dull, coppery 
 hue : on other days there was an odd, indefinable 
 earthquake halo on the volcanic cones of the farther 
 coast-spurs. Again, an acrid, resinous smoke from 
 the burning wood on Heavytree Hill smarted the 
 eyes, and choked the free breath of Monte Flat; or 
 a fierce wind, driving everything, including the shri 
 velled summer, like a curled leaf before it, swept 
 down the flank? of the Sierras, and chased the in 
 habitants to the doors of their cabins, and shook its 
 red fist in at their windows. And on such a night as 
 this, the dust having in some way choked the wheels 
 of material progress in Monte Flat, most of the in 
 habitants were gathered listlessly in the gilded bar 
 room of the Moquelumne Hotel, spitting silently at 
 the red-hot stove that tempered the mountain winds 
 to the shorn lambs of Monte Flat, and waiting for 
 the rain. 
 
 Every method known to the Flat of beguiling the 
 time until the advent of this long looked-for phe 
 nomenon had been tried. It is true the methods 
 were not many, being limited chiefly to that form? 
 of popular facetiae known as practical joking ; and 
 even this had assumed the seriousness of a busi- 
 
loo How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 
 
 ness pursuit. Tommy Roy, who had spent two 
 hours in digging a ditch in front of his own 
 door, into which a few friends casually dropped 
 during the evening, looked ennui and dissatisfied. 
 The four prominent citizens who, disguised as 
 footpads, had stopped the county treasurer on 
 the Wingdam Road, were jaded from their playful 
 efforts next morning. The principal physician and 
 lawyer of Monte Flat, who had entered into an un 
 hallowed conspiracy to compel the sheriff of Cala- 
 veras and his posse to serve a writ of ejectment on a 
 grizzly bear, feebly disguised under the name of one 
 " Major Ursus," who haunted the groves of Heavy tree 
 Hill, wore an expression of resigned weariness. Even 
 the editor of the Monte Flat Monitor, who had 
 that morning written a glowing account of a battle 
 with the Wipneck Indians, for the benefit of Eastern 
 readers even he looked grave and \vorn. When at 
 last Abner Dean, of Angel's, who had been on a visit 
 to San Francisco, walked into the room, he was, of 
 course, victimised in the usual way by one or two 
 apparently honest questions, which ended in his 
 answering them, and then falling into the trap of 
 asking another, to his utter and complete shame and 
 mortification ; but that was all. Nobody laughed ; 
 and Abner, although a victim, did not lose his good- 
 humour. He turned quietly on his tormentors, and 
 said, 
 
 " I've got something better than that you know 
 old man Plunkett?" 
 
Plow Old Man Plunkett went Home. 107 
 
 Everybody simultaneously spat at the stove and 
 nodded his head. 
 
 " You know lie went home three years ago ? " 
 
 Two or three changed the position of their legs 
 from the backs of different chairs ; and one man said, 
 " Yes.' 7 
 
 " Had a good time, home ? " 
 
 Everybody looked cautiously at the man who had 
 said, "Yes;" and he, accepting the responsibility 
 with a faint-hearted smile, said, " Yes," again, and 
 breathed hard. 
 
 " Saw his wife and child ; purty gal? " said Abner, 
 cautiously. 
 
 " Yes," answered the man, doggedly. 
 
 " Saw her photograph, perhaps ? " continued Abner 
 Dean, quietly. 
 
 The man looked hopelessly around for support. 
 Two or three who had been sitting near him, and 
 evidently encouraging him with a look of interest, 
 now shamelessly abandoned him, and looked another 
 way. Henry York flushed a little, and veiled his 
 grey eyes. The man hesitated, and then, with a sickly 
 smile that was intended to convey the fact that he 
 was perfectly aware of the object of this questioning, 
 and was only humouring it from abstract good feeling, 
 returned, "Yes," again. 
 
 "Sent home let's see ten thousand dollars, 
 wasn't it?" Abner Dean went on. 
 
 "Yes," reiterated the man, with the same smile. 
 
 " Well, I thought so," said Abner, quietly. " But 
 
io8 How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 
 
 the fact is, you see, that he never went home at all 
 nary time." 
 
 Everybody stared at Abner in genuine surprise and 
 interest, as, with provoking calmness and a half-lazy 
 manner, he went on, 
 
 " Yousee,thar was a man down in 'Frisco as knowed 
 him, and saw him in Sonora during the whole of that 
 three years. He was herding sheep, or tending cattle, 
 or spekilating all that time, and hadn't a red cent. 
 Well it 'mounts to this that ar' Plunkett ain't been 
 east of the Rocky Mountains since '49." 
 
 The laugh which Abner Dean had the right to con 
 fidently expect came ; but it was bitter and sardonic. 
 I think indignation was apparent in the minds of his 
 hearers. It was felt, for the first time, that there was 
 a limit to practical joking. A deception carried on 
 for a year, compromising the sagacity of Monte Flat, 
 was deserving the severest reprobation. Of course 
 nobody hdd believed Plunkett ; but then the sup 
 position that it might be believed in adjacent camps 
 that they had believed him was gall and bitterness. 
 The lawyer thought that an indictment for obtaining 
 money under false pretences might be found. The 
 physician had long suspected him of insanity, and was 
 not certain but that he ought to be confined. The 
 four prominent merchants thought that the business 
 interests of Monte Flat demanded that something 
 should be done. In the midst of an excited and 
 angry discussion the door slowly opened, and old 
 man Plunkett staggered into the room. 
 
How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 109 
 
 He had changed pitifully in the last six months. His 
 hair was a dusty, yellowish grey, like the chemisal on 
 the flanks of Heavytree Hill ; his face was waxen 
 white, and blue and puffy under the eyes-; his clothes 
 were soiled and shabby, streaked in front with the 
 stains of hurriedly eaten luncheons, and fluffy behind 
 with the wool and hair of hurriedly extemporised 
 couches. In obedience to that odd law, that, the 
 more seedy and soiled a man's garments become, the 
 less does he seem inclined to part with them, even 
 during that portion of the twenty-four hours when they are 
 deemed less essential, Plunkett's clothes had gradually 
 taken on the appearance of a kind of a bark, or an 
 outgrowth from within, for which their possessor was 
 not entirely responsible. Howbeit, as he entered the 
 room, he attempted to button his coat over a dirty 
 shirt, and passed his ringers, after the manner of some 
 animal, over his cracker-strewn beard, in recognition 
 of a cleanly public sentiment. But, even as he did 
 so, the weak smile faded from his lips ; and his hand, 
 after fumbling aimlessly around a button, dropped 
 helplessly at his side. For as he leaned his back 
 against the bar, and faced the group, he, for the first 
 time, became aware that every eye but one was fixed 
 upon him. His quick, nervous apprehension at once 
 leaped to the truth. His miserable secret was out, 
 and abroad in the very air about him. As a last 
 resort, he glanced despairingly at Henry York ; but his 
 flushed face was turned toward the windows. 
 
 No word was spoken. As the bar-keeper silently 
 
no How Old Man Plunkctt went Home. 
 
 swung a decanter and glass before him he took a 
 cracker from a dish, and mumbled it with affected 
 unconcern. He lingered over his liquor until its 
 potency stiffened his relaxed sinews, and dulled the 
 nervous edge of his apprehension, and then he sud 
 denly faced around. " It don't look as if we were goin' 
 to hev any rain much afore Christmas," he said, with 
 defiant ease. 
 
 No one made any reply. 
 
 " Just like this in '52, and again in J 6o. It's always 
 been my opinion that these dry seasons come reg'lar. 
 Fve said it afore. I say it again. It's jist as I said 
 about going home, you know/' he added, with 
 desperate recklessness. 
 
 " Thar's a man," said Abner Dean, lazily, " ez sez 
 you never went home. Thar's a man ez sez you've 
 been three years in Sonora. Thar's a man ez sez 
 you hain't seen your wife and daughter since '49. 
 Thar's a man ez sez you've been playin' this camp for 
 six months/' 
 
 There was a dead silence. Then a voice said, quite 
 as quietly, 
 
 "That man lies." 
 
 It was not the old man's voice. Everybody turnci 
 as Henry York slowly rose, stretching out his six feel 
 of length, and, brushing away the ashes that had 
 fallen from his pipe upon his breast, deliberately 
 placed himself beside Plunkett, and faced the others. 
 
 "That man ain't here," continued Abner Dean, with 
 listless indifference of voice, and a gentle preoccupa- 
 
How Old Man Plunkett went Home, ur 
 
 tion of manner, as he carelessly allowed his right hand 
 to rest on his hip near his revolver. " That man ain't 
 here ; but, if I'm called upon to make good what he 
 says, why, I'm on hand." 
 
 All rose as the two men perhaps the least exter 
 nally agitated of them all approached each other. The 
 lawyer stepped in between them. 
 
 " Perhaps there's some mistake here. York, do you 
 know that the old man has been home ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " How do you know it ? " 
 
 York turned his clear, honest, frank eyes on his 
 questioner, and without a tremor told the only direct 
 and unmitigated lie of his life. " Because I've seen 
 him there." 
 
 The answer was conclusive. It was known that 
 York had been visiting the East during the old man's 
 absence. The colloquy had diverted attention from 
 Plunkett, who, pale and breathless, was staring at his 
 unexpected deliverer. As he turned again toward his 
 tormentors, there was something in the expression of 
 his eye that caused those that were nearest to him to 
 fall back, and sent a strange, indefinable thrill through 
 the boldest and most reckless. As he made a step 
 forward, the physician, almost unconsciously, raised 
 his hand with a warning gesture; and old man Plunkett, 
 with his eyes fixed upon the red-hot stove, and an odd 
 ...mile playing about his mouth, began, 
 
 "Yes of course you did. Who says you didn't? 
 It ain't no lie. I said I was goin' home and I've 
 
T 12 How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 
 
 been home. Haven't I ? My God ! I have. Who 
 says I've been lyin' ? Who says I'm dreamin' ? Is 
 it true ? Why don't you speak ? It is true, after all. 
 You say you saw me there : why don't you speak 
 again ? Say, say ! is it true ? It's going now. O my 
 God ! it's going again. It's going now. Save me ! " 
 And with a fierce cry he fell forward in a fit upon the 
 floor. 
 
 When the old man regained his senses he found 
 himself in York's cabin. A flickering fire of pine-, 
 boughs lit up the rude rafters, and fell upon a photo 
 graph tastefully framed with fir-cones, and hung above 
 the brush whereon he lay. It was the portrait of a 
 young girl. It was the first object to meet the old 
 man's gaze ; and it brought with it a flush of such 
 painful consciousness that he started and glanced 
 quickly around. But his eyes only encountered those 
 of York clear, grey, critical, and patient and they 
 fell again. 
 
 " Tell me, old man," said York, not unkindly, but 
 with the same cold, clear tone in his voice that his eye 
 betrayed a moment ago, "tell me, is that a lie too ? " 
 And he pointed to the picture. 
 
 The old man closed his eyes, and did not reply. 
 Two hours before, the question would have stung him 
 into some evasion or bravado. But the revelation 
 contained in the question, as well as the tone of 
 York's voice, was to him now, in his pitiable condition, 
 a relief. It was plain, even to his confused brain, that 
 York had lied when he had endorsed his story in the 
 
How Old Man Plurikett went Home. 113 
 
 bar-room ; it was clear to him now that he had not 
 been home, that he was not, as he had begun to fear, 
 going mad. It was such a relief that, with character 
 istic weakness, his former recklessness and extrava 
 gance returned. He began to chuckle, finally to laugh 
 uproariously. 
 
 York, with his eyes still fixed on the old man, 
 withdrew the hand with which he had taken his. 
 
 " Didn't we fool 'em nicely; eh, Yorky ! He, he ! 
 The biggest thing yet ever played in this camp ! I 
 always said I'd play ; em all some day, and I have 
 played 'em for six months. Ain't it rich? ain't it 
 the richest thing you ever seed ? Did you see Abner's 
 face when he spoke 'bout that man as seed me in 
 Sonora? Warn' t it good as the minstrels? Oh, it's 
 too much !" And, striking his leg with the palm of his 
 hand, he almost threw himself from the bed in a 
 paroxysm of laughter a paroxysm that nevertheless 
 appeared to be half real and half affected. 
 
 " Is that photograph hers?" said York, in a low 
 voice, after a slight pause. 
 
 "Hers? No! It's one of the San Francisco- 
 actresses. He, he ! Don't you see ? I bought it for 
 two bits in one of the bookstores. I never thought 
 they'd swaller that too ; but they did ! Oh, but the 
 old man played 'em this time, didn't he eh?" And he 
 peered curiously into York's face. 
 
 " Yes, and he played me too," said York, looking 
 steadily in the old man's eye. 
 
 "Yes, of course," interposed Plunkett, hastily; 
 8 
 
114 H CW 0^ Man Phinkett went Home. 
 
 "but you know, Yorky, you got out of it well! 
 You've sold 'em too. We've both got 'em on a string 
 now you and me got to stick together now. You 
 did it well, Yorky : you did it well. Why, when you 
 
 said you'd seen me in York City, I'm d d if I 
 
 didn't " 
 
 " Didn't what?" said York, gently; for the old man 
 had stopped with a pale face and wandering eye. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " You say when I said I had seen you in New York 
 you thought " 
 
 "You lie !" said the old man, fiercely. "I didn't 
 say I thought anything. What are you trying to go 
 back on me for, eh ? " His hands were trembling as 
 he rose muttering from the bed, and made his way 
 toward the hearth. 
 
 " Gimme some whiskey," he said, presently, " and 
 dry up. You ought er treat anyway. Them fellows 
 oughter treated last night. By hookey, I'd made 'em 
 only I fell sic!:." 
 
 York placed the liquor and a tin cup on the table 
 beside him, and, going to the door, turned his back 
 upon his guest, and looked out on the night. Although 
 it was clear moonlight, the familiar prospect never 
 to him seemed so dreary. The dead waste of the broad 
 W r ingdam highway never seemed so monotonous, so 
 like the days that he had passed, and were to come 
 to him, so like the old man in its suggestion of going 
 sometime, and never getting there. He turned, and 
 going up to Plunkett put his hand upon his shoulder, 
 and said, 
 
How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 115 
 
 " I want you to answer one question fairly and 
 squarely." 
 
 The liquor seemed to have warmed the torpid blood 
 in the old man's veins, and softened his acerbity ; for 
 the face he turned up to York was mellowed in its 
 rugged outline, and more thoughtful in expression, as 
 he said, 
 
 " Go on, my boy." 
 
 " Have you a wife and daughter?" 
 
 "Before God, I have !" 
 
 The two men were silent for a moment, both gazing 
 at the fire. Then Plunkett began rubbing his knees 
 slowly. 
 
 " The wife, if it comes to that, ain't much," he 
 began, cautiously, " being a little on the shoulder, you 
 know, and wantin', so to speak, a liberal California 
 education, which makes, you know, a bad combina 
 tion. It's always been my opinion that there ain't 
 any worse. Why, she's as ready with her tongue as 
 Abner Dean is with his revolver, only with the differ 
 ence that she shoots from principle, as she calls it ; 
 and the consequence is, she's always layin' for you. 
 It's the effete East, my boy, that's ruinin' her. It's 
 them ideas she gets in New York and Boston that's 
 made her and me wnat we are. I don't mind her 
 havin' 'em, if she didn't shoot. But, havin' that pro 
 pensity, them principles oughtn't to be lying round 
 loose no more'n firearms." 
 
 " But your daughter?" said York. 
 
 The old man's hands went up to his eyes here, and 
 
n6 How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 
 
 then both hands and head dropped forward on the 
 table. " Don't say anything 'bout her, my boy, don't 
 ask me now." With one hand concealing his eyes, he 
 fumbled about with the other in his pockets for his 
 handkerchief but vainly. Perhaps it was owing to 
 this fact that he repressed his tears; for, when he 
 removed his hand from his eyes, they were quite dry. 
 Then he found his voice. 
 
 " She's a beautiful girl, beautiful, though I say it ; 
 and you shall see her, my boy you shall see her 
 sure. I've got things about fixed now. I shall have 
 my plan for reducin' ores perfected in a day or two ; 
 and I've got proposals from all the smeltin' works 
 here " (here he hastily produced a bundle of papers 
 that fell upon the floor), " and I'm goin' to send for 
 'em. I've got the papers here as will give me ten 
 thousand dollars clear in the next month,' ; he added,, 
 as he strove to collect the valuable documents again. 
 " I'll have 'em here by Christmas, if I live ; and you 
 shall eat your Christmas dinner with me, York, my 
 boy you shall sure." 
 
 With his tongue now fairly loosened by liquor and 
 the suggestive vastness of his prospects, he rambled 
 on more or less incoherently, elaborating and amplify 
 ing his plans, occasionally even speaking of them as 
 already accomplished, until the moon rode high in the 
 heavens, and York led him again to his couch. Here 
 he lay for some time muttering to himself, until at last 
 he sank into a heavy sleep. When York had satisfied 
 himself of the fact, he gently took down the picture 
 
How Old Man Plunhett went Home. 117 
 
 and frame, and, going to the hearth, tossed them on 
 ihe dying embers, and sat down to see them burn. 
 
 The fir-cones leaped instantly into flame ; then the 
 features that had entranced San Francisco audiences 
 nightly, flashed up and passed away (as such things 
 are apt to pass) ; and even the cynical smile on York's 
 lips faded too. And then there came a supplemental 
 and unexpected flash as the embers fell together, and 
 by its light York saw a paper upon the floor. It was 
 one that had fallen from the old man's pocket. As he 
 picked it up listlessly, a photograph slipped from its 
 folds. It was the portrait of a young girl ; and on its 
 reverse was written in a scrawling hand, "Melinda to 
 father." 
 
 It was at best a cheap picture, but, ah me ! I fear 
 even the deft graciousness of the highest art could not 
 have softened the rigid angularities of that youthful 
 figure, its self-complacent vulgarity, its cheap finery, its 
 expressionless ill-favour. York did not look at it a 
 second time. He turned to the letter for relief. 
 
 It was misspelled ; it was unpunctuated ; it was 
 almost illegible ; it was fretful in tone, and selfish in 
 sentiment. It was not, I fear, even original in the 
 story of its woes. It was the harsh recital of poverty, 
 of suspicion, of mean makeshifts and compromises, of 
 iow pains and lower longings, of sorrows that were 
 degrading, of a grief that was pitiable. Yet it was 
 sincere in a certain kind of vague yearning for the 
 presence of the degraded man to whom it was written 
 an affection that was more like a confused instinct 
 than a sentiment. 
 
n8 How Old Man 'Plwikett went Home. 
 
 York folded it again carefully, and placed it beneath 
 the old man's pillow. Then he returned to his seat 
 by the fire. A smile that had been playing upon his 
 face, deepening the curves behind his mustache, and 
 gradually overrunning his clear grey eyes, presently 
 faded away. It was last to go from his eyes ; and it 
 left there, oddly enough to those who did not know 
 him, a tear. 
 
 He sat there for a long time, leaning forward, his 
 head upon his hands. The wind that had been striv 
 ing with the canvas roof all at once lifted its edges, and 
 a moonbeam slipped suddenly in, and lay for a mo 
 ment like a shining blade upon his shoulder ; and 
 knighted by its touch, straightway plain Henry York 
 arose, sustained, high-purposed and self-reliant. 
 
 The rains had come at last. There was already a 
 visible greenness on the slopes of Heavytree Hill; 
 and the long, white track of the Wingdam road was 
 lost in outlying pools and ponds a hundred rods from 
 Monte Flat. The spent water-courses, whose white 
 bones had been sinuously trailed over the flat, like the 
 vertebrae of some forgotten saurian, were full again : 
 the dry bones moved once more in the valley ; and 
 there was joy in the ditches, and a pardonable ex 
 travagance in the columns of the Monte Flat 
 Monitor. "Never before in the history of the county 
 had the yield been so satisfactory. Our contemporary 
 of the Hillside Beacon ,\I\\Q yesterday facetiously alluded 
 to the fact (?) that our best citizens were leaving town 
 
How Old Man P'lunkett went Home. 119 
 
 in ' dugouts/ on account of the flood, will be glad to 
 hear that our distinguished fellow-townsman, Mr. 
 Henry York, now on - a visit to his relatives in the 
 East, lately took with him in his ' dugout ' the modest 
 sum of fifty thousand dollars, the result of one week's 
 clean-up. We can imagine," continued that sprightly 
 journal, (i that no such misfortune is likely to over 
 take Hillside this season. And yet we believe the 
 Beacon man wants a railroad." A few journals broke 
 out into poetry. The operator at Simpson's Crossing 
 telegraphed to the Sacramento Universe: "All day 
 the low clouds have shook their garnered fulness 
 down." A San Francisco journal lapsed into noble 
 verse, thinly disguised as editorial prose : " Rejoice ! 
 the gentle rain has ccvne, the bright and pearly rain, 
 which scatters blessings on the hills, and sifts them 
 o'er the plain. Rejoice," &c. Indeed, there was 
 only one to whom the rain had not brought blessing, 
 and that was Plunkett. In some mysterious and 
 darksome way it had interfered with the perfection of 
 his new method of reducing ores, and thrown the 
 advent of that invention back another season. It had 
 brought him down to an habitual seat in the bar-room, 
 where, to heedless and inattentive ears, he sat and 
 discoursed of the East and his family. 
 
 No one disturbed him. Indeed, it was rumoured 
 that some funds had been lodged with the landlord, 
 by a person or persons unknown, whereby his few wants 
 were provided for. His mania for that was the 
 charitable construction which Monte Flat put upon 
 
I2O How Old Man Phinkett went Home. 
 
 his conduct was indulged, even to the extent of 
 Monte Flat's accepting his invitation to dine with his 
 family on Christmas Day an invitation extended 
 frankly to every one with whom the old man drank or 
 talked. But one day, to everybody's astonishment, 
 he burst into the bar-room, holding an open letter in 
 his hand. It read as follows : 
 
 Be ready to meet your family at the new cottage on Heavytree 
 Hill on Christmas Day. Invite what friends you choose. 
 
 HENRY YORK. 
 
 The letter was handed round in silence. The old 
 man, with a look alternating between hope and fear, 
 gazed in the faces of the group. The doctor looked up 
 significantly, after a pause. "It's a forgery evidently," 
 he said, in a low voice. " He's cunning enough to 
 conceive it (they always are) ; but you'll find he'll fail 
 in executing it. Watch his face ! Old man," he said 
 suddenly, in a loud peremptory tone, " this is a trick, 
 a forgery, and you know it. Answer me squarely, and 
 look me in the eye. Isn't it so?" 
 
 The eyes of Plunkett stared a moment, and then 
 dropped weakly. Then, with a feebler smile, he said, 
 "You're too many for me, boys. The doc's right. 
 The little game's up. You can take the old man's 
 hat." And so, tottering, trembling, and chuckling, he 
 dropped into silence and his accustomed seat. But 
 the next day he seemed to have forgotten this episode 
 and talked as glibly as ever of the approaching festivity. 
 
 And so the days and weeks passed until Christmas 
 a bright, clear da}-, warmed with south winds, and 
 
How Old Man Plunkett went Home. 121 
 
 joyous with the resurrection of springing grasses broke 
 upon Monte Flat. And then there was a sudden 
 commotion in the hotel bar-room : and Abner Dean 
 stood beside the old man's chair, and shook him out of 
 a slumber to his feet. " Rouse up, old man. York is 
 here, with your wife and daughter, at the cottage on 
 Heavytree. Come, old man. Here, boys, give him 
 a lift." And in another moment a dozen strong and 
 willing hands had raised the Cid man, and bore him in 
 triumph to the street, up the steep grade of Heavytree 
 Hill, and deposited him, struggling and confused, in 
 the porch of a little cottage. At the same instant 
 two women rushed forward, but were restrained by a 
 gesture from Henry York. The old man was strug 
 gling to his feet. With an effort at last, he stood erect, 
 trembling, his eye fixed, a grey pallor on his cheek, 
 and a deep resonance in his voice. 
 
 " It's all a trick, and a lie ! They ain't no flesh 
 and blood or kin o j mine. It ain't my wife, nor child. 
 My daughter's a beautiful girl a beautiful girl, d'ye 
 hear? She's in New York with her mother, and I'm 
 going to fetch her here. I said I'd go home, and I've 
 been home : d'ye hear me ? I've been home ! It's 
 a mean trick you're playin' on the old man. Let me 
 go : d'ye hear ? Keep them women off me ! Let 
 me go ! I'm going I'm going home ! " 
 
 His hands were thrown up convulsively in the air, 
 and, half-turning round, he fell sideways on the porch, 
 and so to the ground. They picked him up hurriedly, 
 but too late. He had gone home. 
 
THE FOOL OF FIVE FORKS. 
 
 HE lived alone. I do not think this peculiarity 
 arose from any wish to withdraw his foolishness 
 from the rest of the camp ; nor was it probable that 
 the combined wisdom of Five Forks ever drove him 
 into exile. My impression is that he lived alone 
 from choice a choice he made long before the camp 
 indulged in any criticism of his mental capacity. He 
 was much given to moody reticence, and, although to 
 outward appearances a strong man, was always com 
 plaining of ill-health. Indeed, one theory of his 
 isolation was that it afforded him better opportunities 
 for taking medicine, of which he habitually consumed 
 large quantities. 
 
 His folly first dawned upon Five Forks through the 
 post-office windows. He was, for a long time, the 
 only man who wrote home by every mail ; his letters 
 being always directed to the same person a woman. 
 Now it so happened that the bulk of the Five Forks 
 correspondence was usually the other way. There 
 were many letters received (the majority being in the 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 123 
 
 female hand), but very few answered. The men 
 received them indifferently, or as a matter of course. 
 A few opened and read them on the spot, with a 
 barely repressed smile of self-conceit, or quite as fre 
 quently glanced over them with undisguised impa 
 tience. Some of the letters began with, " My dear 
 husband ; " and some were never called for. But the 
 fact that the only regular correspondent of Five Forks 
 never received any reply became at last quite notorious. 
 Consequently, when an envelope was received, bear 
 ing the stamp of the " Dead-Letter Office," addressed 
 to the " Fool," under the more conventional title of 
 " Cyrus Hawkins," there was quite a fever of excite 
 ment. I do not know how the secret leaked out ; 
 but it was eventually known to the camp that the 
 envelope contained Hawkins's own letters returned. 
 This was the .first evidence of his weakness. Any 
 man who repeatedly wrote to a woman who did not 
 reply must be a fool. I think Hawkins suspected 
 that his folly was known to the camp but he took 
 refuge in symptoms of chills and fever, which he at 
 once developed, and effected a diversion with three 
 bottles of Indian cholagogue and two boxes of pills. 
 At all events, at the end of a week he resumed a pen 
 stiffened by tonics, with all his old epistolatory perti 
 nacity. This time the letters had a new address. 
 
 In those days a popular belief obtained in the 
 mines that luck particularly favoured the foolish and 
 unscientific. Consequently, when Hawkins struck a 
 "pocket" in the hillside near his solitary cabin there 
 
124 Th e Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 was but little surprise. " He will sink it all in the 
 next hole " was the prevailing belief, predicated upon 
 the usual manner in which the possessor of " nigger 
 luck " disposed of his fortune. To everybody's as 
 tonishment, Hawkins, after taking out about eight 
 thousand dollars, and exhausting the pocket, did not 
 prospect for another. The camp then waited patiently 
 to see what he would do with his money. I think, 
 however, that it was with the greatest difficulty their 
 indignation was kept from taking the form of a per 
 sonal assault when it became known that he had 
 purchased a draft for eight thousand dollars in favour 
 of "that woman.'' More than this, it was finally 
 whispered that the draft was returned to him as his 
 letters had been, and that he was ashamed to reclaim 
 the money at the Express Office. " It wouldn't be a 
 bad spekilation to go East, get some smart gal, for a 
 hundred dollars, to dress herself up and represent that 
 ' Hag/ and just freeze onto that eight thousand," 
 suggested a far-seeing financier. I may state here, 
 that we always alluded to Hawkins's fair unknown as 
 the " Hag " without having, I am confident, the least 
 justification for that epithet. 
 
 That the " Fool" should gamble seemed eminently 
 fit and proper. That he should occasionally win a 
 large stake, according to that popular theory which I 
 have recorded in the preceding paragraph, appeared, 
 also, a not improbable or inconsistent fact. That he 
 should, however, break the faro bank which Mr. John 
 Hamlin had set up in Five Forks, and carry off a sum 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 125 
 
 variously estimated at from ten to twenty thousand 
 dollars, and not return the next day, and lose the 
 money at the same table, really appeared incredible. 
 Yet such was the fact. A day or two passed without 
 any known investment of Mr. Hawkins's recently 
 acquired capital. " Ef he allows to send it to tiiat 
 ' Hag,' " said one prominent citizen, " suthin' ought 
 to be done. It's jest ruinin' the reputation of this yer 
 camp this sloshin' around o' capital on non-residents 
 ez don't claim it!" "It's settin' an example o' ex 
 travagance," said another, " ez is little better -nor a 
 swindle. Thais mor'n five men in this camp thet, 
 hearin' thet Hawkins hed sent home eight thousand 
 dollars, must jest rise up and send home their hard 
 earnings too ! And then to think thet thet eight 
 thousand was only a bluff, after all, and thet it's lyin' 
 there on call in Adams and Co.'s bank ! Well, I say 
 it's one o' them things a vigilance committee oughter 
 look into." 
 
 When there seemed no possibility of this repetition 
 of Hawkins's folly, the anxiety to know what he had 
 really done with his money became intense. At last 
 a self-appointed committee of four citizens dropped 
 artfully, but to outward appearances carelessly, upon 
 him in his seclusion. When some polite formalities 
 had been exchanged, and some easy vituperation of a 
 backward season offered by each of the parties, Tom 
 Wingate approached the subject 
 
 " Sorter dropped heavy on Jack Hamlin the other 
 night, didn't ye ? He allows you didn't give him no- 
 
126 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 show for revenge. I said you wasn't no such d d 
 
 fool; didn't I, Dick?" continued the artful Wingate, 
 appealing to a confederate. 
 
 "Yes/' said Dick, promptly. "You said twenty 
 thousand dollars wasn't goin' to be thrown around 
 recklessly. You said Cyrus had suthin' better to do 
 with his capital," superadded Dick, with gratuitous 
 mendacity. " I disremember now what partickler in 
 vestment you said he was goin' to make with it," he 
 continued, appealing with easy indifference to his 
 friend. 
 
 Of course Wingate did not reply, but looked at the 
 " Fool," who, with a troubled face, was rubbing his 
 legs softly. After a pause, he turned deprecatingly 
 toward his visitors. 
 
 " Ye didn't enny of ye ever hev a sort of tremblin' 
 in your legs, a kind o' shakiness from the knee down? 
 Suthin'," he continued, slightly brightening with his 
 topic, " suthin' that begins like chills, and yet ain't 
 chills ? A kind o' sensation of goneness here, and a 
 kind o' feelin' as if you might die suddint? when 
 Wright's Pills don't somehow reach the spot, and 
 quinine don't fetch you? " 
 
 " No ! " said Wingate, with a curt directness, and the 
 air of authoritatively responding for his friends, " no, 
 never had. You was speakin' of this yer investment." 
 
 "And your bowels all the time irregular?" con 
 tinued Hawkins, blushing under Wingate's eye, and 
 yet clinging despairingly to his theme, like a ship 
 wrecked mariner to his plank. 
 
The Fool of Five. Forks. 127 
 
 Wingate did not reply, but glanced significantly at 
 the rest. Hawkins evidently saw this recognition of 
 his mental deficiency, and said, apologetically, " You 
 was saying suthin' about my investment?'' 
 
 " Yes," said Wingate, so rapidly as to almost take 
 Hawkins's breath away, " the investment you made 
 in " 
 
 "Rafferty's Ditch," said the "Fool," timidly. 
 
 For a moment the visitors could only stare blankly 
 at each other. "Rafferty's Ditch," the one notorious 
 failure of Five Forks ! Rafierty's Ditch, the im 
 practicable scheme of an utterly unpractical man !-- 
 Rafferty's Ditch, a ridiculous plan for taking water that 
 could not be got to a place where it wasn't wanted ! 
 Rafferty's Ditch, that had buried the fortunes of 
 Rafferty and twenty wretched stockholders in its 
 muddy depths ! 
 
 "And thet's it, is it?" said Wingate, after a gloomy 
 pause. " Thet's it ! I see it all now, boys. That's 
 how ragged Pat Rafferty went down to San Francisco 
 yesterday in storeclothes, and his wife and four 
 children went off in a kerridge to Sacramento. Thet's 
 why them ten workmen of his, ez hadn't a cent to 
 bless themselves with, was playin' billiards last night, 
 and eatin' isters. Thet's whar that money kum frum, 
 - one hundred dollars to pay for the long advertise 
 ment of the new issue of Ditch stock in the Times 
 yesterday. Thet's why them six strangers were booked 
 at the Magnolia Hotel yesterday. Don't you see ? 
 It's thet money and that 'Fool 7 I" 
 
128 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 The " Fool" sat silent. The visitors rose without a 
 word. 
 
 " You never took any of them Indian Vegetable 
 Pills? " asked Hawkins, timidly, of Wingate. 
 
 " No !" roared Wingate, as he opened the door. 
 
 " They tell me that, took with the Panacea they 
 was out o' the Panacea when I went to the drug-store 
 last week they say that, took with the Panacea, they 
 always effect a certin cure." But by this time, 
 Wingate and his disgusted friends had retreated, 
 slamming the door on the " Fool " and his ailments. 
 
 Nevertheless, in six months the whole affair was for 
 gotten : the money had been spent, the " Ditch" had 
 been purchased by a company of Boston capitalists, 
 fired by the glowing description of an Eastern tourist 
 who had spent one drunken night at Five Forks ; and 
 I think even the mental condition of Hawkins might 
 have remained undisturbed by criticism but for a 
 singular accident. 
 
 It was during an exciting political campaign, when 
 party feeling ran high, that the irascible Capt. 
 McFadden of Sacramento visited Five Forks. During 
 a heated discussion in the Prairie Rose Saloon, words 
 passed between the captain and the Hon. Calhoun 
 Bungstarter, ending in a challenge. The captain bore 
 the infelicitous reputation of being a notorious duellist, 
 and a dead-shot. The captain was unpopular. The 
 captain was believed to have been sent by the 
 opposition for a deadly purpose ; and the captain was, 
 moreover, a stranger. I am sorry to say that with Five 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 129 
 
 Forks this latter condition did not carry the quality of 
 sanctity or reverence that usually obtains among other 
 nomads. There was, consequently, some little 
 hesitation when the captain turned upon the crowd, 
 and asked for some one to act as his friend. To 
 everybody's astonishment, and to the indignation of 
 many, the " Fool " stepped forward and offered him 
 self in that capacity. I do not know whether Capt. 
 McFadden would have chosen him voluntarily ; but he 
 was constrained, in the absence of a better man, to 
 accept his services. 
 
 The duel never took place. The preliminaries were 
 all arranged, the spot indicated ; the men were present 
 with their seconds ; there was no interruption from 
 without ; there was no explanation or apology passed 
 but the duel did not take place. It may be readily 
 imagined that these facts, which were all known to 
 Five Forks, threw the whole community into a fever 
 of curiosity. The principals, the surgeon, and one 
 second left town the next day. Only the "Fool" 
 remained. He resisted all questioning, declaring him 
 self held in honour not to divulge ; in short, conducted 
 himself with consistent but exasperating folly. It was 
 not until six months had passed, that Col. Starbottle, 
 the second of Calhoun Bungstarter, in a moment of 
 weakness, superinduced by the social glass, con 
 descended to explain. I should not do justice to the 
 parties if I did not give that explanation in the 
 colonel's own words. I may remark, in passing, that 
 the characteristic dignity of Col. Starbottle alwavs be- 
 
 9 
 
130 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 came intensified by stimulants, and that, by the same 
 process, all sense of humour was utterly eliminated. 
 
 " With the understanding that I am addressing my 
 self confidentially to men of honour," said the colonel, 
 elevating his chest above the bar-room counter of the 
 Prairie Rose Saloon, "I trust that it will not be 
 necessary for me to protect myself from levity, as I 
 was forced to do in Sacramento on the only other 
 occasion when I entered into an explanation of this 
 delicate affair by er er calling the individual to a 
 personal account er. I do not believe," added the 
 colonel, slightly waving his glass of liquor in the air 
 with a graceful gesture of courteous deprecation, 
 " knowing what I do of the present company, that 
 such a course of action is required here. Certainly 
 not, sir, in the home of Mr. Hawkins er the gentle 
 man who represented Mr. Bungstarter, whose conduct, 
 ged, sir, is worthy of praise, blank me ! " 
 
 Apparently satisfied with the gravity and respectful 
 attention of his listeners, CoL Starbottle smiled 
 relentingly and sweetly, closed his eyes half-dreamily, 
 as if to recall his wandering thoughts, and began, 
 
 " As the spot selected was nearest the tenement of 
 Mr. Hawkins, it was agreed that the parties should 
 meet there. They did so promptly at half-past six. 
 The morning being chilly, Mr. Hawkins extended the 
 hospitalities of his house with a bottle of Bourbon 
 whiskey, of which all partook but myself. The reason 
 for that exception is, I believe, well known. It is my 
 invariable custom to take brandy a wineglassful in a 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 131 
 
 cup of strong coffee immediately on rising. It 
 stimulates the functions, sir, without producing any- 
 blank derangement of the nerves." 
 
 The barkeeper, to whom, as an expert, the colonel 
 had graciously imparted this information, nodded 
 approvingly; and the colonel, amid a breathless 
 silence, went on. 
 
 " We were about twenty minutes in reaching the 
 spot. The ground was measured, the weapons were 
 loaded, when Mr. Bungstarter confided to me the 
 information that he was unwell, and in great pain. On 
 consultation with Mr. Hawkins, it appeared that his 
 principal, in a distant part of the field, was also suffer 
 ing, and in great pain. The symptoms were such as 
 a medical man would pronounce * choleraic.' I say 
 would have pronounced; for, on examination, the 
 surgeon was also found to be er in pain, and, I 
 regret to say, expressing himself in language unbecom 
 ing the occasion. His impression was that some 
 powerful drug had been administered, On referring 
 the question to Mr. Hawkins, he remembered that the 
 bottle of whiskey partaken by them contained a 
 medicine which he had been in the habit of taking, 
 but which, having failed to act upon him, he had con 
 cluded to be generally ineffective, and had forgotten. 
 His perfect willingness to hold himself personally 
 responsible to each of the parties, his genuine concert 
 at the disastrous effect of the mistake, mingled witt 
 his own alarm at the state of his system, which er * 
 failed to er respond to the peculiar qualities of the 
 
 9* 
 
132 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 medicine, was most becoming to him as a man of 
 honour and a gentleman. After an hour's delay, both 
 principals being completely exhausted, and abandoned 
 by the surgeon, who was unreasonably alarmed at his 
 own condition, Mr. Hawkins and I agreed to remove 
 our men to Markleville. There, after a further con 
 sultation with Mr. Hawkins, an amicable adjustment 
 of all difficulties, honourable to both parties, and 
 governed by profound secrecy, was arranged. I 
 believe," added the colonel, looking around, and 
 setting down his glass, " no gentleman has yet ex 
 pressed himself other than satisfied with the result.' 7 
 
 Perhaps it was the colonel's manner ; but, whatever 
 was the opinion of Five Forks regarding the intellectual 
 display of Mr. Hawkins in this affair, there was very 
 little outspoken criticism at the moment. In a few 
 weeks the whole thing was forgotten, except as part of 
 the necessary record of Hawkins's blunders, which was 
 already a pretty full one. Again, some later follies 
 conspired to obliterate the past, until, a year later, a 
 valuable lead was discovered in the "Blazing Star'* 
 tunnel, in the hill where he lived ; and a large sum was 
 offered him for a portion of his land on the hill-top. 
 Accustomed as Five Forks had become to the exhibi 
 tion of his folly, it was with astonishment that they 
 learned that he resolutely and decidedly refused the 
 offer. The reason that he gave was still more 
 astounding he was about to build. 
 
 To build a house upon property available for mining 
 purposes was preposterous : to build at all, with a roof 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 133 
 
 already covering him, was an act of extravagance ; to 
 build a house of the style he proposed was simply 
 madness. 
 
 Yet here were facts. The plans were made, and 
 the lumber for the new building was already on the 
 ground, while the shaft of the " Blazing Star " was 
 being sunk below. The site was, in reality, a very 
 picturesque one, the building itself of a style and 
 quality hitherto unknown in Five Forks. The citizens, 
 at first sceptical, during their moments of recreation 
 and idleness gathered doubtingly about the locality. 
 Day by day, in that climate of rapid growths, the 
 building, pleasantly known in the slang of Five Forks 
 as the '* Idiot Asylum," rose beside the green oaks 
 and clustering firs of Hawkins Hill, as if it were part 
 of the natural phenomena. At last it was completed. 
 Then Mr. Hawkins proceeded to furnish it with an 
 expensiveness and extravagance of outlay quite in 
 keeping with his former idiocy. Carpets, sofas, mir 
 rors, and finally a piano the only one known in the 
 county, and brought at great expense from Sacra 
 mento kept curiosity at a fever-heat. More than 
 that, there were articles and ornaments which a few 
 married experts declared only fit for women. When 
 the furnishing of the house was complete it had 
 occupied two months of the speculative and curious 
 attention of the camp Mr. Hawkins locked the 
 front door, put the key in his pocket, and quietly 
 retired to his more humble roof, lower on the hill 
 side. 
 
134 Th e Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 I have not deemed it necessary to indicate to the 
 intelligent reader all of the theories which obtained in 
 Five Forks during the erection of the building. Some 
 of them may be readily imagined. That the " Hag " 
 had, by artful coyness and systematic reticence, at 
 last completely subjugated the " Fool," and that the 
 new house was intended for the nuptial bower of the 
 (predestined) unhappy pair, was, of course, the pre 
 vailing opinion. But when, after a reasonable time 
 had elapsed, and the house still remained untenanted, 
 the more exasperating conviction forced itself upon 
 the general mind that the " Fool " had been for the 
 third time imposed upon when two months had 
 elapsed, and there seemed no prospect of a mistress 
 for the new house I think public indignation became 
 so strong that, had the " Hag " arrived, the marriage 
 would have been publicly prevented. But no one ap 
 peared that seemed to answer to this idea of an available 
 tenant ; and all inquiry of Mr. Hawkins, as to his in 
 tention in building a house, and not renting it or 
 occupying it, failed to elicit any further information. 
 The reasons that he gave were felt to be vague, 
 evasive, and unsatisfactory. He was in no hurry to 
 move, lie said. When he was ready, it surely was 
 not strange that he should like to have his house all 
 ready to receive him. He was often seen upon the 
 verandah, of a summer evening, smoking a cigar. It 
 is reported that one night the house was observed to 
 be brilliantly lighted from garret to basement; that a 
 neighbour, observing this, crept toward the open par- 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 135 
 
 lour window, and, looking in, espied the "Fool" 
 accurately dressed in evening costume, lounging upon 
 a sofa in the drawing-room, with the easy air of soci 
 ally entertaining a large party. Notwithstanding this, 
 the house was unmistakably vacant that evening, save 
 for the presence of the owner, as the witness afterward 
 testified. When this story was first related, a few 
 practical men suggested the theory that Mr. Hawkins 
 was simply drilling himself in the elaborate duties of 
 hospitality against a probable event in his history. A 
 few ventured the belief that the house was haunted. 
 The imaginative editor of the Five Forlts Record 
 evolved from the depths of his professional conscious 
 ness a story that Hawkins's sweetheart had died, and 
 that he regularly entertained her spirit in this beauti 
 fully furnished mausoleum. The occasional spectacle 
 of Hawkins's tall figure pacing the verandah on moon 
 light nights lent some credence to this theory, until 
 an unlooked-for incident diverted all speculation into 
 another channel. 
 
 It was about this time that a certain wild, rude 
 valley in the neighbourhood of Five Forks had be 
 come famous as a picturesque resort. Travellers had 
 visited it, and declared that there were more cubic 
 yards of rough stone cliff, and a waterfall of greater 
 height, than any they had visited. Correspondents 
 had written it up with extravagant rhetoric and in 
 ordinate poetical quotation. Men and women who 
 had never enjoyed a sunset, a tree, or a flower, who 
 had never appreciated the graciousness or meaning of 
 
136 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 the yellow sunlight that flecked their homely door 
 ways, or the tenderness of a midsummer's night, to 
 whose moonlight they bared their shirt-sleeves or their 
 tulle dresses, came from thousands of miles away to 
 calculate the height of this rock, to observe the depth 
 of this chasm, to remark upon the enormous size of 
 this unsightly tree, and to believe with ineffable self- 
 complacency that they really admired nature. And 
 so it came to pass that, in accordance with the tastes 
 or weaknesses of the individual, the more prominent 
 and salient points of the valley were christened ; and 
 there was a " Lace Handkerchief Fall," and the 
 " Tears of Sympathy Cataract," and one distinguished 
 orator's " Peak," and several " Mounts " of various 
 noted people, living or dead, and an " Exclamation- 
 Point," and a " Valley of Silent Adoration." And in 
 course of time empty sodawater bottles were found at 
 the base of the cataract, and greasy newspapers, and 
 fragments of ham sandwiches, lay at the dusty roots 
 of giant trees. With this, there were frequent irrup 
 tions of closely shaven and tightly cravated men, and 
 delicate, flower-faced women, in the one long street of 
 Five Forks, and a scampering of mules, and an oc 
 casional procession of dusty brown-linen cavalry. 
 
 A year after Hawkins's " Idiot Asylum " was com 
 pleted, one day there drifted into the valley a riotous 
 cavalcade of "school-marms," teachers of the San 
 Francisco public schools, out for a holiday. Not 
 severely-spectacled Minervas, and chastely armed and 
 mailed Pallas es, but, I fear, for the security of Five 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 137 
 
 Forks, very human, charming, and mischievous young 
 women. At least so the men thought, working in the 
 ditches, and tunnelling on the hillside ; and when, in 
 the interests of science, and the mental advancement 
 of juvenile posterity, it was finally settled that they 
 should stay in Five Forks two or three days for the 
 sake of visiting the various mines, and particularly the 
 " Blazing Star " tunnel, there was some flutter of mas 
 culine anxiety. There was a considerable inquiry for 
 "store-clothes," a hopeless overhauling of old and 
 disused raiment, and a general demand for " boiled 
 shirts " and the barber. 
 
 Meanwhile, with that supreme audacity and impu 
 dent hardihood of the sex when gregarious, the school- 
 marms rode through the town admiring openly the 
 handsome faces and manly figures that looked up 
 from the ditches, or rose behind the cars of ore at the 
 mouths of tunnels. Indeed, it is alleged that Jenny 
 Forester, backed and supported by seven other 
 equally shameless young women, had openly and 
 publicly waved her handkerchief to the florid Hercules 
 of Five Forks, one Tom Flynn, formerly of Virginia, 
 leaving that good-natured but not over bright giant 
 pulling his blonde mustaches in bashful amazement. 
 
 It was a pleasant June afternoon that Miss Milly 
 Arnot, principal of the primary department of one of 
 the public schools of San Francisco, having evaded 
 her companions, resolved to put into operation a 
 plan which had lately sprung up in her courageous 
 and mischief-loving fancy. With that wonderful and 
 
138 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 mysterious instinct of her sex, from whom no secrets 
 of the affections are hid, and to whom all hearts are 
 laid open, she had heard the story of Hawkins's folly, 
 and the existence of the " Idiot Asylum." Alone on 
 Hawkins Hill she had determined to penetrate its 
 seclusion. Skirting the underbrush at the foot of the 
 hill, she managed to keep the heaviest timber between 
 herself and the " Blazing Star " tunnel at its base, as 
 well as the cabin of Hawkins, half-way up the ascent, 
 until by a circuitous route at last she reached, un 
 observed, the summit. Before her rose silent, dark 
 ened, and motionless, the object of her search. Here 
 her courage failed her, with all the characteristic in 
 consequence of her sex. A sudden fear of all the 
 dangers she had safely passed bears, tarantulas, 
 drunken men, and lizards came upon her. For a 
 moment, as she afterwards expressed it, " she thought 
 she should die." With this belief, probably, she 
 gathered three large stones, which she could hardly 
 lift, for the purpose of throwing a great distance ; put 
 two hair-pins in her mouth, and carefully readjusted 
 with both hands two stray braids of her lovely blue- 
 black mane, which had fallen in gathering the stones. 
 Then she felt in the pockets of her linen duster for 
 her card-case, handkerchief, pocket-book, and smelling- 
 bottle, and, finding them intact, suddenly assumed 
 an air of easy, ladylike unconcern, went up the steps 
 of the verandah, and demurely pulled the front door 
 bell, which she knew would not be answered. After 
 a decent pause, she walked around the encompassing 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 139 
 
 verandah, examining the closed shutters of the French 
 windows until she found one that yielded to her touch. 
 Here she paused again to adjust her coquettish hat by 
 the mirror-like surface of the long sash-window, that 
 reflected the full length of her pretty figure. And 
 then she opened the window and entered the room. 
 
 Although long closed, the house had a smell of 
 newness and of fresh paint that was quite unlike the 
 mouldiness of the conventional haunted house. The 
 bright carpets, the cheerful walls, the glistening oil 
 cloths, were quite inconsistent with the idea of a ghost. 
 With childish curiosity, she began to explore the 
 silent house, at first timidly opening the doors with 
 a violent push, and then stepping back from the 
 threshold to make good a possible retreat and then 
 more boldly, as she became convinced of her security 
 and absolute loneliness. In one of the chambers 
 the largest there were fresh flowers in a vase, evi 
 dently gathered that morning; and, what seemed 
 still more remarkable, the pitchers and ewers were 
 freshly filled with water. This obliged Miss Milly to 
 notice another singular fact, namely, that the house 
 was free from dust, the one most obstrusive and pene 
 trating visitor of Five Forks. The floors and carpets 
 had been recently swept, the chairs and furniture care 
 fully wiped and dusted. If the house was haunted, 
 it was possessed by a spirit who had none of the usual 
 indifference to decay and mould. And yet the beds 
 had evidently never been slept in ; the very springs 
 of the chair in which she sat creaked stiffly at the 
 
140 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 novelty ; the closet-doors opened with the reluctance 
 of fresh paint and varnish; and in spite of the warmth, 
 cleanliness, and cheerfulness of furniture and decora 
 tion, there was none of the ease of tenancy and 
 occupation. As Miss Milly afterward confessed, she 
 longed to " tumble things around ; " and, when she 
 reached the parlour or drawing-room again, she could 
 hardly resist the desire. Particularly was she tempted 
 by a closed piano that stood mutely against the wall. 
 She thought she would open it just to see who was 
 the maker. That done, it would be no harm to try 
 its tone. She did so, with one little foot on the soft 
 pedal. But Miss Milly was too good a player, and 
 too enthusiastic a musician, to stop at half-measures. 
 She tried it again, this time so sincerely that the whole 
 house seemed to spring into voice. Then she stopped 
 and listened. There was no response : the empty 
 rooms seemed to have relapsed into their old stillness. 
 She stepped out on the verandah. A woodpecker 
 recommenced his tapping on an adjacent tree : the 
 rattle of a cart in the rocky gulch below the hill came 
 faintly up. No one was to be seen far or near. Miss 
 Milly, reassured, returned. She again ran her fingers 
 over the keys, stopped, caught at a melody running 
 in her mind, half played it, and then threw away all 
 caution. Before five minutes had elapsed, she had 
 entirely forgotten herself, and with her linen duster 
 thrown aside, her straw hat flung on the piano, her 
 white hands bared, and a black loop of her braided 
 hair hanging upon her shoulder, was fairly embarked 
 uponji flowing sea of musical recollection. 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 141 
 
 She had played, perhaps, half an hour, when having 
 just finished an elaborate symphony, and resting her 
 hands on the keys, she heard very distinctly and un 
 mistakably the sound of applause from without. In 
 an instant the fires of shame and indignation leaped 
 into her cheeks; and she rose from the instrument, 
 and ran to the window, only in time to catch sight of 
 a dozen figures in blue and red flannel shirts vanishing 
 hurriedly through the trees below. 
 
 Miss Milly's mind was instantly made up. I think 
 I have already intimated that, under the stimulus of 
 excitement, she was not wanting in courage : and as 
 she quietly resumed her gloves, hat, and duster, she 
 was not perhaps exactly the young person that it 
 would be entirely safe for the timid, embarrassed, or 
 inexperienced of my sex to meet alone. She shut 
 down the piano ; and having carefully reclosed all the 
 windows and doors, and restored the house to its 
 former desolate condition, she stepped from the ve 
 randah, and proceeded directly to the cabin of the 
 unintellectual Hawkins, that reared its adobe chimney 
 above the umbrage a quarter of a mile below. 
 
 The door opened instantly to her impulsive knock, 
 and the "Fool of Five Forks" stood before her. Miss 
 Milly had never before seen the man designated by 
 this infelicitous title ; and as he stepped backward, in 
 half courtesy and half astonishment, she was, for the 
 moment, disconcerted. He was tall, finely formed, 
 and dark-bearded. Above cheeks a little hollowed by 
 care and ill-health shone a pair of hazel eyes, very 
 
142 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 large, very gentle, but inexpressibly sad and mournful. 
 This was certainly not the kind of man Miss Milly had 
 expected to see : yet, after her first embarrassment had 
 passed, the very circumstance, oddly enough, added 
 to her indignation, and stung her wounded pride still 
 more deeply. Nevertheless, the arch hypocrite in 
 stantly changed her tactics with the swift intuition of 
 her sex. 
 
 "I have come," she said, with a dazzling smile, in 
 finitely more dangerous than her former dignified 
 severity, " I have come to ask your pardon for a 
 great liberty I have just taken. I believe the new 
 house above us on the hill is yours. I was so much 
 pleased with its exterior that I left my friends for a 
 moment below here," she continued, artfully, with a 
 slight wave of the hand, as if indicating a band of 
 fearless Amazons without, and waiting to avenge any 
 possible insult offered to one of their number, " and 
 ventured to enter it. Finding it unoccupied, as I had 
 been told, I am afraid I had the audacity to sit down 
 and amuse myself for a few moments at the piano, 
 while waiting for my friends." 
 
 Hawkins raised his beautiful eyes to hers. He saw 
 a very pretty girl, with frank grey eyes glistening with 
 excitement, with two red, slightly freckled cheeks 
 glowing a little under his eyes, with a short scarlet 
 upper-lip turned back, like a rose leaf, over a little line 
 of white teeth, as she breathed somewhat hurriedly in 
 her nervous excitement He saw all this calmly, 
 quietly, and, save for the natural uneasiness of a shy, 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 143 
 
 reticent man, I fear without a quickening of his 
 pulse. 
 
 " I knowed it," he said, simply. " I heerd ye as I 
 kem up." 
 
 Miss Milly was furious at his grammar, his dialect, 
 his coolness, and, still more, at the suspicion that he 
 was an active member of her invisible claque. 
 
 "Ah!" she said, still smiling. "Then I think I 
 heard you " 
 
 " I reckon not," he interrupted, gravely. " I didn't 
 stay long. I found the boys hanging round the house, 
 and I allowed at first I'd go in and kinder warn you ; 
 but they promised to keep still : and you looked so 
 comfortable, and wrapped up in your music, that I 
 hadn't the heart to disturb you, and kem away. I 
 hope," he added, earnestly, " they didn't let on ez they 
 heerd you. They ain't a bad lot them Blazin' Star 
 boys though they're a little hard at times. But 
 they'd no more hurt ye then they would a a a cat!" 
 continued Mr. Hawkins, blushing with a faint appre 
 hension of the inelegance of his simile. 
 
 "No, no!" said Miss Milly, feeling suddenly very 
 angry with herself, the " Fool," and the entire male 
 population of Five Forks. " No ! I have behaved 
 foolishly, I suppose and, if they had, it would have 
 served me right. But I only wanted to apologise to 
 you. You'll find everything as you left it. Good 
 day!" 
 
 She turned to go. Mr. Hawkins began to feel em 
 barrassed. ll I'd have asked ye to sit down," he said, 
 
144 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 finally, " if it hed been a place fit for a lady. I 
 oughter done so, enny way. i don't know what kept 
 me from it. But I ain't well, miss. Times I get a 
 sort o' dumb ager it's the ditches, I think, miss 
 and I don't seem to hev my wits about me." 
 
 Instantly Miss Arnot was all sympathy : her quick 
 woman's heart was touched. 
 
 " Can I can anything be done ? " she asked, more 
 timidly than she had before spoken. 
 
 " No not onless ye remember suthin' about these 
 pills." He exhibited a box containing about half a 
 dozen. " I forget the direction I don't seem to 
 remember much, any way, these times. They're 
 ' Jones's Vegetable Compound.' If ye've ever took 
 'em, ye'll remember whether the reg'lar dose is eight. 
 They ain't but six here. But perhaps ye never tuk 
 any," he added, deprecatingly. 
 
 " No," said Miss Milly, curtly. She had usually 
 a keen sense of the ludicrous, but somehow Mr. 
 Hawkins's eccentricity only pained her. 
 
 "Will you let me see you to the foot of the hill?" 
 he said again, after another embarrassing pause. 
 
 Miss Arnot felt instantly that such an act would 
 condone her trespass in the eyes of the world. She 
 might meet some of her invisible admirers, or even 
 her companions ; and, with all her erratic impulses, 
 she was nevertheless a woman, and did not entirely 
 despise the verdict of conventionality. She smiled 
 sweetly, and assented ; and in another moment the 
 two were lost in the shadows of the wood. 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 145 
 
 Like many other apparently trivial acts in an un 
 eventful life, it was decisive. As she expected, she 
 met two or three of her late applauders, whom, she 
 fancied, looked sheepish and embarrassed ; she met, 
 also, her companions looking for her in some alarm, 
 who really appeared astonished at her .escort, and, she 
 fancied, a trifle envious of her evident success. I fear 
 that Miss Arnot, in response to their anxious inquiries, 
 did not state entirely the truth, but, without actual 
 assertion, led them to believe that she had, at a very 
 early stage of the proceeding, completely subjugated 
 this weak-minded giant, and had brought him trium 
 phantly to her feet. From telling this story two or 
 three times, she got finally to believing that she had 
 some foundation for it, then to a vague sort of desire 
 that it would eventually prove to be true, and then to 
 an equally vague yearning to hasten that consumma 
 tion. That it would redound to any satisfaction of 
 the " Fool " she did not stop to doubt. That it would 
 cure him of his folly she was quite confident. In 
 deed, there are very few of us, men or women, who 
 do not believe that even a hopeless love for ourselves 
 is more conducive to the salvation of the lover than a 
 requited affection for another. 
 
 The criticism of Five Forks was, as the reader may 
 imagine, swift and conclusive. When it was found 
 out that Miss Arnot was not the "Hag" masquerading 
 as a young and pretty girl, to the ultimate deception 
 of Five Forks in general, and the "Fool" in particular, 
 it was at once decided that nothing but the speedy 
 
146 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 union of the " Fool " and the " pretty school-marm " 
 was consistent with ordinary common sense. The 
 singular good-fortune of Hawkins was quite in accord 
 ance with the theory of his luck as propounded by 
 the camp. That, after the "Hag" failed to make 
 her appearance, he should " strike a lead " in his own 
 house, without the trouble of " prospecting" seemed 
 to these casuists as a wonderful but inevitable law. 
 To add to these fateful probabilities, Miss Arnot fell, 
 and sprained her ankle, in the ascent of Mount 
 Lincoln, and was confined for some weeks to the 
 hotel after her companions had departed. During 
 this period, Hawkins was civilly but grotesquely atten 
 tive. When, after a reasonable time had elapsed, 
 there still appeared to be no immediate prospect of 
 the occupancy of the new house, public opinion ex 
 perienced a singular change in regard to its theories 
 of Mr. Hawkins's conduct. The " Hag " was looked 
 upon as a saint-like and long-suffering martyr to the 
 weaknesses and inconsistency of the " Fool." That, 
 after erecting this new house at her request, he had 
 suddenly "gone back" on her; that his celibacy was 
 the result of a long habit of weak proposal and sub 
 sequent shameless rejection ; and that he was now 
 trying his hand on the helpless school-marm was 
 perfectly plain to Five Forks. That he should be 
 frustrated in his attempts at any cost was equally 
 plain. Miss Milly suddenly found herself invested 
 with a rude chivalry that would have been amusing, 
 had it not been at times embarrassing ; that would 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 147 
 
 have been impertinent, but for the almost superstitious 
 respect with which it was proffered. Every day some 
 body from Five Forks rode out to inquire the health 
 of the fair patient. 
 
 " Hez Hawkins bin over yer to-day ? " queried 
 Tom Flynn, with artful ease and indifference, as he 
 leaned over Miss Milly's easy-chair on the verandah. 
 
 Miss Milly, with a faint pink flush on her cheek, 
 was constrained to answer, " No." 
 
 " Well, he sorter sprained his foot agin a rock yester 
 day," continued Flynn, with shameless untruthfulness. 
 " You mus'n't think anything o' that, Miss Arnot. 
 He'll be over yer to-morrer ; and meantime he told 
 me to hand this yer bookay with his regards, and 
 this yer specimen." And Mr. Flynn laid down the 
 flowers he had picked en route against such an emer 
 gency, and presented respectfully a piece of quartz 
 and gold, which he had taken that morning from his 
 own sluice-box. 
 
 "You mus'n't mind Hawkins's ways, Miss Milly," 
 said another sympathising miner. " There ain't a 
 better man in camp than that theer Cy Hawkins 
 but he don't understand the ways of the world 
 with wimen. He hasn't mixed as much with society 
 as the rest of us," he added, with an elaborate 
 Chesterfieldian ease of manner ; " but he means 
 
 well." 
 
 Meanwhile a few other sympathetic tunnel-men 
 were impressing upon Mr. Hawkins the necessity 
 of the greatest attention to the invalid. "It won't 
 
148 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 do, Hawkins/' they explained, " to let that there 
 gal go back to San Francisco and say that, when she 
 was sick and alone, the only man in Five Forks under 
 whose roof she had rested, and at whose table she 
 had sat" (this was considered a natural but pardonable 
 exaggeration of rhetoric) "ever threw off on her; 
 and it shan't be done. It ain't the square thing to 
 Five Forks." And then the " Fool" would rush away 
 to the valley, and be received by Miss Milly with a 
 certain reserve of manner that finally disappeared in 
 a flush of colour, some increased vivacity, and a 
 pardonable coquetry. And so the days passed. 
 Miss Milly grew better in health, and more troubled 
 in mind ; and Mr. Hawkins became more and more 
 embarrassed ; and Five Forks smiled, and rubbed its 
 hands, and waited for the approaching denoitment. 
 And then it came but not, perhaps, in the manner 
 that Five Forks had imagined. 
 
 It was a lovely afternoon in July that a party of 
 Eastern tourists rode into Five Forks. They had just 
 "done" the Valley of Big Things; and, there being 
 one or two Eastern capitalists among the party, it was 
 deemed advisable that a proper knowledge of the 
 practical mining resources of California should be 
 added to their experience of the merely picturesque in 
 nature. Thus far everything had been satisfactory; 
 the amount of water which passed over the Fall was 
 large, owing to a backward season ; some snow still 
 remained in the canons near the highest peaks ; they 
 bad ridden round one of the biggest trees, and through 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 149 
 
 the prostrate trunk of another. To say that they 
 were delighted is to express feebly the enthusiasm of 
 these ladies and gentlemen, drunk with the champagny 
 hospitality of their entertainers, the utter novelty of 
 scene, and the dry, exhilarating air of the valley. 
 One or two had already expressed themselves ready 
 to live and die there ; another had written a glowing 
 account to the Eastern press, depreciating all other 
 scenery in Europe and America ; and, under these 
 circumstances, it was resonably expected that Five 
 Forks would do its duty, and equally impress the 
 stranger after its own fashion. 
 
 Letters to this effect were sent from San Francisco 
 by prominent capitalists there ; and, under the able 
 superintendence of one of their agents, the visitors 
 were taken in hand, shown " what was to be seen," 
 carefully restrained from observing what ought not to 
 be visible, and so kept in a blissful and enthusiastic 
 condition. And so the graveyard of Five Forks, in 
 which but two of the occupants had died natural 
 deaths the dreary, ragged cabins en the hillsides, 
 with their sad-eyed, cynical, broken-spirited occupants, 
 toiling on day by day for a miserable pittance, and a 
 fare that a self-respecting Eastern mechanic would 
 have scornfully rejected were not a part of the 
 Eastern visitors' recollection. But the hoisting works 
 and machinery of the " Blazing Star Tunnel Com 
 pany " was, the Blazing Star Tunnel Company, 
 whose "gentlemanly superintendent" had received 
 private information from San Francisco to do the 
 
150 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 " proper thing " for the party. Wherefore the valu 
 able heaps of ore in the company's works were shown ; 
 the oblong bars of gold, ready for shipment, were 
 playfully offered to the ladies who could lift and carry 
 them away unaided; and even the tunnel itself, 
 gloomy, fateful, and peculiar, was shown as part of 
 the experience ; and, in the noble language of one 
 correspondent, "The wealth of Five Forks, and the 
 peculiar inducements that it offered to Eastern capi 
 talists/' were established beyond a doubt. And then 
 occurred a little incident, which, as an unbiassed 
 spectator, I am free to say offered no inducements to 
 anybody whatever, but which, for its bearing upon the 
 central figure of this veracious chronicle, I cannot 
 pass over. 
 
 It had become apparent to one or two more prac 
 tical and sober-minded in the party, that certain por- 
 aons of the "Blazing Star" tunnel (owing, perhaps, 
 to the exigencies of a flattering annual dividend) were 
 economically and imperfectly "shored " and supported, 
 and were consequently unsafe, insecure, and to be 
 avoided. Nevertheless, at a time when champagne 
 corks were popping in dark corners, and enthusiastic 
 voices and happy laughter rang through the half- 
 lighted levels and galleries, there came a sudden and 
 mysterious silence. A few lights dashed swiftly by in 
 the direction of a distant part of the gallery, and then 
 there was a sudden sharp issuing of orders, and a 
 dull ominous rumble. Some of the visitors turned 
 pale : one woman fainted. 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 151 
 
 Something had happened What? "Nothing" 
 (the speaker is fluent but uneasy) "one of the gentle 
 men, in trying to dislodge a ' specimen ' from the wall, 
 had knocked away a support There had been a 
 ' cave ' the gentleman was caught, and buried below 
 his shoulders. It was all right, they'd get him out in 
 a moment only it required great care to keep from 
 extending the 'cave.' Didn't know his name. It 
 was that little man, the husband of that lively lady 
 with the black eyes. Eh ! Hullo, there ! Stop her ! 
 For God's sake ! Not that way ! She'll fall from that 
 shaft. She'll be killed!" 
 
 But the lively lady was already gone. With staring 
 black eyes, imploringly trying to pierce the gloom, 
 with hands and feet that sought to batter and break 
 down the thick darkness, with incoherent cries and 
 supplications following the moving of ignis fatuus 
 lights ahead, she ran, and ran swiftly ! ran over 
 treacherous foundations, ran by yawning gulfs, ran 
 past branching galleries and arches, ran wildly, ran 
 despairingly, ran blindly, and at last ran into the arms 
 of the " Fool of Five Forks." 
 
 In an instant she caught at his hand. " Oh, save 
 him !" she cried. "You belong here ; you know this 
 dreadful place : bring me to him. Tell me where to 
 go, and what to do, I implore you ! Quick, he is 
 dying ! Come !" 
 
 He raised his eyes to hers, and then, with a sudden 
 cry, dropped the rope and crowbar he was carrying, 
 and reeled against the wall. 
 
152 The Fool of Five Fork. 
 
 " Annie ! " he gasped, slowly. " Is it you ? " 
 
 She caught at both his hands, brought her face to 
 his with staring eyes, murmured, "Good God, Cyrus 1" 
 and sank upon her knees before him. 
 
 He tried to disengage the hand that she wrung with 
 passionate entreaty. 
 
 " No, no ! Cyrus, you will forgive me you will 
 forget the past ! God has sent you here to-day. 
 You will come with me. You will you must save 
 him ! " 
 
 " Save who ? " cried Cyrus, hoarsely. 
 
 "My husband!" 
 
 The blow was so direct, so strong and overwhelm 
 ing, that, even through her own stronger and more 
 selfish absorption, she saw it in the face of the man, 
 and pitied him. 
 
 "I thought you knew it," she faltered. 
 
 He did not speak, but looked at her with fixed, 
 dumb eyes. And then the sound of distant voices 
 and hurrying feet started her again into passionate life. 
 She once more caught his hand. 
 
 " Oh, Cyrus, hear me ! If you have loved me through 
 all these years, you will not fail me now. You must 
 save him ! You can ! You are brave and strong 
 you always were, Cyrus. You will save him, Cyrus, 
 for my sake, for the sake of your love for me ! You 
 will I know it. God bless you ! " 
 
 She rose as if to follow him; but, at a gesture of 
 command, she stood still. He picked up the rope 
 and crowbar slowly, and in a dazed, blinded way, 
 
The Fool of Five Forks. 153 
 
 that, in her agony of impatience and alarm, seemed 
 protracted to cruel infinity. Then he turned, and, 
 raising her hand to his lips, kissed it slowly, looked at 
 her again, and the next moment was gone. 
 
 He did not return ; for at the end of the next half- 
 hour, when they laid before her the half-conscious, 
 breathing body of her husband, safe and unharmed, 
 but for exhaustion and some slight bruises, she learned 
 that the worst fears of the workmen had been realised. 
 In releasing him, a second cave had taken place. 
 They had barely time to snatch away the helpless 
 body of her husband, before the strong frame of his 
 rescuer, Cyrus Hawkins, was struck and smitten down 
 in his place. 
 
 For two hours he lay there, crushed and broken- 
 limbed, with a heavy beam lying across his breast, in 
 sight of all, conscious and patient. For two hours 
 they had laboured around him, wildly, despairingly, 
 hopefully, with the wills of gods and the strength of 
 giants ; and at the end of that time they came to an 
 upright timber, which rested its base upon the beam. 
 There was a cry for axes, and one was already swing 
 ing in the air, when the dying man called to them 
 feebly, 
 
 " Don't cut that upright !" 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " It will bring down the whole gallery with it" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " It's one of the foundations of my house." 
 
 The axe fell from the workman's hand, and with a 
 
154 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 blanched face he turned to his fellows. It was too 
 true. They were in the uppermost gallery ; and the 
 "cave" had taken place directly below the new house. 
 After a pause, the " Fool" spoke again more feebly. 
 
 " The lady quick ! " 
 
 They brought her a wretched, fainting creature, 
 with pallid face and streaming eyes and fell back as 
 she bent her face above him. 
 
 " It was built for you, Annie darling," he said, in a 
 hurried whisper, " and has been waiting up there for 
 you and me all these long days. It's deeded to you, 
 Annie ; and you must live there with him ! He 
 will not mind that I shall be always near you ; for it 
 stands above my grave/' 
 
 And he was right. In a few minutes later, when he 
 had passed away, they did not move him, but sat by 
 his body all night with a torch at his feet and head. 
 And the next day they walled up the gallery as a 
 vault; but they put no mark or any sign thereon, 
 trusting rather to the monument that, bright and 
 cheerful, rose above him in the sunlight of the hill. 
 And those who heard the story said, " This is not an 
 evidence of death and gloom and sorrow, as are other 
 monuments, but is a sign of life and light and hope, 
 wherefore shall all know that he who lies under it is 
 what men call " a fool." 
 
BABY SYLVESTER. 
 
 IT was at a little mining-camp in the California 
 Sierras that he first dawned upon me in all his 
 grotesque sweetness. 
 
 I had arrived early in the morning, but not in time 
 to intercept the friend who was the object of my visit. 
 He had gone " prospecting" so they told me on the 
 river and would not probably return until late in the 
 afternoon. They could not say what direction he had 
 taken ; they could not suggest that I would be likely 
 to find him if I followed. But it was the general 
 opinion that I had better wait 
 
 I looked around me. I was standing upon the bank 
 of the river; and apparently the only other human 
 beings in the world were my interlocutors, who were 
 even then just disappearing from my horizon, down 
 the steep bank, toward the river's dry bed. I 
 approached the edge of the bank. 
 
 Where could I wait ? 
 
 Oh ! anywhere down with them on the river-bar, 
 where they were working, if I liked. Or I could make 
 
156 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 myself at home in any of those cabins that I found 
 lying round loose. Or perhaps it would be cooler and 
 pleasanter for me in my friend's cabin on the hill. Did 
 I see those three large sugar-pines, and, a little to the 
 right, a canvas roof and chimney, over the bushes ? 
 Well, that was my friend's that was Dick Sylvester's 
 cabin. I could stake my horse in that little hollow, 
 and just hang round there till he came. I would find 
 some books in the shanty. I could amuse myself with 
 them ; or I could play with the baby. 
 
 Do what ? 
 
 But they had already gone. I leaned over the bank 
 and called after their vanishing figures, 
 
 " What did you say I could do ? " 
 
 The answer floated slowly up on the hot sluggish 
 air 
 
 " Pla-a-y with the ba-by.'' 
 
 The lazy echoes took it up, and tossed it languidly 
 from hill to hill, until Bald Mountain opposite made 
 some incoherent remark about the baby ; and then all 
 was still. 
 
 I must have been mistaken. My friend was not a 
 man of family ; there was not a woman within forty 
 miles of the river camp ; he never was so passionately 
 devoted to children as to import a luxury so expensive. 
 I must have been mistaken. 
 
 I turned my horse's head toward the hill. As we 
 slowly climbed the narrow trail, the little settlement 
 might have been some exhumed Pompeiian suburb, so 
 deserted and silent vere its habitations. The open 
 
Baby Sylvester. 157 
 
 doors plainly disclosed each rudely-furnished interior, 
 the rough pine table, with the scant equipage of the 
 morning meal still standing; the wooden bunk, with 
 its tumbled and dishevelled blankets. A golden 
 lizard, the very genius of desolate stillness, had 
 stopped breathless upon the threshold of one cabin ; 
 a squirrel peeped impudently into the window of 
 another ; a woodpecker, with the general flavour of 
 undertaking which distinguishes that bird, withheld his 
 sepulchral hammer from the coffin-lid of the roof on 
 which he was professionally engaged, as we passed. 
 For a moment I half regretted that I had not accepted 
 the invitation to the river-bed ; but the next moment 
 a breeze swept up the long, dark canon, and the wait 
 ing files of the pines beyond bent toward me in salu 
 tation. I think my horse understood, as well as 
 myself, that it was the cabins that made the solitude 
 human, and therefore unbearable; for he quickened 
 his pace, and with a gentle trot brought me to the edge 
 of the wood, and the three pines that stood like 
 vedettes before the Sylvester outpost. 
 
 Unsaddling my horse in the little hollow, I unslung 
 the long riata from the saddle-bow, and, tethering him 
 to a young sapling, turned toward the cabin. But I 
 had gone only a few steps, when I heard a quick trot 
 behind me ; and poor Pomposo, with every fibre 
 tingling with fear, was at my heels. I looked 
 hurriedly around. The breeze had died away ; and 
 only an occasional breath from the deep-chested 
 woods, more like a long sigh than any articulate- 
 
158 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 sound, or the dry singing of a cicala in the heated 
 canon, were to be heard. I examined the ground 
 carefully for rattlesnakes, but in vain. Yet here was 
 Pomposo shivering from his arched neck to his 
 sensitive haunches, his very flanks pulsating with terror. 
 I soothed him as well as I could, and then walked to 
 the edge of the wood, and peered into its dark 
 recesses. The bright flash of a bird's wing, or the 
 quick dart of a squirrel was all I saw. I confess it 
 was with something of superstitious expectation that I 
 again turned towards the cabin. A fairy child, 
 attended by Titania and her train, lying in an expen 
 sive cradle, would not have surprised me : a Sleeping 
 Beauty, whose awakening would have re-peopled these 
 solitudes with life and energy, I am afraid I began to 
 confidently look for, and would have kissed without 
 hesitation. 
 
 But I found none of these. Here was the evidence 
 of my friend's taste and refinement, in the hearth 
 swept scrupulously clean, in the picturesque arrange 
 ment of the fur skins that covered the floor and fur 
 niture, and the striped serdfe T lying on the wooden 
 couch. Here were the walls fancifully papered with 
 illustrations from the London News : here was the 
 woodcut portrait of Mr. Emerson over the chimney, 
 quaintly framed with blue-jays' wings ; here were his 
 few favourite books on the swinging-shelf; and here, 
 lying upon the couch, the latest copy of Punch. 
 Dear Dick! The flour-sack was sometimes empty; 
 but the gentle satirist seldom missed his weekly visit. 
 1 A fine Mexican blanket, used as an outer garment for ridinor. 
 
Baby Sylvester. 159 
 
 I threw myself on the couch and tried to read. 
 But I soon exhausted my interest in my friend's 
 library, and lay there staring through the open door 
 on the green hillside beyond. The breeze again 
 sprang up ; and a delicious coolness, mixed with the 
 rare incense of the woods, stole through the cabin. 
 The slumbrous droning of bumblebees outside the 
 canvas roof, the faint cawing of rooks on the oppo 
 site mountain, and the fatigue of my morning ride, 
 began to droop my eyelids. I pulled the serdfe over 
 me, as a precaution against the freshening mountain 
 breeze, and in a few moments was asleep. 
 
 I do not remember how long I slept. I must have 
 been conscious, however, during my slumber, of my 
 inability to keep myself covered by the serdfe ; for I 
 awoke once or twice, clutching it with a despairing 
 hand as it was disappearing over the foot of the 
 couch. Then I became suddenly aroused to the fact 
 that my efforts to retain it were resisted by some 
 equally persistent force; and, letting it go, I was 
 horrified at seeing it swiftly drawn under the couch. 
 At this point I sat up, completely awake ; for imme 
 diately after, what seemed to be an exaggerated muff 
 began to emerge from under the couch. Presently it 
 appeared fully, dragging the scrape after it. There 
 was no mistaking it now : it was a baby-bear a mere 
 suckling, it was true, a helpless roll of fat and fur, but 
 unmistakably a grizzly cub ! 
 
 I cannot recall anything more irresistibly ludicrous 
 than its aspect as it 1 slowly raised its small, wondering 
 
160 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 eyes to mine. It was so much taller on its haunches 
 than its shoulders, its forelegs were so disproportion 
 ately small, that, in walking, its hind feet invariably 
 took precedence. It was perpetually pitching for 
 ward over its pointed, inoffensive nose, and recover 
 ing itself always, after these involuntary summersaults, 
 with the gravest astonishment. To add to its pre 
 posterous appearance, one of its hind feet was 
 adorned by a shoe of Sylvester's, into which it had 
 accidentally and inextricably stepped. As this some 
 what impeded its first impulse to fly, it turned to me : 
 and then, possibly recognising in the stranger the 
 same species as its master, it paused. Presently it 
 slowly raised itself on its hind legs, and vaguely and 
 deprecatingly waved a baby-paw, fringed with little 
 hooks of steel. I took the paw and shook it gravely. 
 From that moment we were friends. The little affair 
 of the scrape was foiOt'.en. 
 
 Nevertheless, I was wise enough to cement our 
 friendship by an act of delicate courtesy. Following 
 the direction of his eyes, I had no difficulty in finding 
 on a shelf near the ridge-pole the sugar-box and the 
 square lumps of white sugar that even the poorest 
 miner is never without. While he was eating them, I 
 had time to examine him more closely. His body 
 was a silky, dark, but exquisitely modulated grey, 
 deepening to black in his paws and muzzle. His fui 
 was excessively long, thick, and soft as eider-down, 
 the cushions of flesh beneath perfectly infantine in 
 their texture and contour. He was so very young, 
 
Baby Sylvester. 161 
 
 that the palms of his half-human feet were still tender 
 as a baby's. Except for the bright blue, steely hooks, 
 half sheathed in his little toes, there was not a single 
 harsh outline or detail in his plump figure. He was 
 as free from angles as one of Leda's offspring. Your 
 caressing hand sank away in his fur with dreamy 
 langour. To look at him long was an intoxication of 
 the senses ; to pat him was a wild delirium ; to em 
 brace him, an utter demoralisation of the intellectual 
 faculties. 
 
 When he had finished the sugar, he rolled out of 
 the door with a half- diffident, half-inviting look in his 
 eyes as if he expected me to follow. I did so ; but 
 the sniffing and snorting of the keen-scented Pom- 
 poso in the hollow not only revealed the cause of his 
 former terror, but decided me to take another direc 
 tion. After a moment's hesitation, he concluded to 
 go with me, although I am satisfied, from a certain 
 impish look in his eye, that he fully understood and 
 rather enjoyed the fright of Pomposo. As he rolled 
 along at my side, with a gait not unlike a drunken 
 sailor, I discovered that his long hair concealed a 
 leather collar around his neck, which bore for its 
 legend the single word, " Baby ! " I recalled the 
 mysterious suggestion of the two miners. This, then, 
 was the " baby " with whom I was to " play." 
 
 How we "played;" how Baby allowed me to roll 
 
 him down hill, crawling and puffing up again each 
 
 time with perfect good-humour; how he climbed a 
 
 young sapling after my Panama hat, which I had 
 
 II 
 
1 62 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 "shied" into one of the topmost branches; how 
 after getting it, he refused to descend until it suited 
 his pleasure ; how, when he did come down, he per 
 sisted in walking about on three legs, carrying my 
 hat, a crushed and shapeless mass, clasped to his 
 breast with the remaining one ; how I missed him at 
 last, and finally discovered him seated on a table in 
 one of the tenantless cabins, with a bottle of syrup 
 between his paws, vainly endeavouring to extract its 
 contents these and other details of that eventful day 
 I shall not weary the reader with now. Enough that, 
 when Dick Sylvester returned, I was pretty well 
 fagged out, and the baby was rolled up, an immense 
 bolster, at the foot of the couch, asleep. 
 
 Sylvester's first words after our greeting were, 
 " Isn't he delicious? 7 ' 
 
 " Perfectly. Where did you get him ? " 
 " Lying under his dead mother, five miles from 
 here," said Dick, lighting his pipe. "Knocked her 
 over at fifty yards : perfectly clean shot ; never moved 
 afterwards. Baby crawled out, scared, but unhurt 
 She must have been carrying him in her mouth, and 
 dropped him when she faced me ; for he wasn't more 
 than three days old, and not steady on his pins. He 
 takes the only milk that comes to the settlement, 
 brought up by Adams's Express at seven o'clock every 
 morning. They say he looks like me. Do you think 
 so?" asked Dick, with perfect gravity, stroking his 
 hay- coloured mustachios, and evidently assuming his 
 best expression. 
 
Baby Sylvester. 163 
 
 I took leave of the baby early the next morning in 
 Sylvester's cabin, and, out of respect to Pomposo's 
 feelings, rode by without any postscrip of expression. 
 But the night before I had made Sylvester solemnly 
 swear, that, in the event of any separation between 
 himself and Baby, it should revert to me. 
 
 "At the same time," he had added, " it's only fair 
 to say that I don't think of dying just yet, old fellow; 
 and I don't know of anything else that would part the 
 cub and me." 
 
 Two months after this conversation, as I was turn 
 ing over the morning's mail at my office in San Fran 
 cisco, I noticed a letter bearing Sylvester's familiar 
 hand. But it was post- marked " Stockton," and I 
 opened it with some anxiety at once. Its contents 
 were as follows : 
 
 O FRANK ! Don't you remember what we agreed upon 
 anent the baby? Well, consider me as dead for the next six 
 months, or gone where cubs can't follow me East. I know 
 you love the baby ; but do you think, dear boy, now, really, 
 do you think you could be a father to it ? Consider this well. 
 You are young, thoughtless, well-meaning enough ; but dare 
 you take upon yourself the functions of guide , genius, or 
 guardian to one so young and guileless? Could you be the 
 Mentor to this Telemachus? Think of the temptations of a 
 metropolis. Look at the question well, and let me know 
 speedily ; for I've got him as far as this place, and he's kicking 
 up an awful row in the hotel yard, and rattling his chain like a 
 maniac. Let me know by telegraph at once. 
 
 SYLVESTER. 
 
 P. S. Of course he's grown a little, and doesn't take things 
 always as quietly as he did. He dropped rather heavily on two 
 ir* 
 
164 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 of Watson's "pups" last week, and snatched old Watson himself 
 bald-headed for interfering. You remember Watson ? Fcr an 
 intelligent man, he knows very little of Californian fauna. How 
 are you fixed for bears on Montgomery Street I mean in regard 
 to corrals and things ? S. 
 
 P.P.S. He's got some new tricks. The boys have been 
 teaching him to put up his hands with them. He slings an ugly 
 left. S. 
 
 I am afraid that my desire to possess myself of 
 Baby overcame all other considerations ; and I tele 
 graphed an affirmative at once to Sylvester. When I 
 reached my lodgings late that afternoon, my landlady 
 was awaiting me with a telegram. It was two lines 
 from Sylvester, 
 
 All right. Baby goes down on night-boat. Be a father to 
 him. S. 
 
 It was due, then, at one o'clock that night For a 
 moment I was staggered at my own precipitation. I 
 had as yet made no preparations, had said nothing to 
 my landlady about her new guest. I expected to 
 arrange everything in time ; and now, through Syl 
 vester's indecent haste, that time had been shortened 
 twelve hours. 
 
 Something, however, must be done at once. I 
 turned to Mrs. Brown. I had great reliance in her 
 maternal instincts : I had that still greater reliance 
 common to our sex in the general tender-heartedness 
 of pretty women. But I confess I was alarmed. Yet 
 with a feeble smile I tried to introduce the subject 
 with classical ease and lightness. I even said, " If 
 
Baby Sylvester. 165 
 
 Shakespeare's Athenian clown, Mrs. Brown, believed 
 that a lion among ladies was a dreadful thing, what 
 
 must " But here I broke down ; for Mrs. Brown, 
 
 with the awful intuition of her sex, I saw at once was 
 more occupied with my manner than my speech. So 
 I tried a business Irusquerie, and, placing the tele 
 gram in her hand, said hurriedly "We must do some 
 thing about this at once. It's perfectly absurd ; but 
 he will be here at one to-night. Beg thousand 
 pardons ; but business prevented my speaking be 
 fore " and paused out of breath and courage. 
 
 Mrs. Brown read the telegram gravely, lifted her 
 pretty eyebrows, turned the paper over, and looked 
 on the other side, and then, in a remote and chilling 
 voice, asked me if she understood me to say that the 
 mother was coming also. 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! " I exclaimed, with considerable 
 relief. " The mother is dead, you know. Sylvester, 
 that is my friend who sent this, shot her when the baby 
 was only three days old." But the expression of Mrs. 
 Brown's face at this moment was so alarming, that I 
 saw that nothing but the fullest explanation would 
 save me. Hastily, and I fear not very coherently, I 
 told her all. 
 
 She relaxed sweetly. She said I had frightened her 
 with my talk about lions. Indeed, I think my picture 
 of poor Baby, albeit a trifle highly coloured, touched 
 her motherly heart. She was even a little vexed at 
 what she called Sylvester's " hardheartedness." Still 
 I was not without some apprehension. It was two 
 
1 66 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 months since I had seen him; and Sylvester's vague 
 allusion to his "slinging an ugly left " pained me. I 
 looked at sympathetic little Mrs. Brown; and the 
 thought of Watson's pups covered me with guilty 
 confusion. 
 
 Mrs. Brown had agreed to sit up with me until he 
 arrived. One o'clock came, but no Baby. Two 
 o'clock, three o'clock, passed. It was almost four 
 when there was a wild clatter of horses' hoofs outside, 
 and with a jerk a wagon stopped at the door. In an 
 instant I had opened it, and confronted a stranger. 
 Almost at the same moment, the horses attempted to 
 run away with the wagon. 
 
 The stranger's appearance was, to say the least, 
 disconcerting. His clothes were badly torn and 
 frayed; his linen sack hung from his shoulders like 
 a herald's apron ; one of his hands was bandaged ; 
 his face scratched ; and there was no hat on his dis 
 hevelled head. To add to the general effect, he had 
 evidently sought relief from his woes in drink; and he 
 swayed from side to side as he clung to the door 
 handle, and, in a very thick voice, stated that he had 
 " suthin" for me outside. When he had finished, the 
 horses made another plunge. 
 
 Mrs. Brown thought they must be frightened at 
 something. 
 
 " Frightened ! " laughed the stranger with bitter 
 irony. " Oh no ! Hossish ain't frightened ! On'y ran 
 away four timesh comin' here. Oh no ! Nobody's 
 frightened. Everything all ri'. Ain't it, Bill?" he 
 
Baby Sylvester. 167 
 
 said, addressing the driver. f( On'y been overboard 
 twish; knocked down a hatchway once. Thash 
 nothin' ! On'y two men under doctor's han's at 
 Stockton. Thash nothin' ! Siz hunner dollarsh cover 
 all damish." 
 
 I was too much disheartened to reply, but moved 
 toward the wagon. The stranger eyed me with an 
 astonishment that almost sobered him. 
 
 " Do you reckon to tackle that animile yourself? " 
 he asked, as he surveyed me from head to foot. 
 
 I did not speak, but with an appearance of boldness 
 I was far from feeling, walked to the wagon, and called, 
 Baby ! " 
 
 "Allri'. Cash loose them straps, Bill, and stan' 
 clear." 
 
 The straps were cut loose ; and Baby, the remorse 
 less, the terrible, quietly tumbled to the ground, and, 
 rolling to my side, rubbed his foolish head against me. 
 
 I think the astonishment of the two men was be 
 yond any vocal expression. Without a word, the 
 drunken stranger got into the wagon, and drove away. 
 
 And Baby? He had grown, it is true, a trifle 
 larger; but he was thin, and bore the marks of evident 
 ill usage. His beautiful coat was matted and unkempt; 
 and his claws, those bright steel hooks, had been ruth 
 lessly pared to the quick. His eyes were furtive and 
 restless ; and the old expression of stupid good-humour 
 had changed to one of intelligent distrust. His inter 
 course with mankind had evidently quickened his 
 intellect, without broadening his moral nature. 
 
168 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 I had great difficulty in keeping Mrs. Brown from 
 smothering him in blankets, and ruining his digestion 
 with the delicacies of her larder, but I at last got him 
 completely rolled up in the corner of my room, and 
 asleep. I lay awake some time later with plans for 
 his future. I finally determined to take him to Oak 
 land where I had built a little cottage, and always 
 spent my Sundays the very next day. And in the 
 midst of a rosy picture of domestic felicity I fell 
 asleep. 
 
 When I awoke it was broad day. My eyes at once 
 sought the corner where Baby had been lying ; but he 
 was gone. I sprang from the bed, looked under it, 
 searched the closet ; but in vain. The door was still 
 locked ; but there were the marks of his blunted claws 
 upon the sill of the window that I had forgotten to 
 close. He had evidently escaped that way. But 
 where ? The window opened upon a balcony, to 
 which the only other entrance was through the halL 
 He must be still in the house. 
 
 My hand was already upon the bell-rope ; but I 
 stayed it in time. If he had not made himself known, 
 why should I disturb the house ? I dressed myself 
 hurriedly, and slipped into the hall. The first object 
 that met my eyes was a boot lying upon the stairs. It 
 bore the marks of Baby's teeth ; and as I looked along 
 the hall, I saw too plainly that the usual array of 
 freshly-blackened boots and shoes before the lodgers' 
 doors was not there. As I ascended the stairs, I 
 found another, but with the blacking carefully licked 
 
Baby Sylvester. 169 
 
 off. On the third floor were two or three more boots, 
 slightly mouthed ; but at this point Baby's taste for 
 blacking had evidently palled. A little farther on was 
 a ladder, leading to an open scuttle. I mounted the 
 ladder, and reached the flat roof that formed a con 
 tinuous level over the row of houses to the corner of 
 the street. Behind the chimney on the very last roof 
 something was lurking. It was the fugitive Baby. He 
 was covered with dust and dirt and fragments of glass. 
 But he was sitting on his hind legs, and was eating an 
 enormous slab of peanut candy, with a look of mingled 
 guilt and infinite .satisfaction. He even, I fancied, 
 slightly stroked his stomach with his disengaged fore- 
 paw as I approached. He knew that I was looking for 
 him ; and the expression of his eye said plainly, " The 
 past at least is secure." 
 
 I hurried him, with the evidences of his guilt, back 
 to the scuttle, and descended on tiptoe to the floor 
 beneath. Providence favoured us : I met no one on 
 the stairs ; and his own cushioned tread was inaudible. 
 I think he was conscious of the dangers of detection ; 
 for he even forebore to breathe, or much less chew 
 the last mouthful he had taken ; and he skulked at 
 my side with the syrup dropping from his motionless 
 jaws. I think he would have silently choked to death 
 just then, for my sake; and it was not until I had 
 reached my room again, and threw myself panting on 
 the sofa, that I saw how near strangulation he had 
 been. He gulped once or twice apologetically, and 
 then walked to the corner of his own accord, and 
 
170 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 rolled himself up like an immense sugar-plum, sweating 
 remorse and treacle at every pore. 
 
 I locked him in when I went to breakfast, when I 
 found Mrs. Brown's lodgers in a state of intense ex 
 citement over certain mysterious events of the night 
 before, and the dreadful revelations of the morning. 
 It appeared that burglars had entered the block from 
 the scuttles ; that, being suddenly alarmed, they had 
 quitted our house without committing any depredation, 
 dropping even the boots they had collected in the 
 halls; but that a desperate attempt had been made 
 to force the till in the confectioner's shop on the corner, 
 and that the glass show-cases had been ruthlessly 
 smashed. A courageous servant in No. 4 had seen a 
 masked burglar, on his hands and knees, attempting 
 to enter their scuttle; but, on her shouting, "Away 
 wid yees ! " he instantly fled 
 
 I sat through this recital with cheeks that burned 
 uncomfortably; nor was I the less embarrassed, on 
 raising my eyes, to meet Mrs. Brown's fixed curiously 
 and mischievously on mine. As soon as I could make 
 my escape from the table, I did so, and, running ra 
 pidly up stairs, sought refuge from any possible inquiry 
 in my own room. Baby was still asleep in the corner. 
 It would not be safe to remove him until the lodgers 
 had gone down town ; and I was revolving in my mind 
 the expediency of keeping him until night veiled his 
 obstrusive eccentricity from the public eye, when there 
 came a cautious tap at my door. I opened it. Mrs. 
 Brown slipped in quietly, closed the door softly, stood 
 
Baby Sylvester. 171 
 
 with her back against it, and her hand on the knob; 
 and beckoned me mysteriously towards her. Then 
 she asked, in a low voice, 
 
 " Is hair-dye poisonous ? " 
 
 I was too confounded to speak. 
 
 " Oh, do ! you know what I mean," she said, im 
 patiently. "This stuff." She produced suddenly 
 from behind her a bottle with a Greek label so long as 
 to run two or three times spirally around it from top to 
 bottom. " He says it isn't a dye : it's a vegetable 
 preparation, for invigorating " 
 
 " Who says ? " I, asked, despairingly. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Parker, of course ! " said Mrs. Brown, 
 severely, with the air of having repeated the name a 
 great many times, " the old gentleman in the room 
 above. The simple question I want to ask," she con 
 tinued, with the calm manner of one who had just 
 convicted another of gross ambiguity of language, " is 
 only this : If some of this stuff were put in a saucer, 
 and left carelessly on the table, and a child, or a baby, 
 or a cat, or any young animal, should come in at the 
 window, and drink it up a whole saucerfull because 
 it had a sweet taste, would it be likely to hurt them ? " 
 
 I cast an anxious glance at Baby, sleeping peace 
 fully in the corner, and a very grateful one at Mrs. 
 Brown, and said I didn't think it would. 
 
 " Because," said Mrs. Brown, loftily, as she opened 
 the door, "I thought, if it was poisonous, remedies 
 might be used in time. Because,' 7 she added, suddenly 
 abandoning her lofty manner, and wildly rushing to 
 
172 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 the corner with a frantic embrace of the unconscious 
 Baby, "because, if any nasty stuff should turn its 
 booful hair a horrid green, or a naughty pink, it would 
 break its own muzzer's heart, it would ! " 
 
 But, before I could assure Mrs. Brown of the in* 
 efficiency of hair-dye as an internal application, she 
 had darted from the room. 
 
 That night, with the secrecy of defaulters, Baby and 
 I decamped from Mrs. Brown's. Distrusting the too 
 emotional nature of that noble animal the horse, I had 
 recourse to a handcart, drawn by a stout Irishman, to 
 convey my charge to the ferry. Even then Baby re 
 fused to go unless I walked by the cart, and at times 
 rode in it. 
 
 " I wish," said Mrs. Brown, as she stood by the 
 door, wrapped in an immense shawl, and saw us depart, 
 " I wish it looked less solemn less like a pauper's 
 funeral." 
 
 I must admit, that, as I walked by the cart that 
 night, I felt very much as if I were accompanying the 
 remains of some humble friend to his last resting-place; 
 and that, when I was obliged to ride in it, I never 
 could entirely convince myself that I was not helplessly 
 overcome by liquor, or the victim of an accident, en 
 route to the hospital. But at last we reached the 
 ferry. On the boat, I think no one discovered Baby, 
 except a drunken man, who approached me to ask for 
 a light for his cigar, but who suddenly dropped it, and 
 fled in dismay to the gentlemen's cabin, where his in 
 coherent ravings were luckily taken for the earlier 
 indications of delirium tremens. 
 
Baby Sylvester. 173 
 
 It was nearly midnight when I reached my little 
 cottage on the outskirts of Oakland ; and it was with 
 a feeling of relief and security that I entered, locked 
 the door, and turned him loose in the hall, satisfied 
 that henceforth his depredations would be limited to 
 my own property. He was very quiet that night ; and 
 after he had tried to mount the hat-rack, under the 
 mistaken impression that it was intended for his own 
 gymnastic exercise, and knocked all the hats off, he 
 went peaceably to sleep on the nig. 
 
 In a week, with the exercise afforded him by the 
 run of a large carefully boarded inclosure, he recovered 
 his health, strength, spirits, and much of his former 
 beauty. His presence was unknown to my neighbours, 
 although it was noticeable that horses invariably 
 " shied " in passing to the windward of my house, 
 and that the baker and milkman had great difficulty 
 in the delivery of their wares in the morning, and 
 indulged in unseemly and unnecessary profanity in so 
 doing. 
 
 At the end of the week, I determined to invite a 
 few friends to see the Baby, and to that purpose wrote 
 a number of formal invitations. After descanting at 
 some length on the great expense and danger attend 
 ing his capture and training, I offered a programme 
 of the performance, of the " Infant Phenomenon of 
 Sierran Solitudes," drawn up into the highest pro 
 fessional profusion of alliteration and capital letters. 
 A few extracts will give the reader some idea of his 
 educational progress : 
 
174 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 1. He will, rolled up in a Round Ball, roll down the Wood-Shed 
 
 Rapidly, illustrating His manner of Escaping from His 
 Enemy in His Native Wilds. 
 
 2. He will Ascend the Well-Pole, and remove from the Very 
 
 Top a Hat, and as much of the Crown and Brim thereof, 
 as May be Permitted. 
 
 3. He will perform in a pantomime, descriptive of the Conduct 
 
 of the Big Bear, The Middle-Sized Bear, and The Little 
 Bear of the Popular Nursery Legend. 
 
 4. He will shake his chain Rapidly, showing his Manner of 
 
 striking Dismay and Terror in the Breasts of Wanderers in 
 Ursine Wildernesses. 
 
 The morning of the exhibition came, but an hour 
 before the performance the wretched Baby was miss 
 ing. The Chinese cook could not indicate his 
 whereabouts. I searched the premises thoroughly; 
 and then, in despair, took my hat, and hurried out 
 into the narrow lane that led toward the open fields 
 and the woods beyond. But I found no trace nor 
 track of Baby Sylvester. I returned, after an hour's 
 fruitless search, to find my guests already assembled 
 on the rear verandah. I briefly recounted my dis 
 appointment, my probable loss, and begged their 
 assistance. 
 
 " Why," said a Spanish friend, who prided himself 
 on his accurate knowledge of English, to Barker, who 
 seemed to be trying vainly to rise from his reclining 
 position on the verandah, "why do you not disengage 
 yourself from the verandah of our friend ? And why, 
 in the name of Heaven, do you attach to yourself so 
 much of this thing and make to yourself such uneces- 
 sary contortion ? Ah/' he continued, suddenly with- 
 
Baby Sylvester. 175 
 
 drawing one of his own feet from the verandah with 
 an evident effort, "I am myself attached ! Surely it is 
 something here ! " 
 
 It evidently was. My guests were all rising with 
 difficulty. The floor of the verandah was covered 
 with some glutinous substance. It was syrup ! 
 
 I saw it all in a flash. I ran to the barn. The keg 
 of " golden syrup," purchased only the day before, lay 
 empty upon the floor. There were sticky tracks all 
 over the inclosure, but still no Baby. 
 
 " There's something moving the ground over there 
 by that pile of dirt," said Barker. 
 
 He was right. The earth was shaking in one corner 
 of the inclosure like an earthquake. I approached 
 cautiously. I saw, what I had not noticed, that the 
 ground was thrown up ; and there, in the middle of an 
 immense grave-like cavity, crouched Baby Sylvester, 
 still digging, and slowly but surely sinking from sight 
 in a mass of dust and clay. 
 
 What were his intentions ? Whether he was stung 
 by remorse, and wished to hide himself from my re 
 proachful eyes, or whether he was simply trying to dry 
 his syrup-besmeared coat, I never shall know; for that 
 day, alas ! was his last with me. 
 
 He was pumped upon for two hours, at the end of 
 which time he still yielded a thin treacle. He was 
 then taken, and carefully enwrapped in blankets, and 
 locked up in the store-room. The next morning he 
 was gone ! The lower portion of the window sash and 
 pane were both gone too. His successful experiments 
 
176 Baby Sylvester. 
 
 on the fragile texture of glass at the confectioner's on 
 the first day of his entrance to civilisation, had not 
 been lost upon him. His first essay at combining 
 cause and effect ended in his escape. 
 
 Where he went, where he hid, who captured him, if 
 he did not succeed in reaching the foothills beyond 
 Oakland, even the offer of a large reward, backed by 
 the efforts of an intelligent police, could not discover. 
 I never saw him again from that day until 
 
 Did I see him? I was in a horse-car on Sixth 
 Avenue, a few days ago, when the horses suddenly 
 became unmanageable, and left the track for the side 
 walk, amid the oaths and ^ execrations of the driver. 
 Immediately in front of the car a crowd had gathered 
 around two performing bears and a showman. One 
 of the animals, thin, emaciated, and a mere wreck of 
 his native strength, attracted my attention. I endea 
 voured to attract his. He turned a pair of bleared, 
 sightless eyes in my direction : but there was no sign 
 of recognition. I leaned from the car-window, and 
 called softly, "Baby!" But he did not heed. I 
 closed the window. The car was just moving on, when 
 he suddenly turned, and, either by accident or design, 
 thrust a callous paw through the glass. 
 
 " It's worth a dollar and half to put in a new pane," 
 said the conductor. "If folks will play with bears '' 
 
A JERSEY CENTENARIAN. 
 
 I HAVE seen her at last. She is a hundred and 
 seven years old, and remembers George Wash 
 ington quite distinctly. It is somewhat confusing, 
 however, that she also remembers a contemporaneous 
 Josiah W. Perkins, of Basking Ridge, N.J., and, I 
 think, has the impression that Perkins was the better 
 man. Perkins, at the close of the last century, paid 
 her some little attention. There are a few things that 
 a really noble woman of a hundred and seven never 
 forgets. 
 
 It was Perkins, who said to her in 1795, m tne 
 streets of Philadelphia, " Shall I show thee Gen. 
 Washington ? " Then she said careless-like (for you ; 
 know, child, at that time it wasn't what it is now to 
 see Gen. Washington), she said, "So do, Josiah, so 
 do !" Then he pointed to a tall man who got out of a 
 carriage, and went into a large house. He was larger 
 than you be. He wore his own hair not powdered ; 
 had a flowered chintz vest, with yellow breeches and 
 blue stockings, and a broad-brimmed hat. In summer 
 
178 A Jersey Centenarian. 
 
 he wore a white straw hat, and at his farm at Basking 
 jxidge he always wore it. At this point, it became too 
 evident that she was describing the clothes of the all- 
 fascinating Perkins : so I gently but firmly led her 
 back to Washington. Then it appeared that she did 
 not remember exactly what he wore. To assist her 
 I sketched the general historic dress of that period. 
 She said she thought he was dressed like that. Em 
 boldened by my success, I added a hat of Charles II., 
 and pointed shoes of the eleventh century. She 
 endorsed these with such cheerful alacrity, that I 
 dropped the subject. 
 
 The house upon which I had stumbled, or rather, to 
 which my horse a Jersey hack, accustomed to historic 
 research had brought me, was low and quaint. Like 
 most old houses, it had the appearance of being en 
 croached upon by the surrounding glebe, as if it were 
 already half in the grave, with a sod or two, in the 
 .shape of moss thrown on it, like ashes on ashes, 
 and dust on dust. A wooden house, instead of 
 acquiring dignity with age, is apt to lose its youth 
 and respectability together. A porch, with scant, 
 sloping seats, from which even the winter's snow must 
 have slid uncomfortably, projected from the doorway 
 that opened most unjustifiably into a small sitting- 
 room. There was no vestibule, or locus pcznitenticz, for 
 the embarrassed or bashful visitor : he passed at once 
 from the security of the public road into shameful 
 privacy. And here, in the mellow autumnal sunlight, 
 that, streaming through the maples and sumach on the 
 
A jersey Centenarian. 179 
 
 opposite bank, flickered and danced upon the floor, 
 she sat and discoursed of George Washington, and 
 thought of Perkins. She was quite in keeping with 
 the house and the season, albeit a little in advance of 
 both ; her skin being of a faded russet, and her hand? 
 so like dead November leaves that I fancied they even 
 rustled when she moved them. 
 
 For all that, she was quite bright and cheery ; her 
 faculties still quite vigorous, although performing 
 irregular and spasmodically. It was somewhat dis 
 composing, I confess, to observe, that at times her 
 lower jaw would drop, leaving her speechless, until one 
 of the family would notice it, and raise it smartly into 
 place with a slight snap an operation always per 
 formed in such an habitual, perfunctory manner, 
 generally in passing to and fro in their household 
 duties, that it was very trying to the spectator. It 
 was still more embarrassing to observe that the dear 
 old lady had evidently no knowledge of this, but 
 believed she was still talking, and that, on resuming 
 her actual vocal utterance, she was often abrupt and 
 incoherent, beginning always in the middle of a sen 
 tence, and often in the middle of a word. " Some 
 times/' said her daughter, a giddy, thoughtless young 
 thing of eighty-five, " sometimes just moving her 
 head sort of unhitches her jaw ; and, if we don't hap 
 pen to see it, she'll go on talking for hours without 
 ever making a sound." Although I was convinced, 
 after this, that during my interview I had lost several 
 important revelations regarding George Washington 
 
I So A jersey Centenarian. 
 
 through these peculiar lapses, I could not help reflect 
 ing how beneficent were these provisions of the Creator 
 -how, if properly studied and applied, they might be 
 fraught with happiness to mankind how a slight 
 jostle or jar at a dinner-party might make the post 
 prandial eloquence of garrulous seniliiy satisfactory to 
 itself, yet harmless to others how a more intimate 
 knowledge of anatomy, introduced into the domestic 
 circle, might make a home tolerable at least, if not 
 happy how a long-suffering husband, under the pre 
 tence of a conjugal caress, might so unhook his wife's 
 condyloid process as to allow the flow of expostulation, 
 criticism, or denunciation, to go on with gratification 
 to her, and perfect immunity to himself. 
 
 But this was not getting back to George Washington 
 and the early struggles of the Republic. So I returned 
 to the commander-in-chief, but found, after one or two 
 leading questions, that she was rather inclined to resent 
 his reappearance on the stage. Her reminiscences 
 here were chiefly social and Iccal, and more or less 
 flavoured with Perkins. We got back as far as the 
 Revolutionary epoch, or, rather, her impressions of that 
 epoch when it was still fresh in the public mind. And 
 here I came upon an incident, purely personal and 
 local, but, withal, so novel, weird, and uncanny, that 
 for a while I fear it quite displaced George Washington 
 in my mind, and tinged the autumnal fields beyond 
 with a red that was not of the sumach. I do not re 
 member to have read of it in the books. I do not 
 know that it is entirely authentic. It was attested to 
 
A Jersey Centenarian. 181 
 
 me by mother and daughter, as an uncontradicted 
 tradition. 
 
 In the little field beyond, where the plough still 
 turns up musket-balls and cartridge-boxes, took place 
 one of those irregular skirmishes between the militia 
 men and Knyphausen's stragglers that made the 
 retreat historical. A Hessian soldier, wounded in both 
 legs and utterly helpless, dragged himself to the cover 
 of a hazel-copse, and lay there hidden for two days. 
 On the third day, maddened by thirst, he managed to 
 creep to the rail-fence of an adjoining farmhouse, but 
 found himself unable to mount it or pass through. 
 There was no one in the house but a little girl of six 
 or seven years. He called to her, and in a faint voice 
 asked for water. She returned to the house, as if to 
 comply with his request, but, mounting a chair, took 
 from the chimney a heavily loaded Queen Anne musket, 
 and, going to the door, took deliberate aim at the 
 helpless intruder, and fired. The man fell back dead, 
 without a groan. She replaced the musket, and, re 
 turning to the fence, covered the body with boughs 
 and leaves, until it was hidden. Two or three days 
 after, she related the occurrence in a careless casual 
 way, and leading the way to the fence, with a piece of 
 bread-and-butter in her guileless little fingers, pointed 
 out the result of her simple, unsophisticated effort. 
 The Hessian was decently buried, but I could not find 
 out what became of the little girl. Nobody seemed to 
 remember. I trust that in after-years she was happily 
 married ; that no Jersey Lovelace attempted to trifle 
 
lS2 A Jersey Centenarian. 
 
 with a heart whose impulses were so prompt, and 
 whose purposes were so sincere. They did not 
 seem to know if she had married or not Yet it 
 does not seem probable that such simplicity of concep 
 tion, frankness of expression, and deftness of execution 
 were lost to posterity, or that they failed, in their time 
 and season, to give flavour to the domestic felicity of 
 the period. Beyond this, the story perhaps has little 
 value, except as an offset to the usual anecdotes of 
 Hessian atrocity. 
 
 They had their financial panics even in Jersey, in 
 the old days. She remembered when Dr. White mar 
 ried your cousin Mary or was it Susan? yes, it was 
 Susan. She remembered that your uncle Harry brought 
 in an armful of bank-notes paper money, you know 
 and threw them in the corner, saying they were no- 
 good to anybody. She remembered playing with 
 them, and giving them to your aunt Anna no, child, 
 it was your own mother, bless your heart ! Some of 
 them was marked as high as a hundred dollars. Every 
 body kept gold and silver in a stocking, or in a 
 " chancy" vase, like that. You never used money to 
 buy any thing. When Josiah went to Springfield to 
 buy anything, he took a cartload of things with him to 
 exchange. That yaller picture-frame was paid for in 
 greenings. But then people knew jest what they had. 
 They didn't fritter their substance away in unchristian 
 trifles, like your father, Eliza Jane, who doesn't know 
 that there is a God who will smite him hip and thigh ; 
 for vengeance is mine, and those that believe in me, 
 
A Jersey Centenarian. 183 
 
 But here, singularly enough, the inferior maxillaries 
 gave out, and her jaw dropped. (I noticed that her 
 giddy daughter of eighty-five was sitting near her ; but 
 I do not pretend to connect this fact with the arrested 
 flow of personal disclosure.) Howbeit, when she 
 recovered her speech again, it appeared that she was 
 complaining of the weather. 
 
 The seasons had changed very much since your 
 father went to sea. The winters used to be terrible in 
 those days. When she went over to Springfield, in 
 June, she saw the snow still on Watson's Ridge. 
 There were whole days when you couldn't git over to 
 William Henry's, their next neighbour, a quarter of a 
 mile away. It was that drefful winter that the Spanish 
 sailor was found. You don't remember the Spanish 
 sailor, Eliza Jane it was before your time. There 
 was a little personal skirmishing here, which I feared, 
 at first, might end in a suspension of maxillary func 
 tions, and the loss of the story ; but here it is. Ah, 
 me ! it is a pure white winter idyl : how shall I sing it 
 this bright, gay autumnal day ? 
 
 It was a terrible night, that winter's night, when she 
 and the century were young together. The sun was 
 lost at three o'clock : the snowy night came down like 
 a white sheet, that flapped around the house, beat at 
 the windows with its edges, and at last, wrapped it in 
 a c!ose embrace. In the middle of the night, they 
 thought they heard above the wind a voice crying, 
 "Christus, Christus!" in a foreign tongue. They 
 opened the door no easy task in the north wind 
 
184 A jersey Centenarian. 
 
 that pressed its strong shoulders against it but no 
 thing was to be seen but the drifting snow. The next 
 morning dawned on fences hidden, and a landscape 
 changed and obliterated with drift. During the day, 
 they again heard the cry of "Christus!" this time 
 faint and hidden, like a child's voice. They searched 
 in vain : the drifted snow hid its secret. On the third 
 day they broke a path to the fence, and then they 
 heard the cry distinctly. Digging down, they found 
 the body of a man a Spanish sailor, dark and 
 bearded, with earrings in his ears. As they stood 
 .gazing down at his cold and pulseless figure, the cry 
 of " Christus ! " again rose upon the wintry air ; and 
 they turned and fled in superstitious terror to the 
 house. And then one of the children, bolder than the 
 rest, knelt down, and opened the dead man's rough 
 pea-jacket, and found what think you ? a little blue- 
 and-green parrot, nestling against his breast. It was 
 the bird that had echoed mechanically the last des 
 pairing cry of the life that was given to save it. It 
 was the bird, that ever after, amid outlandish oaths 
 and wilder sailor-songs, that 1 fear often shocked th<s 
 pure ears of its gentle mistress, and brought scandal 
 into the Jerseys, still retained that one weird and 
 mournful cry. 
 
 The sun meanwhile was sinking behind the stead 
 fast range beyond, and I could not help feeling that I 
 must depart with my wants unsatisfied. I had brought 
 away no historic fragment : I absolutely knew little or 
 nothing new regarding George Washington. I had 
 
A Jersey Centenarian. 185 
 
 been addressed variously by the names of different 
 members of the family who were dead and forgotten; 
 I had stood for an hour in the past : yet I had not 
 added to my historical knowledge, iior the practical 
 benefit of your readers. I spoke once more of Wash 
 ington, and she replied with a reminiscence of Perkins. 
 Stand forth, O Josiah W. Perkins of Basking Ridge, 
 N. J. Thou wast of little account in thy life, I warrant; 
 thou didst not even feel the greatness of thy day and 
 time ; thou didst criticise thy superiors ; thou wast 
 small and narrow in thy ways ; thy very name and 
 grave are unknown and uncared-for: but thou wast 
 once kind to a woman who survived thee, and, lo ! 
 thy name is again spoken of men, and for a moment 
 lifted up above thy betters. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 IX BROTHERS, PRINTERS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON. 
 
nc