TALES OF THE ARGONAUTS By Bret Harte CONTENTS THE ROSE OF TUOLUMNE A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF MR. JOHN OAKHURST WAN LEE, THE PAGAN HOW OLD MAN PLUNKETT WENT HOME THE FOOL OF FIVE FORKS BABY SYLVESTER AN EPISODE OF FIDDLETOWN A JERSEY CENTENARIAN THE ROSE OF TUOLUMNE CHAPTER I It was nearly two o'clock in the morning. The lights were out inRobinson's Hall, where there had been dancing and revelry; and the moon, riding high, painted the black windows with silver. The cavalcade, thatan hour ago had shocked the sedate pines with song and laughter, wereall dispersed. One enamoured swain had ridden east, another west, another north, another south; and the object of their adoration, leftwithin 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 inwrappings and whiteconfusion; and the young lady herself, half-hidden in the silky threadsof her yellow hair, had at one time borne a faint resemblance to apartly-husked ear of Indian corn. But she was now clothed in thatone long, formless garment that makes all women equal; and the roundshoulders and neat waist, that an hour ago had been so fatal to thepeace of mind of Four Forks, had utterly disappeared. The face aboveit was very pretty: the foot below, albeit shapely, was not small. "Theflowers, as a general thing, don't raise their heads MUCH to look afterme, " she had said with superb frankness to one of her lovers. The expression of the "Rose" to-night was contentedly placid. She walkedslowly to the window, and, making the smallest possible peephole throughthe curtain, looked out. The motionless figure of a horseman stilllingered on the road, with an excess of devotion that only a coquette, or a woman very much in love, could tolerate. The "Rose, " at thatmoment, was neither, and, after a reasonable pause, turned away, sayingquite audibly that it was "too ridiculous for any thing. " As she cameback to her dressing-table, it was noticeable that she walked steadilyand erect, without that slight affectation of lameness common to peoplewith whom bare feet are only an episode. Indeed, it was only four yearsago, that without shoes or stockings, a long-limbed, colty girl, in awaistless calico gown, she had leaped from the tailboard of her father'semigrant-wagon when it first drew up at Chemisal Ridge. Certain wildhabits of the "Rose" had outlived transplanting and cultivation. A knock at the door surprised her. In another moment she had leaped intobed, and with darkly-frowning eyes, from its secure recesses demanded"Who's there?" An apologetic murmur on the other side of the door was the response. "Why, father!--is that you?" There were further murmurs, affirmative, deprecatory, and persistent. "Wait, " said the "Rose. " She got up, unlocked the door, leaped nimblyinto bed again, and said, "Come. " The door opened timidly. The broad, stooping shoulders, and grizzledhead, of a man past the middle age, appeared: after a moment'shesitation, a pair of large, diffident feet, shod with canvas slippers, concluded to follow. When the apparition was complete, it closed thedoor softly, and stood there, --a very shy ghost indeed, --with apparentlymore than the usual spiritual indisposition to begin a conversation. The "Rose" resented this impatiently, though, I fear, not altogetherintelligibly. "Do, father, I declare!" "You was abed, Jinny, " said Mr. McClosky slowly, glancing, with asingular mixture of masculine awe and paternal pride, upon the twochairs and their contents, --"you was abed and ondressed. " "I was. " "Surely, " said Mr. McClosky, seating himself on the extreme edge of thebed, and painfully tucking his feet away under it, --"surely. " Aftera pause, he rubbed a short, thick, stumpy beard, that bore a generalresemblance to a badly-worn blacking-brush, with the palm of his hand, and went on, "You had a good time, Jinny?" "Yes, father. " "They was all there?" "Yes, Rance and York and Ryder and Jack. " "And Jack!" Mr. McClosky endeavored to throw an expression of archinquiry into his small, tremulous eyes; but meeting the unabashed, widely-opened lid of his daughter, he winked rapidly, and blushed to theroots of his hair. "Yes, Jack was there, " said Jenny, without change of color, or the leastself-consciousness in her great gray eyes; "and he came home with me. "She paused a moment, locking her two hands under her head, and assuminga more comfortable position on the pillow. "He asked me that samequestion again, father, and I said, 'Yes. ' It's to be--soon. We're goingto live at Four Forks, in his own house; and next winter we're going toSacramento. I suppose it's all right, father, eh?" She emphasized thequestion with a slight kick through the bed-clothes, as the parentalMcClosky had fallen into an abstract revery. "Yes, surely, " said Mr. McClosky, recovering himself with someconfusion. After a pause, he looked down at the bed-clothes, and, patting them tenderly, continued, "You couldn't have done better, Jinny. They isn't a girl in Tuolumne ez could strike it ez rich asyou hev--even if they got the chance. " He paused again, and then said, "Jinny?" "Yes, father. " "You'se in bed, and ondressed?" "Yes. " "You couldn't, " said Mr. McClosky, glancing hopelessly at the twochairs, and slowly rubbing his chin, --"you couldn't dress yourself againcould yer?" "Why, father!" "Kinder get yourself into them things again?" he added hastily. "Not allof '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, ora shoestring?" he continued, still looking at the chairs, and evidentlytrying to boldly familiarize himself with their contents. "Are you crazy, father?" demanded Jenny suddenly sitting up with aportentous switch of her yellow mane. Mr. McClosky rubbed one side ofhis beard, which already had the appearance of having been quite wornaway by that process, and faintly dodged the question. "Jinny, " he said, tenderly stroking the bedclothes as he spoke, "thisyer's what's the matter. Thar is a stranger down stairs, --a stranger toyou, lovey, but a man ez I've knowed a long time. He's been here aboutan hour; and he'll be here ontil fower o'clock, when the up-stagepasses. Now I wants ye, Jinny dear, to get up and come down stairs, andkinder help me pass the time with him. It's no use, Jinny, " he went on, gently raising his hand to deprecate any interruption, "it's no use! Hewon't go to bed; he won't play keerds; whiskey don't take no effect onhim. Ever since I knowed him, he was the most onsatisfactory critter tohev round"-- "What do you have him round for, then?" interrupted Miss Jinny sharply. Mr. McClosky's eyes fell. "Ef he hedn't kem out of his way to-night todo me a good turn, I wouldn't ask ye, Jinny. I wouldn't, so help me! ButI thought, ez I couldn't do any thing with him, you might come down, andsorter fetch him, Jinny, as you did the others. " Miss Jenny 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. Hetravels round a good deal. I've heard, Jinny that he's a poet--writesthem rhymes, you know. " Mr. McClosky here appealed submissively butdirectly to his daughter. He remembered that she had frequently beenin receipt of printed elegaic couplets known as "mottoes, " containingenclosures equally saccharine. Miss Jenny slightly curled her pretty lip. She had that fine contemptfor the illusions of fancy which belongs to the perfectly healthy younganimal. "Not, " continued Mr. McClosky, rubbing his head reflectively, "not ezI'd advise ye, Jinny, to say any thing to him about poetry. It ain'ttwenty minutes ago ez I did. I set the whiskey afore him in theparlor. 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, andrepeat what you allow to be your finest production, ' and he raged. Thatman, Jinny, jest raged! Thar's no end of the names he called me. Yousee, Jinny, " continued Mr. McClosky apologetically, "he's known me along time. " But his daughter had already dismissed the question with her usualdirectness. "I'll be down in a few moments, father, " she said after apause, "but don't say any thing to him about it--don't say I was abed. " Mr. McClosky's face beamed. "You was allers a good girl, Jinny, " hesaid, dropping on one knee the better to imprint a respectful kiss onher forehead. But Jenny caught him by the wrists, and for a moment heldhim captive. "Father, " said she, trying to fix his shy eyes with theclear, steady glance of her own, "all the girls that were there to-nighthad some one with them. Mame Robinson had her aunt; Lucy Rance had hermother; Kate Pierson had her sister--all, except me, had some otherwoman. Father dear, " her lip trembled just a little, "I wish motherhadn't died when I was so small. I wish there was some other woman inthe family besides me. I ain't lonely with you, father dear; but ifthere was only some one, you know, when the time comes for John andme"-- Her voice here suddenly gave out, but not her brave eyes, that werestill fixed earnestly upon his face. Mr. McClosky, apparently tracingout a pattern on the bedquilt, essayed words of comfort. "Thar ain't one of them gals ez you've named, Jinny, ez could do whatyou've done with a whole Noah's ark of relations, at their backs! Tharain't 'one ez wouldn't sacrifice her nearest relation to make the strikethat you hev. Ez to mothers, maybe, my dear you're doin' better withoutone. " 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 slippersasserting themselves resolutely to the last. When Mr. McClosky reached his parlor again, his troublesome guest wasnot there. The decanter stood on the table untouched; three or fourbooks lay upon the floor; a number of photographic views of the Sierraswere scattered over the sofa; two sofa-pillows, a newspaper, and aMexican blanket, lay on the carpet, as if the late occupant of the roomhad tried to read in a recumbent position. A French window openingupon a veranda, which never before in the history of the house had beenunfastened, now betrayed by its waving lace curtain the way that thefugitive had escaped. Mr. McClosky heaved a sigh of despair. He lookedat the gorgeous carpet purchased in Sacramento at a fabulous price, atthe crimson satin and rosewood furniture unparalleled in the historyof Tuolumne, at the massively-framed pictures on the walls, and lookedbeyond it, through the open window, to the reckless man, who, fleeingthese sybaritic allurements, was smoking a cigar upon the moonlit road. This room, which had so often awed the youth of Tuolumne into filialrespect, 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 veranda; but he had scarcely donethis, before his figure was detected by the stranger, who at oncecrossed the road. When within a few feet of McClosky, he stopped. "Youpersistent old plantigrade!" he said in a low voice, audible only to theperson addressed, and a face full of affected anxiety, "why don't you goto bed? Didn't I tell you to go and leave me here alone? In the name ofall that's idiotic and imbecile, why do you continue to shuffle abouthere? Or are you trying to drive me crazy with your presence, as youhave with that wretched music-box that I've just dropped under yondertree? 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 youhave the audacity to add somnambulism to your other weaknesses? you'renot low enough to repeat yourself under any such weak pretext as that, eh?" A fit of nervous coughing ended this extraordinary exordium; and halfsitting, half leaning against the veranda, Mr. McClosky's guest turnedhis face, and part of a slight elegant figure, toward his host. Thelower portion of this upturned face wore an habitual expression offastidious discontent, with an occasional line of physical suffering. But the brow above was frank and critical; and a pair of dark, mirthfuleyes, sat in playful judgment over the super-sensitive mouth and itssuggestion. "I allowed to go to bed, Ridgeway, " said Mr. McClosky meekly; "but mygirl Jinny's jist got back from a little tear up at Robinson's, andain't inclined to turn in yet. You know what girls is. So I thought wethree 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 houseever since, can testify. My belief is, that, like an enterprising idiotas you are, you've dragged that girl out of her bed, that we mightmutually bore each other. " Mr. McClosky was too much stunned by this evidence of Ridgeway'sapparently superhuman penetration to reply. After enjoying his host'sconfusion 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, laying one handimploringly on Ridgeway's sleeve, "not a word about her to Jinny. Shethinks her mother's dead--died in Missouri. Eh!" Ridgeway nearly rolled from the veranda in an excess of rage. "Good God!Do you mean to say that you have been concealing from her a fact thatany day, any moment, may come to her ears? That you've been lettingher grow up in ignorance of something that by this time she might haveoutgrown and forgotten? That you have been, like a besotted old ass, all these years slowly forging a thunderbolt that any one may crush herwith? That"--but here Ridgeway's cough took possession of his voice, and even put a moisture into his dark eyes, as he looked at McClosky'saimless hand feebly employed upon his beard. "But, " said McClosky, "look how she's done! She's held her head as highas any of 'em. She's to be married in a month to the richest man in thecounty; and, " he added cunningly, "Jack Ashe ain't the kind o' man tosit by and hear any thing 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 thanwhen she put aside the curtains, and stepped out. She had dressedherself simply and hurriedly, but with a woman's knowledge of herbest points; so that you got the long curves of her shapely limbs, theshorter curves of her round waist and shoulders, the long sweep of heryellow braids, the light of her gray eyes, and even the delicate rose ofher complexion, without knowing how it was delivered to you. The introduction by Mr. McClosky was brief. When Ridgeway had got overthe fact that it was two o'clock in the morning, and that the cheek ofthis Tuolumne goddess nearest him was as dewy and fresh as an infant's, that she looked like Marguerite, without, probably, ever having heardof Goethe's heroine, he talked, I dare say, very sensibly. When MissJenny--who from her childhood had been brought up among the sons ofAnak, and who was accustomed to have the supremacy of our noble sexpresented to her as a physical fact--found herself in the presence of anew and strange power in the slight and elegant figure beside her, shewas at first frightened and cold. But finding that this power, againstwhich the weapons of her own physical charms were of no avail, wasa kindly one, albeit general, she fell to worshipping it, after thefashion of woman, and casting before it the fetishes and other idols ofher youth. She even confessed to it. So that, in half an hour, Ridgewaywas in possession of all the facts connected with her life, and a greatmany, I fear, of her fancies--except one. When Mr. McClosky found theyoung people thus amicably disposed, he calmly went to sleep. It was a pleasant time to each. To Miss Jenny it had the charm ofnovelty; and she abandoned herself to it, for that reason, much morefreely and innocently than her companion, who knew something more of theinevitable logic of the position. I do not think, however, he had anyintention of love-making. I do not think he was at all conscious ofbeing in the attitude. I am quite positive he would have shrunk from thesuggestion of disloyalty to the one woman whom he admitted to himselfhe loved. But, like most poets, he was much more true to an idea thana fact, and having a very lofty conception of womanhood, with avery sanguine nature, he saw in each new face the possibilities of arealization of his ideal. It was, perhaps, an unfortunate thing for thewomen, 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 ofthe affections that most endeared him to the best women, who were proneto exercise toward him a chivalrous protection, --as of one likely to goastray, unless looked after, --and indulged in the dangerous combinationof sentiment with the highest maternal instincts. It was this qualitywhich caused Jenny to recognize in him a certain boyishness thatrequired her womanly care, and even induced her to offer to accompanyhim to the cross-roads when the time for his departure arrived. With hersuperior knowledge of woodcraft and the locality, she would have kepthim from being lost. I wot not but that she would have protected himfrom bears or wolves, but chiefly, I think, from the feline fascinationsof Mame Robinson and Lucy Rance, who might be lying in wait for thistender 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 onthe snowy ridge beyond. There were quaint odors in the still air; and astrange incense from the woods perfumed their young blood, and seemedto swoon in their pulses. Small wonder that they lingered on the whiteroad, that their feet climbed, unwillingly the little hill where theywere to part, and that, when they at last reached it, even the savinggrace of speech seemed to have forsaken them. For there they stood alone. There was no sound nor motion in earth, orwoods, or heaven. They might have been the one man and woman for whomthis goodly earth that lay at their feet, rimmed with the deepest azure, was created. And, seeing this, they turned toward each other with asudden instinct, and their hands met, and then their lips in one longkiss. And then out of the mysterious distance came the sound of voices, andthe sharp clatter of hoofs and wheels, and Jenny slid away--a whitemoonbeam--from the hill. For a moment she glimmered through the trees, and then, reaching the house, passed her sleeping father on the veranda, and, darting into her bedroom, locked the door, threw open the window, and, falling on her knees beside it, leaned her hot cheeks upon herhands, and listened. In a few moments she was rewarded by the sharpclatter of hoofs on the stony road; but it was only a horseman, whosedark figure was swiftly lost in the shadows of the lower road. Atanother time she might have recognized the man; but her eyes and earswere now all intent on something else. It came presently with dancinglights, a musical rattle of harness, a cadence of hoof-beats, thatset her heart to beating in unison--and was gone. A sudden sense ofloneliness came over her; and tears gathered in her sweet eyes. She arose, and looked around her. There was the little bed, thedressing-table, the roses that she had worn last night, still freshand blooming in the little vase. Every thing was there; but every thinglooked strange. The roses should have been withered, for the partyseemed so long ago. She could hardly remember when she had worn thisdress that lay upon the chair. So she came back to the window, and sankdown beside it, with her cheek a trifle paler, leaning on her hand, andher long braids reaching to the floor. The stars paled slowly, like hercheek; yet with eyes that saw not, she still looked from her window forthe coming dawn. It came, with violet deepening into purple, with purple flushinginto rose, with rose shining into silver, and glowing into gold. Thestraggling line of black picket-fence below, that had faded away withthe stars, came back with the sun. What was that object moving bythe fence? Jenny raised her head, and looked intently. It was a manendeavoring to climb the pickets, and falling backward with eachattempt. Suddenly she started to her feet, as if the rosy flushes of thedawn had crimsoned her from forehead to shoulders; then she stood, whiteas the wall, with her hands clasped upon her bosom; then, with a singlebound, she reached the door, and, with flying braids and flutteringskirt, sprang down the stairs, and out to the garden walk. When within afew feet of the fence, she uttered a cry, the first she had given, --thecry of a mother over her stricken babe, of a tigress over her mangledcub; and in another moment she had leaped the fence, and knelt besideRidgeway, 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 tornopen; and his handkerchief, wet with the blood it could not stanch, fellfrom a cruel stab beneath his shoulder. "Ridgeway, my poor boy! tell me what has happened. " Ridgeway slowly opened his heavy blue-veined lids, and gazed upon her. Presently a gleam of mischief came into his dark eyes, a smile stoleover his lips as he whispered slowly, -- "It--was--your kiss--did it, Jenny dear. I had forgotten--howhigh-priced the article was here. Never mind, Jenny!"--he feebly raisedher hand to his white lips, --"it was--worth it, " and fainted away. Jenny started to her feet, and looked wildly around her. Then, with asudden resolution, she stooped over the insensible man, and with onestrong effort lifted him in her arms as if he had been a child. When herfather, a moment later, rubbed his eyes, and awoke from his sleep uponthe veranda, it was to see a goddess, erect and triumphant, stridingtoward the house with the helpless body of a man lying across thatbreast where man had never lain before, --a goddess, at whose imperiousmandate he arose, and cast open the doors before her. And then, whenshe had laid her unconscious burden on the sofa, the goddess fled; and awoman, helpless and trembling, stood before him, --a woman that cried outthat she had "killed him, " that she was "wicked, wicked!" and that, evensaying so, staggered, and fell beside her late burden. And all thatMr. McClosky could do was to feebly rub his beard, and say to himselfvaguely and incoherently, that "Jinny had fetched him. " CHAPTER II Before noon the next day, it was generally believed throughout FourForks that Ridgeway Dent had been attacked and wounded at Chemisal Ridgeby a highwayman, who fled on the approach of the Wingdam coach. It is tobe presumed that this statement met with Ridgeway's approval, as he didnot contradict it, nor supplement it with any details. His wound wassevere, but not dangerous. After the first excitement had subsided, there was, I think, a prevailing impression common to the provincialmind, that his misfortune was the result of the defective moral qualityof his being a stranger, and was, in a vague sort of a way, a warning toothers, and a lesson to him. "Did you hear how that San Francisco fellerwas took down the other night?" was the average tone of introductoryremark. Indeed, there was a general suggestion that Ridgeway's presencewas one that no self-respecting, high-minded highwayman, honorablyconservative of the best interests of Tuolumne County, could for amoment tolerate. Except for the few words spoken on that eventful morning, Ridgeway wasreticent of the past. When Jenny strove to gather some details ofthe affray that might offer a clew to his unknown assailant, a subtletwinkle in his brown eyes was the only response. When Mr. McCloskyattempted the same process, the young gentleman threw abusive epithets, and, eventually slippers, teaspoons, and other lighter articles withinthe reach of an invalid, at the head of his questioner. "I think he'scoming round, Jinny, " said Mr. McClosky: "he laid for me this morningwith a candlestick. " It was about this time that Miss Jenny, having sworn her father tosecrecy regarding the manner in which Ridgeway had been carried into thehouse, conceived the idea of addressing the young man as "Mr. Dent, "and of apologizing for intruding whenever she entered the room in thedischarge of her household duties. It was about this time that shebecame more rigidly conscientious to those duties, and less general inher attentions. It was at this time that the quality of the invalid'sdiet improved, and that she consulted him less frequently about it. Itwas about this time that she began to see more company, that the housewas greatly frequented by her former admirers, with whom she rode, walked, and danced. It was at about this time also, and when Ridgewaywas able to be brought out on the veranda in a chair, that, with greatarchness of manner, she introduced to him Miss Lucy Ashe, the sister ofher betrothed, a flashing brunette, and terrible heart-breaker of FourForks. And, in the midst of this gayety, she concluded that she wouldspend a week with the Robinsons, to whom she owed a visit. Sheenjoyed herself greatly there, so much, indeed, that she became quitehollow-eyed, the result, as she explained to her father, of a toofrequent indulgence in festivity. "You see, father, I won't have manychances after John and I are married: you know how queer he is, and Imust make the most of my time;" and she laughed an odd little laugh, which had lately become habitual to her. "And how is Mr. Dent gettingon?" Her father replied that he was getting on very well indeed, --sowell, 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, andconsulting one of his large shoes for corroboration. Miss Jenny was gladto hear that he was so much better. Miss Jenny could not imagine anything that pleased her more than to know that he was so strong as to beable to rejoin his friends again, who must love him so much, and be soanxious about him. Her father thought she would be pleased, and, nowthat he was gone, there was really no necessity for her to hurryback. Miss Jenny, in a high metallic voice, did not know that shehad expressed any desire to stay, still if her presence had becomedistasteful at home, if her own father was desirous of getting ridof her, if, when she was so soon to leave his roof forever, he stillbegrudged her those few days remaining, if--"My God, Jinny, so help me!"said Mr. McClosky, clutching despairingly at his beard, "I didn't go forto say any thing of the kind. I thought that you"--"Never mind, father, "interrupted Jenny magnanimously, "you misunderstood me: of course youdid, 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 application of anabstract statement, forgave him with a kiss. Nevertheless, for two or three days after her return, Mr. McCloskyfollowed his daughter about the house with yearning eyes, andoccasionally with timid, diffident feet. Sometimes he came upon hersuddenly at her household tasks, with an excuse so palpably false, anda careless manner so outrageously studied, that she was fain to beembarrassed for him. Later, he took to rambling about the house atnight, and was often seen noiselessly passing and repassing through thehall after she had retired. On one occasion, he was surprised, first bysleep, and then by the early-rising Jenny, as he lay on the rug outsideher chamber-door. "You treat me like a child, father, " said Jenny. "Ithought, Jinny, " said the father apologetically, --"I thought Iheard sounds as if you was takin' on inside, and, listenin' I fellasleep. "--"You dear, old simple-minded baby!" said Jenny, lookingpast her father's eyes, and lifting his grizzled locks one by one withmeditative fingers: "what should I be takin' on for? Look how muchtaller I am than you!" she said, suddenly lifting herself up to theextreme of her superb figure. Then rubbing his head rapidly with bothhands, as if she were anointing his hair with some rare unguent, shepatted him on the back, and returned to her room. The result of this andone or two other equally sympathetic interviews was to produce achange in Mr. McClosky's manner, which was, if possible, still morediscomposing. He grew unjustifiably hilarious, cracked jokes with theservants, and repeated to Jenny humorous stories, with the attitude offacetiousness carefully preserved throughout the entire narration, andthe point utterly ignored and forgotten. Certain incidents reminded himof funny things, which invariably turned out to have not the slightestrelevancy or application. He occasionally brought home with himpractical humorists, with a sanguine hope of setting them going, likethe music-box, for his daughter's edification. He essayed the singing ofmelodies with great freedom of style, and singular limitation of note. He sang "Come haste to the Wedding, Ye Lasses and Maidens, " of which heknew a single line, and that incorrectly, as being peculiarly apt andappropriate. Yet away from the house and his daughter's presence, he wassilent and distraught. His absence of mind was particularly noted by hisworkmen at the Empire Quartz Mill. "Ef the old man don't look out andwake up, " said his foreman, "he'll hev them feet of his yet under thestamps. When he ain't givin' his mind to 'em, they is altogether toopromiskuss. " A few nights later, Miss Jenny recognized her father's hand in a timidtap at the door. She opened it, and he stood before her, with a valisein his hand, equipped as for a journey. "I takes the stage to-night, Jinny dear, from Four Forks to 'Frisco. Maybe I may drop in on Jackafore I go. I'll be back in a week. Good-by. " "Good-by. " He still held her hand. Presently he drew her back into theroom, closing the door carefully, and glancing around. There was a lookof profound cunning in his eye as he said slowly, -- "Bear up, and keep dark, Jinny dear, and trust to the old man. Variousmen has various ways. Thar is ways as is common, and ways as isuncommon; ways as is easy, and ways as is oneasy. Bear up, and keepdark. " With this Delphic utterance he put his finger to his lips, andvanished. It was ten o'clock when he reached Four Forks. A few minutes later, he stood on the threshold of that dwelling described by the Four Forks"Sentinel" as "the palatial residence of John Ashe, " and known to thelocal satirist as the "ash-box. " "Hevin' to lay by two hours, John, " hesaid to his prospective son-in-law, as he took his hand at the door, "a few words of social converse, not on business, but strictlyprivate, seems to be about as nat'ral a thing as a man can do. " Thisintroduction, evidently the result of some study, and plainly committedto memory, seemed so satisfactory to Mr. McClosky, that he repeatedit again, after John Ashe had led him into his private office, where, depositing his valise in the middle of the floor, and sitting downbefore it, he began carefully to avoid the eye of his host. John Ashe, atall, dark, handsome Kentuckian, with whom even the trifles of lifewere evidently full of serious import, waited with a kind of chivalrousrespect the further speech of his guest. Being utterly devoid of anysense of the ridiculous, he always accepted Mr. McClosky as a gravefact, 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 ofthe mill at Four Forks. Mr. McClosky rubbed his beard, and looked at his valise, as if forsympathy and suggestion. "You don't reckon on having any trouble with any of them chaps as youcut out with Jinny?" John Ashe, rather haughtily, had never thought of that. "I saw Rancehanging round your house the other night, when I took your daughterhome; but he gave me a wide berth, " he added carelessly. "Surely, " said Mr. McClosky, with a peculiar winking of the eye. After apause, he took a fresh departure from his valise. "A few words, John, ez between man and man, ez between my daughter'sfather and her husband who expects to be, is about the thing, I take it, as is fair and square. I kem here to say them. They're about Jinny, mygal. " Ashe's grave face brightened, to Mr. McClosky's evident discomposure. "Maybe I should have said about her mother; but, the same bein' astranger to you, I says naterally, 'Jinny. '" Ashe nodded courteously. Mr. McClosky, with his eyes on his valise, wenton, -- "It is sixteen year ago as I married Mrs. McClosky in the State ofMissouri. She let on, at the time, to be a widder, --a widder with onechild. When I say let on, I mean to imply that I subsekently found outthat 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-crimsonedface and swiftly-darkening brow of his host, he continued, -- "Many little things sorter tended to make our home in Missourionpleasant. A disposition to smash furniture, and heave knives around;an inclination to howl when drunk, and that frequent; a habitooal use ofvulgar language, and a tendency to cuss the casooal visitor, --seemed topint, " added Mr. McClosky with submissive hesitation "that--she--was--soto speak--quite onsuited to the marriage relation in its holiestaspeck. " "Damnation! Why didn't"--burst out John Ashe, erect and furious. "At the end of two year, " continued Mr. McClosky, still intent on thevalise, "I allowed I'd get a diworce. Et about thet time, however, Providence sends a circus into thet town, and a feller ez rode threehorses to onct. Hevin' allez a taste for athletic sports, she left townwith 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 daughter 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 tomarry my Jinny. I don't know ez I've persood that ez a biziness, or eventaken it up as a healthful recreation. " John Ashe paced the room furiously. Mr. McClosky's eyes left thevalise, and followed him curiously. "Where is this woman?" demanded Ashesuddenly. McClosky's eyes sought the valise again. "She went to Kansas; from Kansas she went into Texas; from Texas sheeventooally 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, andnow does the tight-rope business and flying trapeze. Never hevin' seenher perform, " continued Mr. McClosky with conscientious caution, "Ican't say how she gets on. On the bills she looks well. Thar isa poster, " said Mr. McClosky glancing at Ashe, and opening hisvalise, --"thar is a poster givin' her performance at Marysville nextmonth. " Mr. McClosky slowly unfolded a large yellow-and-blue printedposter, profusely illustrated. "She calls herself 'Mams'elle J. Miglawski, the great Russian Trapeziste. '" John Ashe tore it from his hand. "Of course, " he said, suddenly facingMr. McClosky, "you don't expect me to go on with this?" Mr. McClosky took up the poster, carefully refolded it, and returnedit to his valise. "When you break off with Jinny, " he said quietly, "I don't want any thing said 'bout this. She doesn't know it. She's awoman, 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 saywhat) that makes you break it off. You needn't be afeard Jinny'll everask 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 tothink of it. But somehow he felt at the moment very unlike a gentleman, or an Ashe, and was quite sure he should break down under Jenny's steadyeyes. But then--he could write to her. "So ores is about as light here as on the Ridge. Well, I reckon they'llcome up before the rains. Good-night. " Mr. McClosky took the hand thathis host mechanically extended, shook it gravely, and was gone. When Mr. McClosky, a week later, stepped again upon his own veranda, hesaw through the French window the figure of a man in his parlor. Underhis hospitable roof, the sight was not unusual; but, for an instant, asubtle sense of disappointment thrilled him. When he saw it was not theface of Ashe turned toward him, he was relieved; but when he saw thetawny beard, and quick, passionate eyes of Henry Rance, he felt a newsense of apprehension, so that he fell to rubbing his beard almost uponhis very threshold. Jenny ran into the hall, and seized her father with a little cry of joy. "Father, " said Jenny in a hurried whisper, "don't mind HIM, " indicatingRance with a toss of her yellow braids: "he's going soon. And I 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 shewent on, "It's Ridgeway that he means, father; and I believe it was HIShand struck Ridgeway down, or that he knows who did. But hush now! not aword. " She gave him a feverish kiss, and glided back into the parlor, leavingMr. McClosky, perplexed and irresolute, with the note in his hand. Heglanced at it hurriedly, and saw that it was couched in almost the verywords he had suggested. But a sudden, apprehensive recollection cameover him. He listened; and, with an exclamation of dismay, he seized hishat, and ran out of the house, but too late. At the same moment a quick, nervous footstep was heard upon the veranda; the French window flewopen, and, with a light laugh of greeting, Ridgeway stepped into theroom. Jenny's finer ear first caught the step. Jenny's swifter feelings hadsounded the depths of hope, of joy, of despair, before he entered theroom. Jenny's pale face was the only one that met his, self-possessedand self-reliant, when he stood before them. An angry flush suffusedeven the pink roots of Rance's beard as he rose to his feet. An ominousfire sprang into Ridgeway's eyes, and a spasm of hate and scorn passedover the lower part of his face, and left the mouth and jaw immobile andrigid. Yet he was the first to speak. "I owe you an apology, " he said to Jenny, with a suave scorn that brought the indignant blood back to her cheek, "for this intrusion; but I ask no pardon for withdrawing from the onlyspot where that man dare confront me with safety. " With an exclamation of rage, Rance sprang toward him. But as quicklyJenny stood between them, erect and menacing. "There must be no quarrelhere, " she said to Rance. "While I protect your right as my guest, don'toblige me to remind you of mine as your hostess. " She turned with ahalf-deprecatory air to Ridgeway; but he was gone. So was her father. Only Rance remained with a look of ill-concealed triumph on his face. Without looking at him, she passed toward the door. When she reachedit, she turned. "You asked me a question an hour ago. Come to me in thegarden, at nine o'clock tonight, and I will answer you. But promise me, first, to keep away from Mr. Dent. Give me your word not to seek him--toavoid him, if he seeks you. Do you promise? It is well. " He would have taken her hand; but she waved him away. In another momenthe heard the swift rustle of her dress in the hall, the sound of herfeet upon the stair, the sharp closing of her bedroom door, and all wasquiet. And even thus quietly the day wore away; and the night rose slowly fromthe valley, and overshadowed the mountains with purple wings that fannedthe still air into a breeze, until the moon followed it, and lulledevery thing to rest as with the laying-on of white and benedictoryhands. It was a lovely night; but Henry Rance, waiting impatientlybeneath a sycamore at the foot of the garden, saw no beauty in earth orair or sky. A thousand suspicions common to a jealous nature, a vaguesuperstition of the spot, filled his mind with distrust and doubt. "If this should be a trick to keep my hands off that insolent pup!" hemuttered. But, even as the thought passed his tongue, a white figureslid from the shrubbery near the house, glided along the line ofpicket-fence, and then stopped, midway, motionless in the moonlight. It was she. But he scarcely recognized her in the white drapery thatcovered her head and shoulders and breast. He approached her with ahurried whisper. "Let us withdraw from the moonlight. Everybody can seeus here. " "We have nothing to say that cannot be said in the moonlight, HenryRance, " she replied, coldly receding from his proffered hand. Shetrembled for a moment, as if with a chill, and then suddenly turned uponhim. "Hold up your head, and let me look at you! I've known only whatmen are: let me see what a traitor looks like!" He recoiled more from her wild face than her words. He saw from thefirst that her hollow cheeks and hollow eyes were blazing with fever. Hewas no coward; but he would have fled. "You are ill, Jenny, " he said: "you had best return to the house. Another time"-- "Stop!" she cried hoarsely. "Move from this spot, and I'll call forhelp! Attempt to leave me now, and I'll proclaim you the assassin thatyou 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 afair fight to deceive me? Liar and coward that you are!" He made a stealthy step toward her with evil eyes, and a wickeder handthat crept within his breast. She saw the motion; but it only stung herto newer fury. "Strike!" she said with blazing eyes, throwing her hands open beforehim. "Strike! Are you afraid of the woman who dares you? Or do you keepyour knife for the backs of unsuspecting men? Strike, I tell you!No? Look, then!" With a sudden movement, she tore from her head andshoulders the thick lace shawl that had concealed her figure, and stoodbefore him. "Look!" she cried passionately, pointing to the bosom andshoulders of her white dress, darkly streaked with faded stains andominous discoloration, --"look! This is the dress I wore that morningwhen I found him lying here, --HERE, --bleeding from your cowardly knife. Look! Do you see? This is his blood, --my darling boy's blood!--one dropof which, dead and faded as it is, is more precious to me than the wholeliving pulse of any other man. Look! I come to you to-night, christenedwith his blood, and dare you to strike, --dare you to strike him againthrough me, and mingle my 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 Rance'shand dropped at her feet; for another flash and report rolled him overin the dust; and across his writhing body two men strode, and caught herere she fell. "She has only fainted, " said Mr. McClosky. "Jinny dear, my girl, speakto me!" "What is this on her dress?" said Ridgeway, kneeling beside her, andlifting his set and colorless face. At the sound of his voice, the colorcame 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 toher own. When Ridgeway raised his head again, her eyes were closed; buther mouth still smiled as with the memory of a kiss. They bore her to the house, still breathing, but unconscious. That nightthe road was filled with clattering horsemen; and the summoned skill ofthe countryside for leagues away gathered at her couch. The wound, theysaid, was not essentially dangerous; but they had grave fears of theshock to a system that already seemed suffering from some strange andunaccountable nervous exhaustion. The best medical skill of Tuolumnehappened to be young and observing, and waited patiently an opportunityto account for it. He was presently rewarded. For toward morning she rallied, and looked feebly around. Then shebeckoned 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 Jenny had raised herself on her elbow, and waslevelling her black brows at him. But two kicks from the young surgeon, and a significant motion towards the door, sent Mr. McClosky awaymuttering. "How should I know that 'HE' meant Ridgeway?" he saidapologetically, as he went and returned with the young gentleman. Thesurgeon, who was still holding her pulse, smiled, and thoughtthat--with a little care--and attention--the stimulants--mightbe--diminished--and---he--might leave--the patient for some hours withperfect safety. He would give further 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 somedisappointment that he found Ridgeway standing quietly by the window, and his daughter apparently fallen into a light doze. He was still moreconcerned, when, after Ridgeway had retired, noticing a pleasant smileplaying about her lips, he said softly:-- "You was thinking of some one, Jinny?" "Yes, father, " the gray eyes met his steadily, --"of poor John Ashe!" Her recovery was swift. Nature, that had seemed to stand jealously alooffrom her in her mental anguish, was kind to the physical hurt of herfavorite child. The superb physique, which had been her charm and hertrial, now stood her in good stead. The healing balsam of the pine, thebalm of resinous gums, and the rare medicaments of Sierran altitudes, touched her as it might have touched the wounded doe; so that in twoweeks she was able to walk about. And when, at the end of the month, Ridgeway returned from a flying visit to San Francisco, and jumped fromthe 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 hiskiss, confronted him on the road. With a common instinct, their young feet both climbed the little hillnow sacred to their thought. When they reached its summit, they wereboth, I think, a little disappointed. There is a fragrance in theunfolding of a passion, that escapes the perfect flower. Jenny thoughtthe night was not as beautiful; Ridgeway, that the long ride had bluntedhis perceptions. But they had the frankness to confess it to eachother, with the rare delight of such a confession, and the comparisonof details which they thought each had forgotten. And with this, and anoccasional pitying reference to the blank period when they had not knowneach other, hand in hand they reached the house. Mr. McClosky was awaiting them impatiently upon the veranda. When MissJenny had slipped up stairs to replace a collar that stood somewhatsuspiciously awry, Mr. McClosky drew Ridgeway solemnly aside. He held alarge theatre poster in one hand, and an open newspaper in the other. "I allus said, " he remarked slowly, with the air of merely renewing asuspended conversation, --"I allus said that riding three horses to onctwasn't exactly in her line. It would seem that it ain't. From remarks inthis yer paper, it would appear that she tried it on at Marysville lastweek, and broke her neck. " A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF MR. JOHN OAKHURST. He always thought it must have been fate. Certainly nothing could havebeen more inconsistent with his habits than to have been in the Plaza atseven o'clock of that midsummer morning. The sight of his colorlessface in Sacramento was rare at that season, and, indeed, at any season, anywhere publicly, before two o'clock in the afternoon. Looking backupon it in after-years in the light of a chanceful life, he determined, with the characteristic philosophy of his profession, that it must havebeen 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 oftwenty thousand dollars, he had risen from the faro-table, relinquishedhis seat to an accomplished assistant, and withdrawn quietly, withoutattracting a glance from the silent, anxious faces bowed over the table. But when he entered his luxurious sleeping-room, across the passage-way, he was a little shocked at finding the sun streaming through aninadvertently opened window. Something in the rare beauty of themorning, perhaps something in the novelty of the idea, struck him as hewas about to close the blinds; and he hesitated. Then, taking his hatfrom the table, he stepped down a private staircase into the street. The people who were abroad at that early hour were of a class quiteunknown to Mr. Oakhurst. There were milkmen and hucksters deliveringtheir wares, small tradespeople opening their shops, housemaids sweepingdoorsteps, and occasionally a child. These Mr. Oakhurst regarded witha certain cold curiosity, perhaps quite free from the cynical disfavorwith which he generally looked upon the more pretentious of hisrace whom he was in the habit of meeting. Indeed, I think he was notaltogether displeased with the admiring glances which these humble womenthrew after his handsome face and figure, conspicuous even in acountry of fine-looking men. While it is very probable that this wickedvagabond, in the pride of his social isolation, would have been coldlyindifferent to the advances of a fine lady, a little girl who ranadmiringly by his side in a ragged dress had the power to call a faintflush into his colorless cheek. He dismissed her at last, but notuntil she had found out--what, sooner or later, her large-hearted anddiscriminating sex inevitably did--that he was exceedingly free andopen-handed with his money, and also--what, perhaps, none other of hersex ever did--that the bold black eyes of this fine gentleman were inreality of a brownish and even tender gray. 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 theexpensive and more portable form of bouquets, but, as it seemed to himthen, never before so notably lovely. Perhaps it was because the dew wasyet fresh upon them; perhaps it was because they were unplucked: butMr. Oakhurst admired them--not as a possible future tribute to thefascinating and accomplished Miss Ethelinda, then performing at theVarieties, for Mr. Oakhurst's especial benefit, as she had often assuredhim; nor yet as a douceur to the inthralling Miss Montmorrissy, withwhom Mr. Oakhurst expected to sup that evening; but simply for himself, and, mayhap, for the flowers' sake. Howbeit he passed on, and so outinto the open Plaza, where, finding a bench under a cottonwood-tree, hefirst 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 fromthe sycamores seemed like the deep-drawn breath of the just awakeningtree, and the faint rustle of its boughs as the outstretching of crampedand reviving limbs. Far away the Sierras stood out against a sky soremote as to be of no positive color, --so remote, that even the sundespaired of ever reaching it, and so expended its strength recklesslyon the whole landscape, until it fairly glittered in a white and vividcontrast. With a very rare impulse, Mr. Oakhurst took off his hat, andhalf reclined on the bench, with his face to the sky. Certain birds whohad taken a critical attitude on a spray above him, apparently began ananimated discussion regarding his possible malevolent intentions. One ortwo, emboldened by the silence, hopped on the ground at his feet, untilthe sound of wheels on the gravel-walk frightened them away. Looking up, he saw a man coming slowly toward him, wheeling anondescript vehicle, in which a woman was partly sitting, partlyreclining. Without knowing why, Mr. Oakhurst instantly conceived thatthe carriage was the invention and workmanship of the man, partly fromits oddity, partly from the strong, mechanical hand that grasped it, andpartly from a certain pride and visible consciousness in the mannerin which the man handled it. Then Mr. Oakhurst saw something more: theman's face was familiar. With that regal faculty of not forgettinga face that had ever given him professional audience, he instantlyclassified it under the following mental formula: "At 'Frisco, PolkaSaloon. Lost his week's wages. I reckon--seventy dollars--on red. Nevercame again. " There was, however, no trace of this in the calm eyes andunmoved face that he turned upon the stranger, who, on the contrary, blushed, looked embarrassed, hesitated and then stopped with aninvoluntary motion that brought the carriage and its fair occupant faceto face with Mr. Oakhurst. I should hardly do justice to the position she will occupy in thisveracious chronicle by describing the lady now, if, indeed, I am able todo it at all. Certainly the popular estimate was conflicting. The lateCol. Starbottle--to whose large experience of a charming sex I havebefore been indebted for many valuable suggestions--had, I regret tosay, depreciated her fascinations. "A yellow-faced cripple, by dash!a sick woman, with mahogany eyes; one of your blanked spiritualcreatures--with no flesh on her bones. " On the other hand, however, sheenjoyed later much complimentary disparagement from her own sex. MissCelestina Howard, second leader in the ballet at the Varieties, had, with great alliterative directness, in after-years, denominated heras an "aquiline asp. " Mlle. Brimborion remembered that she had alwayswarned "Mr. Jack" that this woman would "empoison" him. But Mr. Oakhurst, whose impressions are perhaps the most important, only saw apale, thin, deep-eyed woman, raised above the level of her companionby the refinement of long suffering and isolation, and a certain shyvirginity of manner. There was a suggestion of physical purity in thefolds of her fresh-looking robe, and a certain picturesque tastefulnessin the details, that, without knowing why, made him think that the robewas her invention and handiwork, even as the carriage she occupied wasevidently the work of her companion. Her own hand, a trifle too thin, but well-shaped, subtle-fingered, and gentle-womanly, rested on the sideof the carriage, the counterpart of the strong mechanical grasp of hercompanion's. There was some obstruction to the progress of the vehicle; and Mr. Oakhurst stepped forward to assist. While the wheel was being liftedover the curbstone, it was necessary that she should hold his arm; andfor a moment her thin hand rested there, light and cold as a snowflake, and then, as it seemed to him, like a snow-flake melted away. Then therewas a pause, and then conversation, the lady joining occasionally andshyly. It appeared that they were man and wife; that for the past two years shehad been a great invalid, and had lost the use of her lower limbs fromrheumatism; that until lately she had been confined to her bed, untilher husband--who was a master-carpenter--had bethought himself to makeher this carriage. He took her out regularly for an airing beforegoing to work, because it was his only time, and--they attracted lessattention. They had tried many doctors, but without avail. They had beenadvised to go to the Sulphur Springs; but it was expensive. Mr. Decker, the husband, had once saved eighty dollars for that purpose, but whilein San Francisco had his pocket picked--Mr Decker was so senseless!(The intelligent reader need not be told that it is the lady who isspeaking. ) They had never been able to make up the sum again, and theyhad given up the idea. It was a dreadful thing to have one's pocketpicked. Did he not think so? Her husband's face was crimson; but Mr. Oakhurst's countenance was quitecalm and unmoved, as he gravely agreed with her, and walked by herside until they passed the little garden that he had admired. HereMr. Oakhurst commanded a halt, and, going to the door, astounded theproprietor by a preposterously extravagant offer for a choice of theflowers. Presently he returned to the carriage with his arms full ofroses, heliotrope, and verbena, and cast them in the lap of the invalid. While she was bending over them with childish delight, Mr. Oakhurst tookthe opportunity of drawing her husband aside. "Perhaps, " he said in a low voice, and a manner quite free from anypersonal annoyance, --"perhaps it's just as well that you lied to heras you did. You can say now that the pick-pocket was arrested the otherday, and you got your money back. " Mr. Oakhurst quietly slipped fourtwenty-dollar gold-pieces into the broad hand of the bewildered Mr. Decker. "Say that--or any thing you like--but the truth. Promise me youwon't say that. " The man promised. Mr. Oakhurst quietly returned to the front of thelittle carriage. The sick woman was still eagerly occupied with theflowers, and, as she raised her eyes to his, her faded cheek seemed tohave caught some color from the roses, and her eyes some of their dewyfreshness. But at that instant Mr. Oakhurst lifted his hat, and beforeshe could thank him was gone. I grieve to say that Mr. Decker shamelessly broke his promise. Thatnight, in the very goodness of his heart and uxorious self-abnegation, he, like all devoted husbands, not only offered himself, but his friendand benefactor, as a sacrifice on the family-altar. It is only fair, however, to add that he spoke with great fervor of the generosity of Mr. Oakhurst, and dwelt with an enthusiasm quite common with his class onthe 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. Itwas for you, dearey, that I put that money on them cards that night in'Frisco. I thought to win a heap--enough to take you away, and enoughleft 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 theceiling; "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'llbe very good hereafter, and will just now hand me that cluster of roses, I'll forgive you. " She took the branch in her angers, lifted the rosesto her face, and presently said, behind their leaves, -- "Joe!" "What is it, lovey?" "Do you think that this Mr. --what do you call him?--Jack Oakhurst wouldhave 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 upher whole face with the roses, except her eyes, which were dangerouslybright. "No! It was you, Elsie--it was all along of seeing you that made him doit. " "A poor sick woman like me?" "A sweet, little, lovely, pooty Elsie--Joe's own little wifey! how couldhe help it?" Mrs. Decker fondly cast one arm around her husband's neck, still keepingthe roses to her face with the other. From behind them she began tomurmur gently and idiotically, "Dear, ole square Joey. Elsie's oneybooful big bear. " But, really, I do not see that my duty as a chroniclerof facts compels me to continue this little lady's speech any further;and, out of respect to the unmarried reader, I stop. Nevertheless, the next morning Mrs. Decker betrayed some slightand apparently uncalled for irritability on reaching the Plaza, andpresently desired her husband to wheel her back home. Moreover, shewas very much astonished at meeting Mr. Oakhurst just as they werereturning, and even doubted if it were he, and questioned her husbandas to his identity with the stranger of yesterday as he approached. Hermanner to Mr. Oakhurst, also, was quite in contrast with her husband'sfrank welcome. Mr. Oakhurst instantly detected it. "Her husband hastold her all, and she dislikes me, " he said to himself, with that fatalappreciation of the half-truths of a woman's motives that causes thewisest masculine critic to stumble. He lingered only long enough to takethe business address of the husband, and then lifting his hat gravely, without looking at the lady, went his way. It struck the honestmaster-carpenter as one of the charming anomalies of his wife'scharacter, that, although the meeting was evidently very muchconstrained and unpleasant, instantly afterward his wife's spirits beganto 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 brokemy promise. "--"Ah, indeed!" said the lady indifferently. Mr. Deckerinstantly stepped round to the front of the vehicle. "You look like anA 1 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 Springsreceived the following note in Mr. Oakhurst's well-known, dainty hand:-- "DEAR STEVE, --I've been thinking over your proposition to buy Nichols'squarter-interest, and have concluded to go in. But I don't see how thething will pay until you have more accommodation down there, and for thebest class, --I mean MY customers. What we want is an extension to themain building, and two or three cottages put up. I send down a builderto take hold of the job at once. He takes his sick wife with him; andyou are to look after them as you would for one of us. "I may run down there myself after the races, just to look after things;but I sha'n't set up any game this season. "Yours always, "JOHN OAKHURST. " It was only the last sentence of this letter that provoked criticism. "I can understand, " said Mr. Hamlin, a professional brother, to whom Mr. Oakhurst's letter was shown, --"I can understand why Jack goes in heavyand builds; for it's a sure spec, and is bound to be a mighty soft thingin time, if he comes here regularly. But why in blank he don't set up abank this season, and take the chance of getting some of the money backthat he puts into circulation in building, is what gets me. I wondernow, " he mused deeply, "what IS his little game. " The season had been a prosperous one to Mr Oakhurst, and proportionallydisastrous to several members of the legislature, judges, colonels, and others who had enjoyed but briefly the pleasure of Mr. Oakhurst'smidnight society. And yet Sacramento had become very dull to him. He hadlately formed a habit of early morning walks, so unusual and startlingto his friends, both male and female, as to occasion the intensestcuriosity. Two or three of the latter set spies upon his track; but theinquisition resulted only in the discovery that Mr. Oakhurst walked tothe Plaza, sat down upon one particular bench for a few moments, andthen returned without seeing anybody; and the theory that there was awoman in the case was abandoned. A few superstitious gentlemen of hisown profession believed that he did it for "luck. " Some others, morepractical, declared that he went out to "study points. " After the races at Marysville, Mr. Oakhurst went to San Francisco; fromthat place he returned to Marysville, but a few days after was seen atSan Jose, Santa Cruz, and Oakland. Those who met him declared that hismanner was restless and feverish, and quite unlike his ordinary calmnessand phlegm. Col. Starbottle pointed out the fact, that at San Francisco, at the club, Jack had declined to deal. "Hand shaky, sir; depend uponit. Don't stimulate enough--blank him!" From San Jose he started to go to Oregon by land with a rather expensiveoutfit of horses and camp equipage; but, on reaching Stockton, hesuddenly diverged, and four hours later found him with a single horseentering the canyon of the San Isabel Warm Sulphur Springs. It was a pretty triangular valley lying at the foot of three slopingmountains, dark with pines, and fantastic with madrono and manzanita. Nestling against the mountain-side, the straggling buildings and longpiazza of the hotel glittered through the leaves, and here and thereshone a white toy-like cottage. Mr. Oakhurst was not an admirer ofNature; but he felt something of the same novel satisfaction in theview, that he experienced in his first morning walk in Sacramento. Andnow carriages began to pass him on the road filled with gayly-dressedwomen; and the cold California outlines of the landscape began to takeupon themselves somewhat of a human warmth and color. And then the longhotel piazza came in view, efflorescent with the full-toiletted fair. Mr. Oakhurst, a good rider after the California fashion, did not checkhis speed as he approached his destination, but charged the hotel at agallop, threw his horse on his haunches within a foot of the piazza, andthen quietly emerged from the cloud of dust that veiled his dismounting. Whatever feverish excitement might have raged within, all his habitualcalm returned as he stepped upon the piazza. With the instinct oflong habit, he turned and faced the battery of eyes with the same coldindifference with which he had for years encountered the half-hiddensneers of men and the half-frightened admiration of women. Only oneperson stepped forward to welcome him. Oddly enough, it was DickHamilton, perhaps the only one present, who by birth, education, andposition, might have satisfied the most fastidious social critic. Happily for Mr. Oakhurst's reputation, he was also a very rich bankerand social leader. "Do you know who that is you spoke to?" askedyoung Parker with an alarmed expression. "Yes, " replied Hamilton withcharacteristic effrontery. "The man you lost a thousand dollars to lastweek. I only know him SOCIALLY. " "But isn't he a gambler?" queried theyoungest Miss Smith. "He is, " replied Hamilton; "but I wish, my dearyoung lady, that we all played as open and honest a game as our friendyonder, and were as willing as he is to abide by its fortunes. " But Mr. Oakhurst was happily out of hearing of this colloquy, and waseven then lounging listlessly yet watchfully along the upper hall. Suddenly he heard a light footstep behind him, and then his name calledin 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 describe the hollow-eyedcripple, the quaintly-dressed artisan's wife, a few pages ago, whatshall I do with this graceful, shapely, elegantly-attired gentlewomaninto whom she has been merged within these two months? In good faith shewas very pretty. You and I, my dear madam, would have been quick tosee that those charming dimples were misplaced for true beauty, and toofixed in their quality for honest mirthfulness; that the delicate linesaround these aquiline nostrils were cruel and selfish; that the sweetvirginal surprise of these lovely eyes were as apt to be opened onher plate as upon the gallant speeches of her dinner partner; that hersympathetic color came and went more with her own spirits than yours. But you and I are not in love with her, dear madam, and Mr. Oakhurstis. And, even in the folds of her Parisian gown, I am afraid this poorfellow saw the same subtle strokes of purity that he had seen in herhomespun robe. And then there was the delightful revelation that shecould walk, and that she had dear little feet of her own in the tiniestslippers of her French shoemaker, with such preposterous blue bows, andChappell's own stamp--Rue de something or other, Paris--on the narrowsole. He ran toward her with a heightened color and outstretched hands. Butshe whipped her own behind her, glanced rapidly up and down the longhall, and stood looking at him with a half-audacious, half-mischievousadmiration, in utter contrast to her old reserve. "I've a great mind not to shake hands with you at all. You passed mejust now on the piazza without speaking; and I ran after you, as Isuppose 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 havere-created me. You found a helpless, crippled, sick, poverty-strickenwoman, with one dress to her back, and that her own make, and you gaveher life, health, strength, and fortune. You did; and you know it, sir. How do you like your work?" She caught the side-seams of her gown ineither hand, and dropped him a playful courtesy. Then, with a sudden, relenting gesture, she gave him both her hands. Outrageous as this speech was, and unfeminine as I trust every fairreader will deem it, I fear it pleased Mr. Oakhurst. Not but that he wasaccustomed to a certain frank female admiration; but then it was of thecoulisse, and not of the cloister, with which he always persisted inassociating Mrs. Decker. To be addressed in this way by an invalidPuritan, a sick saint with the austerity of suffering still clothingher, a woman who had a Bible on the dressing-table, who went to churchthree times a day, and was devoted to her husband, completely bowled himover. He still held her hands as she went on, -- "Why didn't you come before? What were you doing in Marysville, in SanJose, in Oakland? You see I have followed you. I saw you as you camedown the canyon, 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 sometime!--Good-evening, Mr. Hamilton. " She had withdrawn her hands, but not until Hamilton, ascending thestaircase, was nearly abreast of them. He raised his hat to her withwell-bred composure, nodded familiarly to Oakhurst, and passed on. Whenhe had gone, Mrs. Decker lifted her eyes to Mr. Oakhurst. "Some day Ishall ask a great favor of you. " Mr. Oakhurst begged that it should be now. "No, not until you know me better. Then, some day, I shall want youto--kill that man!" She laughed such a pleasant little ringing laugh, such a display ofdimples, --albeit a little fixed in the corners of her mouth, --such aninnocent light in her brown eyes, and such a lovely color in her cheeks, that Mr. Oakhurst (who seldom laughed) was fain to laugh too. It was asif a lamb had proposed to a fox a foray into a neighboring sheepfold. A few evenings after this, Mrs. Decker arose from a charmed circle ofher admirers on the hotel piazza, excused herself for a few moments, laughingly declined an escort, and ran over to her little cottage--oneof her husband's creation--across the road. Perhaps from the suddenand unwonted exercise in her still convalescent state, she breathedhurriedly and feverishly as she entered her boudoir, and once or twiceplaced her hand upon her breast. She was startled on turning up thelight to find her husband lying on the sofa. "You look hot and excited, Elsie love, " said Mr. Decker. "You ain't tookworse, are you?" Mrs Decker's face had paled, but now flushed again. "No, " she said;"only a little pain here, " as she again placed her hand upon hercorsage. "Can I do any thing for you?" said Mr. Decker, rising with affectionateconcern. "Run over to the hotel and get me some brandy, quick!" Mr. Decker ran. Mrs Decker closed and bolted the door, and then, puttingher hand to her bosom, drew out the pain. It was folded foursquare, andwas, I grieve to say, in Mr. Oakhurst's handwriting. She devoured it with burning eyes and cheeks until there came a stepupon the porch; then she hurriedly replaced it in her bosom, andunbolted the door. Her husband entered. She raised the spirits to herlips, and declared herself better. "Are you going over there again to-night?" asked Mr. Deckersubmissively. "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. Aftera 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'timagine. "I was thinking of old times, Elsie: I was thinking of the days whenI built that kerridge for you, Elsie, --when I used to take you out toride, 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'requite another woman. I may say, dear, that you're a NEW woman. Andthat'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 buildup 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 otherpressed upon her bosom, as if to feel certain of the presence of herpain, she said sweetly and soothingly, -- "But it was your work, dear. " Mr. Decker shook his head sorrowfully. "No, Elsie, not mine. I had thechance to do it once, and I let it go. It's done now--but not by me. " Mrs. Decker raised her surprised, innocent eyes to his. He kissed hertenderly, and then went on in a more cheerful voice, -- "That ain't all I was thinking of, Elsie. I was thinking that maybe yougive too much of your company to that Mr. Hamilton. Not that there's anywrong in it, to you or him; but it might make people talk. You're theonly one here, Elsie, " said the master-carpenter, looking fondly at hiswife, "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. Butshe 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 wasa born lady in his own circle, " added the little woman, with a certainpride 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 wentto San Francisco to visit ma for a few days, he would be gone before Ishould return. " Mr. Decker was delighted. "By all means, " he said, "go to-morrow. JackOakhurst 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 thatshe ought to go now, knowing that he was going the same day; but, witha kiss, Mr. Decker overcame her scruples. She yielded gracefully. Fewwomen, in fact, knew how to give up a point as charmingly as she. She staid a week in San Francisco. When she returned, she was a triflethinner and paler than she had been. This she explained as the result ofperhaps too active exercise and excitement. "I was out of doors nearlyall the time, as ma will tell you, " she said to her husband, "and alwaysalone. I am getting quite independent now, " she added gayly. "I don'twant any escort. I believe, Joey dear, I could get along even withoutyou, I'm so brave!" But her visit, apparently, had not been productive of her impellingdesign. Mr. Hamilton had not gone, but had remained, and called uponthem that very evening. "I've thought of a plan, Joey dear, " said Mrs. Decker, when he had departed. "Poor Mr. Oakhurst has a miserable room atthe 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 addedarchly, "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 afterwardconfidentially to Mr. Oakhurst, "is, that, without having any planof her own, she'll take anybody's, and build a house on it entirelydifferent to suit herself. And dern my skin if you'll be able to saywhether or not you didn't give the scale and measurements yourself!That's what gets me!" The next week Mr. Oakhurst was installed in the Deckers' cottage. Thebusiness relations of her husband and himself were known to all, and herown reputation was above suspicion. Indeed, few women were more popular. She was domestic, she was prudent, she was pious. In a country of greatfeminine freedom and latitude, she never rode or walked with anybodybut her husband. In an epoch of slang and ambiguous expression, she wasalways precise and formal in her speech. In the midst of a fashion ofostentatious decoration, she never wore a diamond, nor a singlevaluable jewel. She never permitted an indecorum in public. She nevercountenanced the familiarities of California society. She declaimedagainst the prevailing tone of infidelity and scepticism in religion. Few people who were present will ever forget the dignified yet statelymanner with which she rebuked Mr. Hamilton in the public parlor forentering upon the discussion of a work on materialism, lately published;and some among them, also, will not forget the expression of amusedsurprise on Mr. Hamilton's face, that gradually changed to sardonicgravity, 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 applied to any moral quality in Mr. Oakhurst--to fear him. For during this time Mr. Oakhurst had begun to show symptoms of a changein 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 notes, indistracted handwriting, accumulated on the dressing-table in his roomsat Sacramento. It was given out in San Francisco that he had someorganic disease of the heart, for which his physician had prescribedperfect rest. He read more; he took long walks; he sold his fast horses;he went to church. I have a very vivid recollection of his first appearance there. He didnot accompany the Deckers, nor did he go into their pew, but came in asthe service commenced, and took a seat quietly in one of the back-pews. By some mysterious instinct, his presence became presently known to thecongregation, some of whom so far forgot themselves, in their curiosity, as to face around, and apparently address their responses to him. Beforethe service was over, it was pretty well understood that "miserablesinners" meant Mr. Oakhurst. Nor did this mysterious influence failto affect the officiating clergyman, who introduced an allusion toMr. Oakhurst's calling and habits in a sermon on the architecture ofSolomon's temple, and in a manner so pointed, and yet labored, as tocause the youngest of us to flame with indignation. Happily, however, it was lost upon Jack: I do not think he even heard it. His handsome, colorless face, albeit a trifle worn and thoughtful, was inscrutable. Only once, during the singing of a hymn, at a certain note in thecontralto's voice, there crept into his dark eyes a look of wistfultenderness, so yearning and yet so hopeless, that those who werewatching him felt their own glisten. Yet I retain a very vividremembrance of his standing up to receive the benediction, with thesuggestion, in his manner and tightly-buttoned coat, of taking the fireof his adversary at ten paces. After church, he disappeared as quietlyas he had entered, and fortunately escaped hearing the comments on hisrash act. His appearance was generally considered as an impertinence, attributable only to some wanton fancy, or possibly a bet. One or twothought that the sexton was exceedingly remiss in not turning him outafter discovering who he was; and a prominent pew-holder remarked, that if he couldn't take his wife and daughters to that church, withoutexposing them to such an influence, he would try to find some churchwhere he could. Another traced Mr. Oakhurst's presence to certain BroadChurch radical tendencies, which he regretted to say he had lately notedin their pastor. Deacon Sawyer, whose delicately-organized, sickly wifehad already borne him eleven children, and died in an ambitious attemptto complete the dozen, avowed that the presence of a person of Mr. Oakhurst's various and indiscriminate gallantries was an insult to thememory of the deceased, that, as a man, he could not brook. It was about this time that Mr. Oakhurst, contrasting himself with aconventional world in which he had hitherto rarely mingled, became awarethat there was something in his face, figure, and carriage quite unlikeother men, --something, that, if it did not betray his former career, atleast showed an individuality and originality that was suspicious. Inthis belief, he shaved off his long, silken mustache, and religiouslybrushed out his clustering curls every morning. He even went so far asto affect a negligence of dress, and hid his small, slim, arched feetin the largest and heaviest walking-shoes. There is a story told thathe went to his tailor in Sacramento, and asked him to make him a suitof clothes like everybody else. The tailor, familiar with Mr. Oakhurst'sfastidiousness, did not know what he meant. "I mean, " said Mr. Oakhurstsavagely, "something RESPECTABLE, --something that doesn't exactly fitme, you know. " But, however Mr. Oakhurst might hide his shapely limbsin homespun and homemade garments, there was something in his carriage, something in the pose of his beautiful head, something in the strongand fine manliness of his presence, something in the perfect and utterdiscipline and control of his muscles, something in the high repose ofhis nature, --a repose not so much a matter of intellectual ruling as ofhis very nature, --that, go where he would, and with whom, he wasalways a notable man in ten thousand. Perhaps this was never so clearlyintimated to Mr. Oakhurst, as when, emboldened by Mr. Hamilton's adviceand assistance, and his own predilections, he became a San Franciscobroker. Even before objection was made to his presence in theBoard, --the objection, I remember, was urged very eloquently by WattSanders, who was supposed to be the inventor of the "freezing-out"system of disposing of poor stockholders, and who also enjoyed thereputation of having been the impelling cause of Briggs of Tuolumne'sruin and suicide, --even before this formal protest of respectabilityagainst lawlessness, the aquiline suggestions of Mr. Oakhurst's mien andcountenance, not only prematurely fluttered the pigeons, but absolutelyoccasioned much uneasiness among the fish-hawks who circled belowhim with their booty. "Dash me! but he's as likely to go after us asanybody, " said Joe Fielding. It wanted but a few days before the close of the brief summer season atSan Isabel Warm Springs. Already there had been some migration of themore fashionable; and there was an uncomfortable suggestion of dregs andlees in the social life that remained. Mr. Oakhurst was moody. It washinted that even the secure reputation of Mrs. Decker could no longerprotect her from the gossip which his presence excited. It is but fairto her to say, that, during the last few weeks of this trying ordeal, she looked like a sweet, pale martyr, and conducted herself toward hertraducers with the gentle, forgiving manner of one who relied not uponthe idle homage of the crowd, but upon the security of a principle thatwas dearer than popular favor. "They talk about myself and Mr. Oakhurst, my dear, " she said to a friend; "but heaven and my husband can bestanswer their calumny. It never shall be said that my husband ever turnedhis back upon a friend in the moment of his adversity, because theposition was changed, --because his friend was poor, and he was rich. "This was the first intimation to the public that Jack had lost money, although it was known generally that the Deckers had lately bought somevaluable property in San Francisco. A few evenings after this, an incident occurred which seemed tounpleasantly discord with the general social harmony that had alwaysexisted at San Isabel. It was at dinner; and Mr. Oakhurst and Mr. Hamilton, who sat together at a separate table, were observed to risein some agitation. When they reached the hall, by a common instinct theystepped into a little breakfast-room which was vacant, and closed thedoor. Then Mr. Hamilton turned with a half-amused, half-serious smiletoward his friend, and said, -- "If we are to quarrel, Jack Oakhurst, --you and I, --in the name of allthat is ridiculous, don't let it be about a"-- I do not know what was the epithet intended. It was either unspokenor lost; for at that very instant Mr. Oakhurst raised a wineglass, anddashed its contents into Hamilton's face. As they faced each other, the men seemed to have changed natures. Mr. Oakhurst was trembling with excitement, and the wineglass that hereturned to the table shivered between his fingers. Mr. Hamilton stoodthere, grayish white, erect, and dripping. After a pause, he saidcoldly, -- "So be it. But remember, our quarrel commences here. If I fall by yourhand, 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; butamen, the sooner now, the better. " He turned proudly, dropped his lids over cold steel-blue eyes, as ifsheathing a rapier bowed, and passed coldly out. They met, twelve hours later, in a little hollow two miles from thehotel, on the Stockton road. As Mr. Oakhurst received his pistol fromCol. Starbottle's hands, he said to him in a low voice, "Whateverturns up or down, I shall not return to the hotel. You will find somedirections in my room. Go there"--But his voice suddenly faltered, and he turned his glistening eyes away, to his second's intenseastonishment. "I've been out a dozen times with Jack Oakhurst, " saidCol. 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 toposition. " The two reports were almost simultaneous. Mr. Oakhurst's right armdropped suddenly to his side, and his pistol would have fallen fromhis paralyzed fingers; but the discipline of trained nerve and muscleprevailed, and he kept his grasp until he had shifted it to the otherhand, without changing his position. Then there was a silence thatseemed interminable, a gathering of two or three dark figures where asmoke-curl still lazily floated, and then the hurried, husky, pantingvoice of Col. Starbottle in his ear, "He's hit hard--through the lungsyou must run for it!" Jack turned his dark, questioning eyes upon his second, but did notseem to listen, --rather seemed to hear some other voice, remoter in thedistance. He hesitated, and then made a step forward in the directionof the distant group. Then he paused again as the figures separated, andthe surgeon came hastily toward him. "He would like to speak with you a moment, " said the man. "You havelittle time to lose, I know; but, " he added in a lower voice, "it is myduty 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 arehit, " he said, glancing at Jack's helpless arm. "Nothing--a mere scratch, " said Jack hastily. Then he added with abitter laugh, "I'm not in luck to-day. But come: we'll see what hewants. " His long, feverish stride outstripped the surgeon's; and in anothermoment he stood where the dying man lay, --like most dying men, --the onecalm, composed, central figure of an anxious group. Mr. Oakhurst's facewas less calm as he dropped on one knee beside him, and took hishand. "I want to speak with this gentleman alone, " said Hamilton, withsomething of his old imperious manner, as he turned to those about him. When they drew back, he looked up in Oakhurst's face. "I've something to tell you, Jack. " His own face was white, but not so white as that which Mr. Oakhurstbent over him, --a face so ghastly, with haunting doubts, and a hopelesspresentiment of coming evil, --a face so piteous in its infiniteweariness and envy of death, that the dying man was touched, even in thelanguor of dissolution, with a pang of compassion; and the cynical smilefaded from his lips. "Forgive me, Jack, " he whispered more feebly, "for what I have to say. Idon't say it in anger, but only because it must be said. I could not domy duty to you, I could not die contented, until you knew it all. It's amiserable business at best, all around. But it can't be helped now. OnlyI ought to have fallen by Decker's pistol, and not yours. " A flush like fire came into Jack's cheek, and he would have risen; butHamilton held him fast. "Listen! In my pocket you will find two letters. Take them--there! Youwill know the handwriting. But promise you will not read them until youare in a place of safety. Promise me. " Jack did not speak, but held the letters between his fingers as if theyhad 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 youhave read them--you--will--go back--to capture--and death!" They were his last words. He pressed Jack's hand faintly. Then his grasprelaxed, and he fell back a corpse. It was nearly ten o'clock at night, and Mrs. Decker reclined languidlyupon the sofa with a novel in her hand, while her husband discussedthe politics of the country in the bar-room of the hotel. It was awarm night; and the French window looking out upon a little balcony waspartly open. Suddenly she heard a foot upon the balcony, and she raisedher eyes from the book with a slight start. The next moment the windowwas 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 littlewhile--he may return at any moment. Come an hour later, to-morrow, anytime when I can get rid of him--but go, now, dear, at once. " Mr. Oakhurst walked toward the door, bolted it, and then faced herwithout a word. His face was haggard; his coat-sleeve hung loosely overan 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 saidin 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 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 contrition, had she essayedan explanation or apology, Mr. Oakhurst would have looked upon it as anevidence of guilt. But there is no quality that courage recognizes soquickly as courage. There is no condition that desperation bows beforebut desperation. And Mr. Oakhurst's power of analysis was not so keen asto prevent him from confounding her courage with a moral quality. Evenin 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 nottake what you have given? Go on. I am ready. " She held out her hands with that same infinite grace of yielding withwhich she had taken his own on the first day of their meeting at thehotel. Jack raised his head, looked at her for one wild moment, droppedupon his knees beside her, and raised the folds of her dress to hisfeverish 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 frompressing that victory home. At the same moment, as with the impulse ofan outraged and wounded woman, she rose, and, with an imperious gesture, pointed to the window. Mr. Oakhurst rose in his turn, cast one glanceupon her, and without another word passed out of her presence forever. When he had gone, she closed the window and bolted it, and, going tothe chimney-piece, placed the letters, one by one, in the flame of thecandle 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 verybadly, and the corners of her sensitive mouth were depressed. When herhusband arrived, it was with a genuine joy that she ran to him, andnestled against his broad breast with a feeling of security thatthrilled the honest fellow to the core. "But I've heard dreadful news to-night, Elsie, " said Mr. Decker, after afew endearments were exchanged. "Don't tell me any thing dreadful, dear: I'm not well to-night, " shepleaded sweetly. "But it's about Mr. Oakhurst and Hamilton. " "Please!" Mr. Decker could not resist the petitionary grace of thosewhite hands and that sensitive mouth, and took her to his arms. Suddenlyhe said, "What's that?" He was pointing to the bosom of her white dress. Where Mr. Oakhurst hadtouched her, there was a spot of blood. It was nothing: she had slightly cut her hand in closing the window; itshut so hard! If Mr. Decker had remembered to close and bolt the shutterbefore he went out, he might have saved her this. There was such agenuine irritability and force in this remark, that Mr. Decker was quiteovercome by remorse. But Mrs. Decker forgave him with that graciousnesswhich I have before pointed out in these pages. And with the halo ofthat 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 roomsin 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 Jacklooked 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 usuallydistinguished 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 squarestrip of yellow paper covered with hieroglyphics, which, at firstglance, I innocently took to be the label from a pack of Chinesefire-crackers. But the same envelope also contained a smaller strip ofrice-paper, with two Chinese characters traced in India ink, that Iat once knew to be Hop Sing's visiting-card. The whole, as afterwardsliterally translated, ran as follows:-- "To the stranger the gates of my house are not closed: the rice-jar ison the left, and the sweetmeats 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 afestival. 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. " Admirable, certainly, as was this morality and proverbial wisdom, andalthough this last axiom was very characteristic of my friend Hop Sing, who was that most sombre of all humorists, a Chinese philosopher, I mustconfess, that, even after a very free translation, I was at a loss tomake any immediate application of the message. Luckily I discovered athird enclosure in the shape of a little note in English, and Hop Sing'sown commercial hand. It ran thus:-- "The pleasure of your company is requested at No. -- Sacramento 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, theopening and exhibition of some rare Chinese novelties and curios, a chatin the back office, a cup of tea of a perfection unknown beyond thesesacred precincts, cigars, and a visit to the Chinese theatre or temple. This was, in fact, the favorite programme of Hop Sing when he exercisedhis functions of hospitality as the chief factor or superintendent ofthe Ning Foo Company. At eight o'clock on Friday evening, I entered the warehouse of Hop Sing. There was that deliciously commingled mysterious foreign odor that I hadso often noticed; there was the old array of uncouth-looking objects, the long procession of jars and crockery, the same singular blending ofthe grotesque and the mathematically neat and exact, the same endlesssuggestions of frivolity and fragility, the same want of harmony incolors, that were each, in themselves, beautiful and rare. Kites in theshape of enormous dragons and gigantic butterflies; kites so ingeniouslyarranged as to utter at intervals, when facing the wind, the cry of ahawk; kites so large as to be beyond any boy's power of restraint, --solarge that you understood why kite-flying in China was an amusement foradults; gods of china and bronze so gratuitously ugly as to be beyondany human interest or sympathy from their very impossibility; jars ofsweetmeats covered all over with moral sentiments from Confucius; hatsthat looked like baskets, and baskets that looked like hats; silks solight that I hesitate to record the incredible number of square yardsthat you might pass through the ring on your little finger, --these, anda great many other indescribable objects, were all familiar to me. Ipushed my way through the dimly-lighted warehouse, until I reached theback office, or parlor, where I found Hop Sing waiting to receive me. Before I describe him, I want the average reader to discharge fromhis mind any idea of a Chinaman that he may have gathered from thepantomime. He did not wear beautifully scalloped drawers fringed withlittle bells (I never met a Chinaman who did); he did not habituallycarry his forefinger extended before him at right angles with his body;nor did I ever hear him utter the mysterious sentence, "Ching a ringa ring chaw;" nor dance under any provocation. He was, on the whole, a rather grave, decorous, handsome gentleman. His complexion, whichextended all over his head, except where his long pig-tail grew, waslike a very nice piece of glazed brown paper-muslin. His eyes were blackand bright, and his eyelids set at an angle of fifteen degrees; his nosestraight, and delicately formed; his mouth small; and his teeth whiteand clean. He wore a dark blue silk blouse; and in the streets, on colddays, a short jacket of astrachan fur. He wore, also, a pair of drawersof blue brocade gathered tightly over his calves and ankles, offeringa general sort of suggestion, that he had forgotten his trousers thatmorning, but that, so gentlemanly were his manners, his friends hadforborne to mention the fact to him. His manner was urbane, althoughquite serious. He spoke French and English fluently. In brief, I doubtif you could have found the equal of this Pagan shopkeeper among theChristian traders of San Francisco. There were a few others present, --a judge of the Federal Court, aneditor, a high government official, and a prominent merchant. After wehad drunk our tea, and tasted a few sweetmeats from a mysterious jar, that looked as if it might contain a preserved mouse among its othernondescript treasures, Hop Sing arose, and, gravely beckoning us tofollow him, began to descend to the basement. When we got there, we wereamazed at finding it brilliantly lighted, and that a number of chairswere arranged in a half-circle on the asphalt pavement. When he hadcourteously seated us, he said, -- "I have invited you to witness a performance which I can at leastpromise you no other foreigners but yourselves have ever seen. Wang, the court-juggler, arrived here yesterday morning. He has never given aperformance outside of the palace before. I have asked him to entertainmy friends this evening. He requires no theatre, stage accessories, orany confederate, --nothing more than you see here. Will you be pleased toexamine the ground yourselves, gentlemen. " Of course we examined the premises. It was the ordinary basement orcellar of the San Francisco storehouse, cemented to keep out the damp. We poked our sticks into the pavement, and rapped on the walls, tosatisfy our polite host--but for no other purpose. We were quite contentto be the victims of any clever deception. For myself, I knew I wasready to be deluded to any extent, and, if I had been offered anexplanation of what followed, I should have probably declined it. Although I am satisfied that Wang's general performance was the first ofthat kind ever given on American soil, it has, probably, since become sofamiliar 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 numberof butterflies, made before our eyes of little bits of tissue-paper, andkept them in the air during the remainder of the performance. I have avivid recollection of the judge trying to catch one that had lit on hisknee, and of its evading him with the pertinacity of a living insect. And, even at this time, Wang, still plying his fan, was taking chickensout of hats, making oranges disappear, pulling endless yards of silkfrom his sleeve, apparently filling the whole area of the basement withgoods that appeared mysteriously from the ground, from his own sleeves, from nowhere! He swallowed knives to the ruin of his digestion for yearsto come; he dislocated every limb of his body; he reclined in the air, apparently upon nothing. But his crowning performance, which I havenever yet seen repeated, was the most weird, mysterious, and astounding. It is my apology for this long introduction, my sole excuse for writingthis article, and the genesis of this veracious history. He cleared the ground of its encumbering articles for a space of aboutfifteen feet square, and then invited us all to walk forward, andagain examine it. We did so gravely. There was nothing but the cementedpavement below to be seen or felt. He then asked for the loan of ahandkerchief; and, as I chanced to be nearest him, I offered mine. Hetook it, and spread it open upon the floor. Over this he spread a largesquare of silk, and over this, again, a large shawl nearly covering thespace he had cleared. He then took a position at one of the points ofthis rectangle, and began a monotonous chant, rocking his body to andfro in time with the somewhat lugubrious air. We sat still and waited. Above the chant we could hear the strikingof the city clocks, and the occasional rattle of a cart in the streetoverhead. The absolute watchfulness and expectation, the dim, mysterioushalf-light of the cellar falling in a grewsome way upon the misshapenbulk of a Chinese deity in the back ground, a faint smell of opium-smokemingling with spice, and the dreadful uncertainty of what we were reallywaiting for, sent an uncomfortable thrill down our backs, and made uslook at each other with a forced and unnatural smile. This feeling washeightened when Hop Sing slowly rose, and, without a word, pointed withhis finger to the centre of the shawl. There was something beneath the shawl. Surely--and something that wasnot there before; at first a mere suggestion in relief, a faint outline, but growing more and more distinct and visible every moment. The chantstill continued; the perspiration began to roll from the singer's face;gradually the hidden object took upon itself a shape and bulk thatraised the shawl in its centre some five or six inches. It was nowunmistakably the outline of a small but perfect human figure, withextended arms and legs. One or two of us turned pale. There was afeeling of general uneasiness, until the editor broke the silence by agibe, that, poor as it was, was received with spontaneous enthusiasm. Then the chant suddenly ceased. Wang arose, and with a quick, dexterousmovement, stripped both shawl and silk away, and discovered, sleepingpeacefully upon my handkerchief, a tiny Chinese baby. The applause and uproar which followed this revelation ought to havesatisfied Wang, even if his audience was a small one: it was loud enoughto awaken the baby, --a pretty little boy about a year old, lookinglike a Cupid cut out of sandal-wood. He was whisked away almost asmysteriously as he appeared. When Hop Sing returned my handkerchief tome with a bow, I asked if the juggler was the father of the baby. "Nosabe!" said the imperturbable Hop Sing, taking refuge in that Spanishform of non-committalism so common in California. "But does he have a new baby for every performance?" 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 bornhere: you are its godfathers. " There were two characteristic peculiarities of any Californianassemblage in 1856, --it was quick to take a hint, and generous to thepoint of prodigality in its response to any charitable appeal. Nomatter how sordid or avaricious the individual, he could not resist theinfection of sympathy. I doubled the points of my handkerchief intoa bag, dropped a coin into it, and, without a word, passed it to thejudge. He quietly added a twenty-dollar gold-piece, and passed it to thenext. When it was returned to me, it contained over a hundred dollars. Iknotted 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, " "Plutus, " "Terra Cotta, " "Antaeus, " &c. Finally the question wasreferred 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 form of "The Northern Star" for the 19th of July, 1865, --theonly daily paper published in Klamath County, --had just gone to press;and at three, A. M. , I was putting aside my proofs and manuscripts, preparatory to going home, when I discovered a letter lying undersome sheets of paper, which I must have overlooked. The envelope wasconsiderably soiled: it had no post-mark; but I had no difficulty inrecognizing the hand of my friend Hop Sing. I opened it hurriedly, andread 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 technicalone, 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 repeatit, whether it is an offence or a virtue. But you certainly know himalready. You are one of his godfathers; for is he not Wan Lee, thereputed son of Wang the conjurer, to whose performances I had the honorto introduce you? But perhaps you have forgotten it. "I shall send him with a gang of coolies to Stockton, thence by expressto your town. If you can use him there, you will do me a favor, andprobably save his life, which is at present in great peril from thehands of the younger members of your Christian and highly-civilized racewho attend the enlightened schools in San Francisco. "He has acquired some singular habits and customs from his experienceof Wang's profession, which he followed for some years, --until he becametoo large to go in a hat, or be produced from his father's sleeve. Themoney you left with me has been expended on his education. He has gonethrough the Tri-literal Classics, but, I think, without much benefit. Heknows but little of Confucius, and absolutely nothing of Mencius. Owingto the negligence of his father, he associated, perhaps, too much withAmerican children. "I should have answered your letter before, by post; but I thought thatWan Lee himself would be a better messenger for this. "Yours respectfully, "HOP SING. " And this was the long-delayed answer to my letter to Hop Sing. But wherewas "the bearer"? How was the letter delivered? I summoned hastily theforeman, printers, and office-boy, but without eliciting any thing. Noone had seen the letter delivered, nor knew any thing of the bearer. Afew 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, aboutten years old, with whose appearance and general intelligence I was sogreatly impressed, that I engaged him on the spot. When the business wasconcluded, I asked his name. "Wan Lee, " said the boy. "What! Are you the boy sent out by Hop Sing? What the devil do you meanby not coming here before? and how did you deliver that letter?" Wan Lee looked at me, and laughed. "Me pitchee in top side window. " I did not understand. He looked for a moment perplexed, and then, snatching the letter out of my hand, ran down the stairs. After amoment's pause, to my great astonishment, the letter came flying in thewindow, circled twice around the room, and then dropped gently, likea bird upon my table. Before I had got over my surprise, Wan Leere-appeared, smiled, looked at the letter and then at me, said, "So, John, " and then remained gravely silent. I said nothing further; but itwas understood that this was his first official act. His next performance, I grieve to say, was not attended with equalsuccess. One of our regular paper-carriers fell sick, and, at a pinch, Wan Lee was ordered to fill his place. To prevent mistakes, he was shownover the route the previous evening, and supplied at about daylight withthe usual number of subscribers' copies. He returned, after an hour, in good spirits, and without the papers. He had delivered them all, hesaid. Unfortunately for Wan Lee, at about eight o'clock, indignant subscribersbegan 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 de force, through the glass of bedroom-windows. They hadreceived them full in the face, like a base ball, if they happened to beup and stirring; they had received them in quarter-sheets, tucked in atseparate windows; they had found them in the chimney, pinned againstthe door, shot through attic-windows, delivered in long slips throughconvenient keyholes, stuffed into ventilators, and occupying the samecan with the morning's milk. One subscriber, who waited for some timeat the office-door to have a personal interview with Wan Lee (thencomfortably locked in my bedroom), told me, with tears of rage inhis eyes, that he had been awakened at five o'clock by a most hideousyelling below his windows; that, on rising in great agitation, he wasstartled by the sudden appearance of "The Northern Star, " rolled hard, and bent into the form of a boomerang, or East-Indian club, that sailedinto the window, described a number of fiendish circles in the room, knocked over the light, slapped the baby's face, "took" him (thesubscriber) "in the jaw, " and then returned out of the window, anddropped helplessly in the area. During the rest of the day, wads andstrips of soiled paper, purporting to be copies of "The Northern Star"of that morning's issue, were brought indignantly to the office. Anadmirable editorial on "The Resources of Humboldt County, " which I hadconstructed 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 lost tothe public. It was deemed advisable for the next three weeks to keep Wan Lee closelyconfined to the printing-office, and the purely mechanical part of thebusiness. Here he developed a surprising quickness and adaptability, winning even the favor and good will of the printers and foreman, whoat first looked upon his introduction into the secrets of their trade asfraught with the gravest political significance. He learned to set typereadily and neatly, his wonderful skill in manipulation aiding him inthe mere mechanical act, and his ignorance of the language confining himsimply to the mechanical effort, confirming the printer's axiom, thatthe printer who considers or follows the ideas of his copy makes a poorcompositor. He would set up deliberately long diatribes against himself, composed by his fellow-printers, and hung on his hook as copy, and evensuch short sentences as "Wan Lee is the devil's own imp, " "Wan Lee is aMongolian rascal, " and bring the proof to me with happiness beaming fromevery tooth, and satisfaction shining in his huckleberry eyes. It was not long, however, before he learned to retaliate on hismischievous persecutors. I remember one instance in which his reprisalcame very near involving me in a serious misunderstanding. Our foreman'sname was Webster; and Wan Lee presently learned to know and recognizethe individual and combined letters of his name. It was during apolitical campaign; and the eloquent and fiery Col. Starbottle ofSiskyou had delivered an effective speech, which was reported especiallyfor "The Northern Star. " In a very sublime peroration, Col. Starbottlehad said, "In the language of the godlike Webster, I repeat"--and herefollowed the quotation, which I have forgotten. Now, it chanced that WanLee, looking over the galley after it had been revised, saw the name ofhis chief persecutor, and, of course, imagined the quotation his. Afterthe form was locked up, Wan Lee took advantage of Webster's absence toremove the quotation, and substitute a thin piece of lead, of the samesize as the type, engraved with Chinese characters, making a sentence, which, I had reason to believe, was an utter and abject confession ofthe incapacity and offensiveness of the Webster family generally, andexceedingly eulogistic of Wan Lee himself personally. The next morning's paper contained Col. Starbottle'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. Therage of Col. Starbottle knew no bounds. I have a vivid recollection ofthat admirable man walking into my office, and demanding a retraction ofthe statement. "But my dear sir, " I asked, "are you willing to deny, over your ownsignature, that Webster ever uttered such a sentence? Dare you deny, that, with Mr. Webster's well-known attainments, a knowledge of Chinesemight not have been among the number? Are you willing to submit atranslation suitable to the capacity of our readers, and deny, uponyour honor as a gentleman, that the late Mr. Webster ever uttered such asentiment? If you are, sir, I am willing to publish your denial. " 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 beamingwith 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 weekafter the occurrence, I called Wan Lee into my office. "Wan, " I said gravely, "I should like you to give me, for my ownpersonal satisfaction, a translation of that Chinese sentence whichmy gifted countryman, the late godlike Webster, uttered upon a publicoccasion. " Wan Lee looked at me intently, and then the slightestpossible twinkle crept into his black eyes. Then he replied with equalgravity, -- "Mishtel Webstel, he say, 'China boy makee me belly much foolee. Chinaboy makee me heap sick. '" Which I have reason to think was true. But I fear I am giving but one side, and not the best, of Wan Lee'scharacter. As he imparted it to me, his had been a hard life. He hadknown scarcely any childhood: he had no recollection of a father ormother. The conjurer Wang had brought him up. He had spent the firstseven years of his life in appearing from baskets, in dropping out ofhats, in climbing ladders, in putting his little limbs out of joint inposturing. He had lived in an atmosphere of trickery and deception. Hehad learned to look upon mankind as dupes of their senses: in fine, ifhe had thought at all, he would have been a sceptic; if he had been alittle older, he would have been a cynic; if he had been older still, he would have been a philosopher. As it was, he was a little imp. Agood-natured imp it was, too, --an imp whose moral nature had neverbeen awakened, --an imp up for a holiday, and willing to try virtue asa diversion. I don't know that he had any spiritual nature. He was verysuperstitious. 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 orgratuitous lying. Whatever discipline he practised was taught by hisintellect. I am inclined to think that his feelings were not altogetherunimpressible, although it was almost impossible to extract anexpression from him; and I conscientiously believe he became attachedto those that were good to him. What he might have become under morefavorable conditions than the bondsman of an overworked, under-paidliterary man, I don't know: I only know that the scant, irregular, impulsive kindnesses that I showed him were gratefully received. Hewas very loyal and patient, two qualities rare in the average Americanservant. He was like Malvolio, "sad and civil" with me. Only once, and then under great provocation, do I remember of his exhibiting anyimpatience. It was my habit, after leaving the office at night, to takehim with me to my rooms, as the bearer of any supplemental or happyafter-thought, in the editorial way, that might occur to me before thepaper went to press. One night I had been scribbling away past theusual hour of dismissing Wan Lee, and had become quite oblivious ofhis presence in a chair near my door, when suddenly I became aware ofa voice saying in plaintive accents, something that sounded like "ChyLee. " 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"good-night, " and that Wan Lee was anxious to go home. But an instinctof mischief, which, I fear, I possessed in common with him, impelledme to act as if oblivious of the hint. I muttered something about notunderstanding him, and again bent over my work. In a few minutes I heardhis wooden shoes pattering pathetically over the floor. I looked up. Hewas standing near the door. "You no sabe, 'Chy Lee'?" "No, " I said sternly. "You sabe muchee big foolee! allee same!" 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 hisoffence. As a probable peace-offering, he blacked all my boots, --a dutynever required of him, --including a pair of buff deer-skin slippersand an immense pair of horseman's jack-boots, on which he indulged hisremorse for two hours. I have spoken of his honesty as being a quality of his intellect ratherthan his principle, but I recall about this time two exceptions to therule. I was anxious to get some fresh eggs as a change to the heavydiet of a mining-town; and, knowing that Wan Lee's countrymen were greatpoultry-raisers, I applied to him. He furnished me with them regularlyevery morning, but refused to take any pay, saying that the man did notsell them, --a remarkable instance of self-abnegation, as eggs were thenworth half a dollar apiece. One morning my neighbor Forster dropped inupon me at breakfast, and took occasion to bewail his own ill fortune, as his hens had lately stopped laying, or wandered off in the bush. WanLee, who was present during our colloquy, preserved his characteristicsad taciturnity. When my neighbor had gone, he turned to me with aslight chuckle: "Flostel's hens--Wan Lee's hens allee same!" Hisother offence was more serious and ambitious. It was a season of greatirregularities in the mails, and Wan Lee had heard me deplore the delayin the delivery of my letters and newspapers. On arriving at my officeone day, I was amazed to find my table covered with letters, evidentlyjust from the post-office, but, unfortunately, not one addressed to me. I turned to Wan Lee, who was surveying them with a calm satisfaction, and demanded an explanation. To my horror he pointed to an emptymail-bag in the corner, and said, "Postman he say, 'No lettee, John; nolettee, John. ' Postman plentee lie! Postman no good. Me catchee letteelast night allee same!" Luckily it was still early: the mails had notbeen distributed. I had a hurried interview with the postmaster; andWan Lee's bold attempt at robbing the United States mail was finallycondoned by the purchase of a new mail-bag, and the whole affair thuskept a secret. If my liking for my little Pagan page had not been sufficient, my dutyto Hop Sing was enough, to cause me to take Wan Lee with me when Ireturned to San Francisco after my two years' experience with "TheNorthern 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 acircuit of the outskirts), to his dislike for the discipline of theChinese and English school to which I proposed to send him, to hisfondness for the free, vagrant life of the mines, to sheer wilfulness. That it might have been a superstitious premonition did not occur to meuntil long after. Nevertheless it really seemed as if the opportunity I had long lookedfor and confidently expected had come, --the opportunity of placing WanLee under gently restraining influences, of subjecting him to a life andexperience that would draw out of him what good my superficial care andill-regulated kindness could not reach. Wan Lee was placed at the schoolof a Chinese missionary, --an intelligent and kind-hearted clergyman, who had shown great interest in the boy, and who, better than all, hada wonderful faith in him. A home was found for him in the family of awidow, who had a bright and interesting daughter about two years youngerthan Wan Lee. It was this bright, cheery, innocent, and artless childthat touched and reached a depth in the boy's nature that hitherto hadbeen unsuspected; that awakened a moral susceptibility which had lainfor years insensible alike to the teachings of society, or the ethics ofthe theologian. These few brief months--bright with a promise that we never sawfulfilled--must have been happy ones to Wan Lee. He worshipped hislittle friend with something of the same superstition, but without anyof the caprice, that he bestowed upon his porcelain Pagan god. It washis delight to walk behind her to school, carrying her books--a servicealways fraught with danger to him from the little hands of his CaucasianChristian brothers. He made her the most marvellous toys; he would cutout of carrots and turnips the most astonishing roses and tulips; hemade life-like chickens out of melon-seeds; he constructed fans andkites, and was singularly proficient in the making of dolls' paperdresses. On the other hand, she played and sang to him, taught him athousand little prettinesses and refinements only known to girls, gavehim a yellow ribbon for his pig-tail, as best suiting his complexion, read to him, showed him wherein he was original and valuable, took himto Sunday school with her, against the precedents of the school, and, small-woman-like, triumphed. I wish I could add here, that she effectedhis conversion, and made him give up his porcelain idol. But I amtelling a true story; and this little girl was quite content to fill himwith her own Christian goodness, without letting him know that he waschanged. So they got along very well together, --this little Christiangirl with her shining cross hanging around her plump, white little neck;and this dark little Pagan, with his hideous porcelain god hidden awayin his blouse. There were two days of that eventful year which will long be rememberedin San Francisco, --two days when a mob of her citizens set upon andkilled unarmed, defenceless foreigners because they were foreigners, and of another race, religion, and color, and worked for what wages theycould get. There were some public men so timid, that, seeing this, theythought that the end of the world had come. There were some eminentstatesmen, whose names I am ashamed to write here, who began tothink that the passage in the Constitution which guarantees civil andreligious liberty to every citizen or foreigner was a mistake. Butthere were, also, some men who were not so easily frightened; and intwenty-four hours we had things so arranged, that the timid men couldwring their hands in safety, and the eminent statesmen utter theirdoubts without hurting any body or any thing. And in the midst of this Igot a note from Hop Sing, asking me to come to him immediately. I found his warehouse closed, and strongly guarded by the police againstany possible attack of the rioters. Hop Sing admitted me through abarred grating with his usual imperturbable calm, but, as it seemed tome, with more than his usual seriousness. Without a word, he took myhand, and led me to the rear of the room, and thence down stairs intothe basement. It was dimly lighted; but there was something lying on thefloor covered by a shawl. As I approached he drew the shawl away with asudden gesture, and revealed Wan Lee, the Pagan, lying there dead. Dead, my reverend friends, dead, --stoned to death in the streets of SanFrancisco, in the year of grace 1869, by a mob of half-grown boys andChristian school-children! As I put my hand reverently upon his breast, I felt something crumblingbeneath his blouse. I looked inquiringly at Hop Sing. He put his handbetween the folds of silk, and drew out something with the first bittersmile 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 ofthose Christian iconoclasts! HOW OLD MAN PLUNKETT WENT HOME I think we all loved him. Even after he mismanaged the affairs of theAmity Ditch Company, we commiserated him, although most of us werestockholders, and lost heavily. I remember that the blacksmith went sofar as to say that "them chaps as put that responsibility on the old manoughter be lynched. " But the blacksmith was not a stockholder; and theexpression was looked upon as the excusable extravagance of a large, sympathizing nature, that, when combined with a powerful frame, wasunworthy of notice. At least, that was the way they put it. Yet Ithink there was a general feeling of regret that this misfortune wouldinterfere with the old man's long-cherished plan of "going home. " Indeed, for the last ten years he had been "going home. " He was goinghome after a six-months' sojourn at Monte Flat; he was going home afterthe first rains; he was going home when the rains were over; he wasgoing home when he had cut the timber on Buckeye Hill, when there waspasture on Dow's Flat, when he struck pay-dirt on Eureka Hill, when theAmity Company paid its first dividend, when the election was over, whenhe had received an answer from his wife. And so the years rolled by, thespring rains came and went, the woods of Buckeye Hill were level withthe ground, the pasture on Dow's Flat grew sear and dry, Eureka Hillyielded its pay-dirt and swamped its owner, the first dividends of theAmity Company were made from the assessments of stockholders, there werenew county officers at Monte Flat, his wife's answer had changed into apersistent question, and still old man Plunkett remained. It is only fair to say that he had made several distinct essays towardgoing. Five years before, he had bidden good-by to Monte Hill with mucheffusion and hand-shaking. But he never got any farther than the nexttown. Here he was induced to trade the sorrel colt he was riding for abay mare, --a transaction that at once opened to his lively fancy a vistaof vast and successful future speculation. A few days after, Abner Deanof Angel's received a letter from him, stating that he was going toVisalia to buy horses. "I am satisfied, " wrote Plunkett, with thatelevated rhetoric for which his correspondence was remarkable, --"Iam satisfied that we are at last developing the real resourcesof California. The world will yet look to Dow's Flat as the greatstock-raising centre. In view of the interests involved, I have deferredmy departure for a month. " It was two before he again returned tous--penniless. Six months later, he was again enabled to start for theEastern States; and this time he got as far as San Francisco. I havebefore me a letter which I received a few days after his arrival, fromwhich I venture to give an extract: "You know, my dear boy, that I havealways believed that gambling, as it is absurdly called, is still in itsinfancy in California. I have always maintained that a perfect systemmight be invented, by which the game of poker may be made to yield acertain percentage to the intelligent player. I am not at liberty atpresent to disclose the system; but before leaving this city I intend toperfect it. " He seems to have done so, and returned to Monte Flatwith two dollars and thirty-seven cents, the absolute remainder of hiscapital after such perfection. It was not until 1868 that he appeared to have finally succeeded ingoing home. He left us by the overland route, --a route which he declaredwould give great opportunity for the discovery of undeveloped resources. His last letter was dated Virginia City. He was absent three years. Atthe close of a very hot day in midsummer, he alighted from the Wingdamstage, with hair and beard powdered with dust and age. There was acertain shyness about his greeting, quite different from his usualfrank volubility, that did not, however, impress us as any accessionof character. For some days he was reserved regarding his recent visit, contenting himself with asserting, with more or less aggressiveness, that he had "always said he was going home, and now he had been there. "Later he grew more communicative, and spoke freely and critically ofthe manners and customs of New York and Boston, commented on the socialchanges in the years of his absence, and, I remember, was very hard uponwhat he deemed the follies incidental to a high state of civilization. Still later he darkly alluded to the moral laxity of the higher planesof Eastern society; but it was not long before he completely tore awaythe veil, and revealed the naked wickedness of New York social life in away I even now shudder to recall. Vinous intoxication, it appeared, wasa common habit of the first ladies of the city. Immoralities which hescarcely dared name were daily practised by the refined of both sexes. Niggardliness and greed were the common vices of the rich. "I havealways asserted, " he continued, "that corruption must exist where luxuryand riches are rampant, and capital is not used to develop the naturalresources of the country. Thank you--I will take mine without sugar. "It is possible that some of these painful details crept into the localjournals. I remember an editorial in "The Monte Flat Monitor, " entitled"The Effete East, " in which the fatal decadence of New York and NewEngland was elaborately stated, and California offered as a means ofnatural salvation. "Perhaps, " said "The Monitor, " "we might add thatCalaveras County offers superior inducements to the Eastern visitor withcapital. " Later he spoke of his family. The daughter he had left a child had growninto beautiful womanhood. The son was already taller and larger than hisfather; and, in a playful trial of strength, "the young rascal, "added Plunkett, with a voice broken with paternal pride and humorousobjurgation, had twice thrown his doting parent to the ground. But itwas of his daughter he chiefly spoke. Perhaps emboldened by theevident interest which masculine Monte Flat held in feminine beauty, heexpatiated at some length on her various charms and accomplishments, andfinally produced her photograph, --that of a very pretty girl, --to theirinfinite peril. But his account of his first meeting with her was sopeculiar, 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 ableto tell his own flesh and blood by instinct. It's ten years since I'dseen 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 daughter, like other folks? No, sir! I riggedmyself up as a peddler, as a peddler, sir; and I rung the bell. When theservant came to the door, I wanted--don't you see?--to show the ladiessome trinkets. Then there was a voice over the banister says, 'Don'twant any thing: send him away. '--'Some nice laces, ma'am, smuggled, 'I says, looking up. 'Get out, you wretch!' says she. I knew the voice, boys: it was my wife, sure as a gun. Thar wasn't any instinct thar. 'Maybe the young ladies want somethin', ' I said. 'Did you hear me?' saysshe; 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 madethis speech; but at this point he half faced his auditors with a lookthat was very effective. Indeed, a few who had exhibited some signsof scepticism and lack of interest, at once assumed an appearance ofintense gratification and curiosity as he went on, -- "Well, by hangin round there for a day or two, I found out at last itwas to be Melindy's birthday next week, and that she was goin' to havea 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; andthere 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 adraft for ten thousand dollars. I always said that, didn't I? Eh? And Isaid I was goin' home--and I've been home, haven't I? Well?" Either there was something irresistibly conclusive in this logic, orelse the desire to hear the remainder of Plunkett's story was stronger;but there was no more interruption. His ready good-humor quicklyreturned, and, with a slight chuckle, he went on, -- "I went to the biggest jewelry shop in town, and I bought a pair ofdiamond ear-rings, and put them in my pocket, and went to the house. 'What name?' says the chap who opened the door; and he looked like across 'twixt a restaurant waiter and a parson. 'Skeesicks, ' said I. Hetakes me in; and pretty soon my wife comes sailin' into the parlor, and says, 'Excuse me; but I don't think I recognize the name. ' She wasmighty polite; for I had on a red wig and side-whiskers. 'A friend ofyour husband's from California, ma'am, with a present for your daughter, Miss--, ' and I made as I had forgot the name. But all of a sudden avoice said, 'That's too thin;' and in walked Melindy. 'It's playin' itrather low down, father, to pretend you don't know your daughter's name;ain't it, now? How are you, old man?' And with that she tears off my wigand whiskers, and throws her arms around my neck--instinct, sir, pureinstinct!" Emboldened by the laughter which followed his description of the filialutterances of Melinda, he again repeated her speech, with more or lesselaboration, joining in with, and indeed often leading, the hilaritythat accompanied it, and returning to it, with more or less incoherency, several times during the evening. And so, at various times and at various places, but chiefly inbar-rooms, did this Ulysses of Monte Flat recount the story of hiswanderings. There were several discrepancies in his statement; there wassometimes considerable prolixity of detail; there was occasional changeof character and scenery; there was once or twice an absolute change inthe denoument: but always the fact of his having visited his wife andchildren remained. Of course, in a sceptical community like that ofMonte Flat, --a community accustomed to great expectation and smallrealization, --a community wherein, to use the local dialect, "theygot the color, and struck hardpan, " more frequently than any othermining-camp, --in such a community, the fullest credence was not givento old man Plunkett's facts. There was only one exception to thegeneral unbelief, --Henry York of Sandy Bar. It was he who was alwaysan attentive listener; it was his scant purse that had often furnishedPlunkett with means to pursue his unprofitable speculations; it was tohim that the charms of Melinda were more frequently rehearsed; it was hethat had borrowed her photograph; and it was he that, sitting alone inhis little cabin one night, kissed that photograph, until his honest, handsome face glowed again in the firelight. It was dusty in Monte Flat. The ruins of the long dry season werecrumbling everywhere: everywhere the dying summer had strewn its redashes a foot deep, or exhaled its last breath in a red cloud above thetroubled highways. The alders and cottonwoods, that marked the line ofthe water-courses, were grimy with dust, and looked as if they mighthave taken root in the open air. The gleaming stones of the parchedwater-courses themselves were as dry bones in the valley of death. Thedusty sunset at times painted the flanks of the distant hills a dull, coppery hue: on other days, there was an odd, indefinable earthquakehalo 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, drivingevery thing, including the shrivelled summer, like a curled leaf beforeit, swept down the flanks of the Sierras, and chased the inhabitants tothe 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 thewheels of material progress in Monte Flat, most of the inhabitants weregathered listlessly in the gilded bar-room of the Moquelumne Hotel, spitting silently at the red-hot stove that tempered the mountain windsto the shorn lambs of Monte Flat, and waiting for the rain. Every method known to the Flat of beguiling the time until the advent ofthis long-looked-for phenomenon had been tried. It is true, the methodswere not many, being limited chiefly to that form of popular facetiaeknown as practical joking; and even this had assumed the seriousnessof a business-pursuit. Tommy Roy, who had spent two hours in digginga ditch in front of his own door, into which a few friends casuallydropped during the evening, looked ennuye and dissatisfied. The fourprominent citizens, who, disguised as foot-pads, had stopped the countytreasurer on the Wingdam road, were jaded from their playful effortsnext morning. The principal physician and lawyer of Monte Flat, who hadentered into an unhallowed conspiracy to compel the sheriff of Calaverasand his posse to serve a writ of ejectment on a grizzly bear, feeblydisguised under the name of one "Major Ursus, " who haunted the grovesof Heavytree Hill, wore an expression of resigned weariness. Even theeditor of "The Monte Flat Monitor, " who had that morning written aglowing account of a battle with the Wipneck Indians, for the benefitof Eastern readers, --even HE looked grave and worn. When, at last, AbnerDean of Angel's, who had been on a visit to San Francisco, walked intothe room, he was, of course, victimized in the usual way by one or twoapparently honest questions, which ended in his answering them, and thenfalling into the trap of asking another, to his utter and complete shameand mortification; but that was all. Nobody laughed; and Abner, although a victim, did not lose his good-humor. He turned quietly on histormentors, and said, -- "I've got something better than that--you know old man Plunkett?" Everybody simultaneously spat at the stove, and nodded his head. "You know he went home three years ago?" Two or three changed theposition of their legs from the backs of different chairs; and one mansaid, "Yes. " "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?" saidAbner 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 beensitting near him, and evidently encouraging him with a look of interest, now shamelessly abandoned him and looked another way. Henry York flusheda little, and veiled his gray eyes. The man hesitated, and then with asickly smile, that was intended to convey the fact that he was perfectlyaware of the object of this questioning, and was only humoring it fromabstract good feeling, returned, "Yes, " again. "Sent home--let's see--ten thousand dollars, wasn't it?" Abner Dean wenton. "Yes, " reiterated the man with the same smile. "Well, I thought so, " said Abner quietly. "But the fact is, you see, that he never went home at all--nary time. " Everybody stared at Abner in genuine surprise and interest, as, withprovoking calmness and a half-lazy manner, he went on, -- "You see, thar was a man down in 'Frisco as knowed him, and saw him inSonora during the whole of that three years. He was herding sheep, ortending 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 RockyMountains since '49. " The laugh which Abner Dean had the right to confidently expect came;but it was bitter and sardonic. I think indignation was apparent in theminds of his hearers. It was felt, for the first time, that there wasa limit to practical joking. A deception carried on for a year, compromising the sagacity of Monte Flat, was deserving the severestreprobation. Of course, nobody had believed Plunkett; but then thesupposition that it might be believed in adjacent camps that theyHAD believed him was gall and bitterness. The lawyer thought that anindictment for obtaining money under false pretences might be found. Thephysician had long suspected him of insanity, and was not certain butthat he ought to be confined. The four prominent merchants thought thatthe business-interests of Monte Flat demanded that something should bedone. In the midst of an excited and angry discussion, the door slowlyopened, and old man Plunkett staggered into the room. He had changed pitifully in the last six months. His hair was a dusty, yellowish gray, like the chemisal on the flanks of Heavytree Hill; hisface was waxen white, and blue and puffy under the eyes; his clotheswere soiled and shabby, streaked in front with the stains ofhurriedly eaten luncheons, and fluffy behind with the wool and hair ofhurriedly-extemporized couches. In obedience to that odd law, that, themore seedy and soiled a man's garments become, the less does he seeminclined to part with them, even during that portion of the twenty-fourhours when they are deemed less essential, Plunkett's clothes hadgradually taken on the appearance of a kind of a bark, or an outgrowthfrom within, for which their possessor was not entirely responsible. Howbeit, as he entered the room, he attempted to button his coat overa dirty shirt, and passed his fingers, after the manner of some animal, over his cracker-strewn beard, in recognition of a cleanly publicsentiment. But, even as he did so, the weak smile faded from hislips; and his hand, after fumbling aimlessly around a button, droppedhelplessly at his side. For as he leaned his back against the bar, andfaced the group, he, for the first time, became aware that every eye butone was fixed upon him. His quick, nervous apprehension at once leapedto the truth. His miserable secret was out, and abroad in the very airabout him. As a last resort, he glanced despairingly at Henry York; buthis flushed face was turned toward the windows. No word was spoken. As the bar-keeper silently swung a decanter andglass before him, he took a cracker from a dish, and mumbled it withaffected unconcern. He lingered over his liquor until its potencystiffened his relaxed sinews, and dulled the nervous edge of hisapprehension, and then he suddenly faced around. "It don't look as if wewere goin' to hev any rain much afore Christmas, " he said with defiantease. No one made any reply. "Just like this in '52, and again in '60. It's always been my opinionthat these dry seasons come reg'lar. I've said it afore. I say it again. It's jist as I said about going home, you know, " he added with desperaterecklessness. "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 ezsez you hain't seen your wife and daughter since '49. Thar's a man ezsez 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 turned as Henry York slowlyrose, stretching out his six feet of length, and, brushing away theashes that had fallen from his pipe upon his breast, deliberately placedhimself beside Plunkett, and faced the others. "That man ain't here, " continued Abner Dean, with listless indifferenceof voice, and a gentle pre-occupation of manner, as he carelesslyallowed his right hand to rest on his hip near his revolver. "That manain't here; but, if I'm called upon to make good what he says, why, I'mon hand. " All rose as the two men--perhaps the least externally agitated of themall--approached each other. The lawyer stepped in between them. "Perhaps there's some mistake here. York, do you KNOW that the old manhas been home?" "Yes. " "How do you know it?" York turned his clear, honest, frank eyes on his questioner, and withouta tremor told the only direct and unmitigated lie of his life. "BecauseI've seen him there. " The answer was conclusive. It was known that York had been visiting theEast during the old man's absence. The colloquy had diverted attentionfrom Plunkett, who, pale and breathless, was staring at his unexpecteddeliverer. As he turned again toward his tormentors, there was somethingin the expression of his eye that caused those that were nearest to himto fall back, and sent a strange, indefinable thrill through the boldestand most reckless. As he made a step forward, the physician, almostunconsciously, raised his hand with a warning gesture; and old manPlunkett, with his eyes fixed upon the red-hot stove, and an odd smileplaying about his mouth, began, -- "Yes--of course you did. Who says you didn't? It ain't no lie. I said Iwas goin' home--and I've been home. Haven't I? My God! I have. Who saysI'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 speakagain? Say, say!--is it true? It's going now. O my God! it's goingagain. It's going now. Save me!" And with a fierce cry he fell forwardin 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 upona photograph tastefully framed with fir-cones, and hung above the brushwhereon he lay. It was the portrait of a young girl. It was the firstobject to meet the old man's gaze; and it brought with it a flush ofsuch painful consciousness, that he started, and glanced quickly around. But his eyes only encountered those of York, --clear, gray, critical, andpatient, --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, thequestion would have stung him into some evasion or bravado. But therevelation contained in the question, as well as the tone of York'svoice, was to him now, in his pitiable condition, a relief. It wasplain, even to his confused brain, that York had lied when he hadindorsed his story in the bar-room; it was clear to him now that he hadnot been home, that he was not, as he had begun to fear, going mad. It was such a relief, that, with characteristic weakness, his formerrecklessness and extravagance returned. He began to chuckle, finally tolaugh uproariously. York, with his eyes still fixed on the old man, withdrew the hand withwhich he had taken his. "Didn't we fool 'em nicely; eh, Yorky! He, he! The biggest thing yetever played in this camp! I always said I'd play 'em all some day, andI have--played 'em for six months. Ain't it rich?--ain't it the richestthing you ever seed? Did you see Abner's face when he spoke 'bout thatman as seed me in Sonora? Warn't it good as the minstrels? Oh, it's toomuch!" and, striking his leg with the palm of his hand, he almostthrew 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 slightpause. "Hers? No! It's one of the San Francisco actresses. He, he! Don't yousee? I bought it for two bits in one of the bookstores. I never thoughtthey'd swaller THAT too; but they did! Oh, but the old man played 'emthis time didn't he--eh?" and he peered curiously in York's face. "Yes, and he played ME too, " said York, looking steadily in the oldman's eye. "Yes, of course, " interposed Plunkett hastily; "but you know, Yorky, yougot out of it well! You've sold 'em too. We've both got em on a stringnow--you and me--got to stick together now. You did it well, Yorky: youdid it well. Why, when you said you'd seen me in York City, I'm d----dif I didn't"-- "Didn't what?" said York gently; for the old man had stopped with a paleface 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 any thing. What are you trying to go back on me for, eh?" His hands were tremblingas he rose muttering from the bed, and made his way toward the hearth. "Gimme some whiskey, " he said presently "and dry up. You oughter treatanyway. Them fellows oughter treated last night. By hookey, I'd made'em--only I fell sick. " 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 thenight. Although it was clear moonlight, the familiar prospect never tohim seemed so dreary. The dead waste of the broad Wingdam highway neverseemed so monotonous, so like the days that he had passed, and were tocome 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 hishand upon his shoulder, and said, -- "I want you to answer one question fairly and squarely. " The liquor seemed to have warmed the torpid blood in the old man'sveins, and softened his acerbity; for the face he turned up to York wasmellowed in its rugged outline, and more thoughtful in expression, as hesaid, -- "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. ThenPlunkett began rubbing his knees slowly. "The wife, if it comes to that, ain't much, " he began cautiously, "beinga little on the shoulder, you know, and wantin', so to speak a liberalCalifornia education, which makes, you know, a bad combination. It'salways been my opinion, that there ain't any worse. Why, she's asready with her tongue as Abner Dean is with his revolver, only withthe difference that she shoots from principle, as she calls it; and theconsequence is, she's always layin' for you. It's the effete East, myboy, that's ruinin' her. It's them ideas she gets in New York and Bostonthat's made her and me what we are. I don't mind her havin' 'em, if shedidn't shoot. But, havin' that propensity, them principles oughtn't tobe lying round loose no more'n firearms. " "But your daughter?" said York. The old man's hands went up to his eyes here, and then both hands andhead dropped forward on the table. "Don't say any thing 'bout her, myboy, don't ask me now. " With one hand concealing his eyes, he fumbledabout 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 hefound his voice. "She's a beautiful girl, beautiful, though I say it; and you shall seeher, my boy, --you shall see her sure. I've got things about fixed now. I shall have my plan for reducin' ores perfected a day or two; andI've got proposals from all the smeltin' works here" (here he hastilyproduced 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 thousanddollars clear in the next month, " he added, as he strove to collect thevaluable documents again. "I'll have 'em here by Christmas, if I live;and you shall eat your Christmas dinner with me, York, my boy, --youshall sure. " With his tongue now fairly loosened by liquor and the suggestivevastness of his prospects, he rambled on more or less incoherently, elaborating and amplifying his plans, occasionally even speaking of themas already accomplished, until the moon rode high in the heavens, andYork led him again to his couch. Here he lay for some time mutteringto himself, until at last he sank into a heavy sleep. When York hadsatisfied himself of the fact, he gently took down the picture andframe, and, going to the hearth, tossed them on the dying embers, andsat down to see them burn. The fir-cones leaped instantly into flame; then the features that hadentranced San Francisco audiences nightly, flashed up and passed away(as such things are apt to pass); and even the cynical smile on York'slips faded too. And then there came a supplemental and unexpected flashas the embers fell together, and by its light York saw a paper uponthe floor. It was one that had fallen from the old man's pocket. As hepicked it up listlessly, a photograph slipped from its folds. It was theportrait of a young girl; and on its reverse was written in a scrawlinghand, "Melinda to father. " It was at best a cheap picture, but, ah me! I fear even the deftgraciousness of the highest art could not have softened the rigidangularities of that youthful figure, its self-complacent vulgarity, itscheap finery, its expressionless ill-favor. York did not look at it asecond time. He turned to the letter for relief. It was misspelled; it was unpunctuated; it was almost illegible; itwas fretful in tone, and selfish in sentiment. It was not, I fear, evenoriginal in the story of its woes. It was the harsh recital of poverty, of suspicion, of mean makeshifts and compromises, of low pains and lowerlongings, of sorrows that were degrading, of a grief that was pitiable. Yet it was sincere in a certain kind of vague yearning for the presenceof the degraded man to whom it was written, --an affection that was morelike a confused instinct than a sentiment. York folded it again carefully, and placed it beneath the old man'spillow. Then he returned to his seat by the fire. A smile that had beenplaying upon his face, deepening the curves behind his mustache, andgradually overrunning his clear gray eyes, presently faded away. It waslast to go from his eyes; and it left there, oddly enough to those whodid not know him, a tear. He sat there for a long time, leaning forward, his head upon his hands. The wind that had been striving with the canvas roof all at once liftedits edges, and a moonbeam slipped suddenly in, and lay for a momentlike a shining blade upon his shoulder; and, knighted by its touch, straightway plain Henry York arose, sustained, high-purposed andself-reliant. The rains had come at last. There was already a visible greenness on theslopes of Heavytree Hill; and the long, white track of the Wingdam roadwas lost in outlying pools and ponds a hundred rods from Monte Flat. Thespent water-courses, whose white bones had been sinuously trailed overthe 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 theditches, and a pardonable extravagance in the columns of "The Monte FlatMonitor. " "Never before in the history of the county has the yieldbeen so satisfactory. Our contemporary of 'The Hillside Beacon, ' whoyesterday facetiously alluded to the fact (?) that our best citizenswere leaving town in 'dugouts, ' on account of the flood, will be gladto hear that our distinguished fellow-townsman, Mr. Henry York, now on avisit 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'sclean-up. We can imagine, " continued that sprightly journal, "that nosuch misfortune is likely to overtake Hillside this season. And yet webelieve 'The Beacon' man wants a railroad. " A few journals broke outinto poetry. The operator at Simpson's Crossing telegraphed to "TheSacramento Universe" "All day the low clouds have shook their garneredfulness down. " A San Francisco journal lapsed into noble verse, thinlydisguised as editorial prose: "Rejoice: the gentle rain has come, thebright and pearly rain, which scatters blessings on the hills, and siftsthem o'er the plain. Rejoice, " &c. Indeed, there was only one to whomthe rain had not brought blessing, and that was Plunkett. In somemysterious and darksome way, it had interfered with the perfection ofhis new method of reducing ores, and thrown the advent of that inventionback another season. It had brought him down to an habitual seat in thebar-room, where, to heedless and inattentive ears, he sat and discoursedof the East and his family. No one disturbed him. Indeed, it was rumored that some funds had beenlodged with the landlord, by a person or persons unknown, whereby hisfew wants were provided for. His mania--for that was the charitableconstruction which Monte Flat put upon his conduct--was indulged, evento the extent of Monte Flat's accepting his invitation to dine with hisfamily on Christmas Day, --an invitation extended frankly to every onewith whom the old man drank or talked. But one day, to everybody'sastonishment, he burst into the bar-room, holding an open letter in hishand. It read as follows:-- "Be ready to meet your family at the new cottage on Heavytree Hill onChristmas Day. Invite what friends you choose. "HENRY YORK. " The letter was handed round in silence. The old man, with a lookalternating between hope and fear, gazed in the faces of the group. The doctor looked up significantly, after a pause. "It's a forgeryevidently, " 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 hisface!--Old man, " he said suddenly, in a loud peremptory tone, "this isa trick, a forgery, and you know it. Answer me squarely, and look me inthe 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'sright. The little game's up. You can take the old man's hat;" and so, tottering, trembling, and chuckling, he dropped into silence and hisaccustomed seat. But the next day he seemed to have forgotten thisepisode, and talked as glibly as ever of the approaching festivity. And so the days and weeks passed until Christmas--a bright, clear day, warmed with south winds, and joyous with the resurrection of springinggrasses--broke upon Monte Flat. And then there was a sudden commotion inthe 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 ishere, with your wife and daughter, at the cottage on Heavytree. Come, old man. Here, boys, give him a lift;" and in another moment a dozenstrong and willing hands had raised the old man, and bore him in triumphto the street up the steep grade of Heavytree Hill, and deposited him, struggling and confused, in the porch of a little cottage. At the sameinstant two women rushed forward, but were restrained by a gesture fromHenry York. The old man was struggling to his feet. With an effort atlast, he stood erect, trembling, his eye fixed, a gray pallor on hischeek, 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'mine. It ain't my wife, nor child. My daughter's a beautiful girl--abeautiful girl, d'ye hear? She's in New York with her mother, and I'mgoing to fetch her here. I said I'd go home, and I've been home: d'yehear me? I've been home! It's a mean trick you're playin' on the oldman. Let me go: d'ye hear? Keep them women off me! Let me go! I'mgoing--I'm going--home!" His hands were thrown up convulsively in the air, and, half turninground, he fell sideways on the porch, and so to the ground. They pickedhim 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 towithdraw his foolishness from the rest of the camp, nor was it probablethat the combined wisdom of Five Forks ever drove him into exile. Myimpression is, that he lived alone from choice, --a choice he made longbefore the camp indulged in any criticism of his mental capacity. He wasmuch given to moody reticence, and, although to outward appearances astrong man, was always complaining of ill-health. Indeed, one theory ofhis isolation was, that it afforded him better opportunities for takingmedicine, 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; hisletters being always directed to the same person, --a woman. Now, it sohappened that the bulk of the Five Forks correspondence was usually theother way. There were many letters received (the majority being inthe female hand), but very few answered. The men received themindifferently, or as a matter of course. A few opened and read them onthe spot, with a barely repressed smile of self-conceit, or quite asfrequently glanced over them with undisguised impatience. Some of theletters began with "My dear husband;" and some were never called for. But the fact that the only regular correspondent of Five Forks neverreceived any reply became at last quite notorious. Consequently, whenan envelope was received, bearing the stamp of the "dead letter office, "addressed to "The Fool, " under the more conventional title of "CyrusHawkins, " there was quite a fever of excitement. I do not know how thesecret leaked out; but it was eventually known to the camp, that theenvelope contained Hawkins's own letters returned. This was the firstevidence of his weakness. Any man who repeatedly wrote to a woman whodid not reply must be a fool. I think Hawkins suspected that his follywas known to the camp; but he took refuge in symptoms of chills andfever, which he at once developed, and effected a diversion with threebottles of Indian cholagogue and two boxes of pills. At all events, atthe end of a week, he resumed a pen stiffened by tonics, with all hisold epistolatory pertinacity. This time the letters had a new address. In those days a popular belief obtained in the mines, that luckparticularly favored the foolish and unscientific. Consequently, whenHawkins struck a "pocket" in the hillside near his solitary cabin, therewas but little surprise. "He will sink it all in the next hole" wasthe prevailing belief, predicated upon the usual manner in which thepossessor of "nigger luck" disposed of his fortune. To everybody'sastonishment, Hawkins, after taking out about eight thousand dollars, and exhausting the pocket, did not prospect for another. The campthen waited patiently to see what he would do with his money. I think, however, that it was with the greatest difficulty their indignation waskept from taking the form of a personal assault when it became knownthat he had purchased a draft for eight thousand dollars, in favor of"that woman. " More than this, it was finally whispered that the draftwas returned to him as his letters had been, and that he was ashamedto reclaim the money at the express-office. "It wouldn't be a badspecilation to go East, get some smart gal, for a hundred dollars, todress herself up and represent that 'Hag, ' and jest freeze onto thateight thousand, " suggested a far-seeing financier. I may state here, that we always alluded to Hawkins's fair unknown as the "Hag" withouthaving, I am confident, the least justification for that epithet. That the "Fool" should gamble seemed eminently fit and proper. That heshould occasionally win a large stake, according to that popular theorywhich I have recorded in the preceding paragraph, appeared, also, a notimprobable or inconsistent fact. That he should, however, break the farobank which Mr. John Hamlin had set up in Five Forks, and carry off asum variously estimated at from ten to twenty thousand dollars, andnot return the next day, and lose the money at the same table, reallyappeared incredible. Yet such was the fact. A day or two passed withoutany known investment of Mr. Hawkins's recently-acquired capital. "Ef heallows to send it to that 'Hag, '" said one prominent citizen, "suthin'ought to be done. It's jest ruinin' the reputation of this yercamp, --this sloshin' around o' capital on non-residents ez don't claimit!" "It's settin' an example o' extravagance, " said another, "ez islittle better nor a swindle. Thais mor'n five men in this camp, thet, hearin' thet Hawkins hed sent home eight thousand dollars, must jestrise up and send home their hard earnings too! And then to think thetthet eight thousand was only a bluff, after all, and thet it's lyin'there on call in Adams & Co. 's bank! Well, I say it's one o' them thingsa 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 becameintense. At last a self-appointed committee of four citizens droppedartfully, but to outward appearances carelessly, upon him in hisseclusion. When some polite formalities had been exchanged, and someeasy 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? Heallows you didn't give him no show for revenge. I said you wasn'tno 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'tgoin' to be thrown around recklessly. You said Cyrus had suthin' betterto do with his capital, " super-added Dick with gratuitous mendacity. "Idisremember now what partickler investment you said he was goin' to makewith it, " he continued, appealing with easy indifference to his friend. Of course Wingate did not reply, but looked at the "Fool, " who, witha troubled face, was rubbing his legs softly. After a pause, he turneddeprecatingly toward his visitors. "Ye didn't enny of ye ever hev a sort of tremblin' in your legs, akind o' shakiness from the knee down? Suthin', " he continued, slightlybrightening with his topic, --"suthin' that begins like chills, andyet ain't chills? A kind o' sensation of goneness here, and a kind o'feelin' as it you might die suddint?--when Wright's Pills don't somehowreach the spot, and quinine don't fetch you?" "No!" said Wingate with a curt directness, and the air ofauthoritatively responding for his friends, --"no, never had. You wasspeakin' of this yer investment. " "And your bowels all the time irregular?" continued Hawkins, blushingunder Wingate's eye, and yet clinging despairingly to his theme, like ashipwrecked mariner to his plank. Wingate did not reply, but glanced significantly at the rest. Hawkinsevidently saw this recognition of his mental deficiency, and saidapologetically, "You was saying suthin' about my investment?" "Yes, " said Wingate, so rapidly as to almost take Hawkins's breathaway, --"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!--Rafferty'sDitch, the impracticable scheme of an utterly unpracticalman!--Rafferty's Ditch, a ridiculous plan for taking water that couldnot be got to a place where it wasn't wanted!--Rafferty's Ditch, thathad buried the fortunes of Rafferty and twenty wretched stockholders inits 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 SanFrancisco yesterday in store-clothes, and his wife and four childrenwent off in a kerridge to Sacramento. Thet's why them ten workmen ofhis, ez hadn't a cent to bless themselves with, was playin' billiardslast night, and eatin' isters. Thet's whar that money kum frum, --onehundred dollars to pay for the long advertisement of the new issue ofditch stock in the 'Times' yesterday. Thet's why them six strangerswere booked at the Magnolia hotel yesterday. Don't you see? It's thetmoney--and that 'Fool'!" The "Fool" sat silent. The visitors rose without a word. "You never took any of them Indian Vegetable Pills?" asked Hawkinstimidly of Wingate. "No!" roared Wingate as he opened the door. "They tell me, that, took with the Panacea, --they was out o' the Panaceawhen I went to the drug-store last week, --they say, that, took with thePanacea, they always effect a certin cure. " But by this time, Wingateand his disgusted friends had retreated, slamming the door on the "Fool"and his ailments. Nevertheless, in six months the whole affair was forgotten: the moneyhad been spent; the "Ditch" had been purchased by a company of Bostoncapitalists, fired by the glowing description of an Eastern tourist, whohad spent one drunken night at Five Forks; and I think even the mentalcondition of Hawkins might have remained undisturbed by criticism, butfor a singular incident. It was during an exciting political campaign, when party-feeling ranhigh, that the irascible Capt. McFadden of Sacramento visited FiveForks. During a heated discussion in the Prairie Rose Saloon, wordspassed between the captain and the Hon. Calhoun Bungstarter, ending ina challenge. The captain bore the infelicitous reputation of beinga notorious duellist and a dead-shot. The captain was unpopular. Thecaptain was believed to have been sent by the opposition for a deadlypurpose; and the captain was, moreover, a stranger. I am sorry to saythat with Five Forks this latter condition did not carry the qualityof sanctity or reverence that usually obtains among other nomads. Therewas, consequently, some little hesitation when the captain turned uponthe crowd, and asked for some one to act as his friend. To everybody'sastonishment, and to the indignation of many, the "Fool" steppedforward, and offered himself in that capacity. I do not knowwhether Capt. McFadden would have chosen him voluntarily; but he wasconstrained, in the absence of a better man, to accept his services. The duel never took place. The preliminaries were all arranged, thespot indicated; the men were present with their seconds; there wasno interruption from without; there was no explanation or apologypassed--but the duel did not take place. It may be readily imaginedthat these facts, which were all known to Five Forks, threw the wholecommunity into a fever of curiosity. The principals, the surgeon, andone second left town the next day. Only the "Fool" remained. HE resistedall questioning, declaring himself held in honor not to divulge: inshort, conducted himself with consistent but exasperating folly. It wasnot until six months had passed, that Col. Starbottle, the second ofCalhoun Bungstarter, in a moment of weakness, superinduced by the socialglass, condescended to explain. I should not do justice to the parties, if I did not give that explanation in the colonel's own words. I mayremark, in passing, that the characteristic dignity of Col. Starbottlealways became intensified by stimulants, and that, by the same process, all sense of humor was utterly eliminated. "With the understanding that I am addressing myself confidentially tomen of honor, " said the colonel, elevating his chest above the bar-roomcounter of the Prairie Rose Saloon, "I trust that it will not benecessary for me to protect myself from levity, as I was forced to do inSacramento on the only other occasion when I entered into an explanationof this delicate affair by--er--er--calling the individual to a personalaccount--er. I do not believe, " added the colonel, slightly wavinghis glass of liquor in the air with a graceful gesture of courteousdeprecation, "knowing what I do of the present company, that such acourse of action is required here. Certainly not, sir, in the home ofMr. Hawkins--er--the gentleman who represented Mr. Bungstarter, whoseconduct, ged, sir, is worthy of praise, blank me!" Apparently satisfied with the gravity and respectful attention of hislisteners, Col. Starbottle smiled relentingly and sweetly, closed hiseyes half-dreamily, as if to recall his wandering thoughts, and began, -- "As the spot selected was nearest the tenement of Mr. Hawkins, it wasagreed that the parties should meet there. They did so promptly athalf-past six. The morning being chilly, Mr. Hawkins extended thehospitalities of his house with a bottle of Bourbon whiskey, of whichall partook but myself. The reason for that exception is, I believe, well known. It is my invariable custom to take brandy--a wineglassfulin a cup of strong coffee--immediately on rising. It stimulates thefunctions, sir, without producing any blank derangement of the nerves. " The barkeeper, to whom, as an expert, the colonel had graciouslyimparted this information, nodded approvingly; and the colonel, amid abreathless silence, went on. "We were about twenty minutes in reaching the spot. The ground wasmeasured, the weapons were loaded, when Mr. Bungstarter confided to methe information that he was unwell, and in great pain. On consultationwith Mr. Hawkins, it appeared that his principal, in a distant part ofthe field, was also suffering, and in great pain. The symptoms weresuch as a medical man would pronounce 'choleraic. ' I say WOULDhave pronounced; for, on examination, the surgeon was also found tobe--er--in pain, and, I regret to say, expressing himself in languageunbecoming the occasion. His impression was, that some powerful drughad been administered. On referring the question to Mr. Hawkins, heremembered that the bottle of whiskey partaken by them contained amedicine which he had been in the habit of taking, but which, havingfailed to act upon him, he had concluded to be generally ineffective, and had forgotten. His perfect willingness to hold himself personallyresponsible to each of the parties, his genuine concern at thedisastrous effect of the mistake, mingled with his own alarm at thestate of his system, which--er--failed to--er--respond to the peculiarqualities of the medicine, was most becoming to him as a man of honorand a gentleman. After an hour's delay, both principals being completelyexhausted, and abandoned by the surgeon, who was unreasonably alarmedat his own condition, Mr. Hawkins and I agreed to remove our men toMarkleville. There, after a further consultation with Mr. Hawkins, anamicable adjustment of all difficulties, honorable to both parties, and governed by profound secrecy, was arranged. I believe, " added thecolonel, looking around, and setting down his glass, "no gentleman hasyet expressed himself other than satisfied with the result. " Perhaps it was the colonel's manner; but, whatever was the opinion ofFive Forks regarding the intellectual display of Mr. Hawkins in thisaffair, there was very little outspoken criticism at the moment. In afew weeks the whole thing was forgotten, except as part of the necessaryrecord of Hawkins's blunders, which was already a pretty full one. Again, some later follies conspired to obliterate the past, until, ayear 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 aportion of his land on the hilltop. Accustomed as Five Forks had becometo the exhibition of his folly, it was with astonishment that theylearned that he resolutely and decidedly refused the offer. The reasonthat he gave was still more astounding, --he was about to build. To build a house upon property available for mining-purposes waspreposterous; to build at all, with a roof already covering him, wasan act of extravagance; to build a house of the style he proposed wassimply madness. Yet here were facts. The plans were made, and the lumber for the newbuilding was already on the ground, while the shaft of the "BlazingStar" was being sunk below. The site was, in reality, a very picturesqueone, the building itself of a style and quality hitherto unknown inFive Forks. The citizens, at first sceptical, during their moments ofrecreation and idleness gathered doubtingly about the locality. Day byday, in that climate of rapid growths, the building, pleasantly knownin the slang of Five Forks as the "Idiot Asylum, " rose beside the greenoaks and clustering firs of Hawkins Hill, as if it were part of thenatural phenomena. At last it was completed. Then Mr. Hawkins proceededto furnish it with an expensiveness and extravagance of outlay quite inkeeping with his former idiocy. Carpets, sofas, mirrors, and finally apiano, --the only one known in the county, and brought at great expensefrom Sacramento, --kept curiosity at a fever-heat. More than that, therewere articles and ornaments which a few married experts declared onlyfit for women. When the furnishing of the house was complete, --it hadoccupied two months of the speculative and curious attention of thecamp, --Mr. Hawkins locked the front-door, put the key in his pocket, andquietly retired to his more humble roof, lower on the hillside. I have not deemed it necessary to indicate to the intelligent reader allof the theories which obtained in Five Forks during the erection of thebuilding. Some of them may be readily imagined. That the "Hag" had, byartful coyness and systematic reticence, at last completely subjugatedthe "Fool, " and that the new house was intended for the nuptial bower ofthe (predestined) unhappy pair, was, of course, the prevailing opinion. But when, after a reasonable time had elapsed, and the house stillremained untenanted, the more exasperating conviction forced itself uponthe general mind, that the "Fool" had been for the third time imposedupon; when two months had elapsed, and there seemed no prospect ofa mistress for the new house, --I think public indignation became sostrong, that, had the "Hag" arrived, the marriage would have beenpublicly prevented. But no one appeared that seemed to answer to thisidea of an available tenant; and all inquiry of Mr. Hawkins as to hisintention in building a house, and not renting it, or occupying it, failed to elicit any further information. The reasons that he gave werefelt to be vague, evasive, and unsatisfactory. He was in no hurry tomove, he said. When he WAS ready, it surely was not strange that heshould like to have his house all ready to receive him. He was oftenseen upon the veranda, of a summer evening, smoking a cigar. It isreported that one night the house was observed to be brilliantly lightedfrom garret to basement; that a neighbor, observing this, crept towardthe open parlor-window, and, looking in, espied the "Fool" accuratelydressed in evening costume, lounging upon a sofa in the drawing-room, with the easy air of socially 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 thetheory that Mr. Hawkins was simply drilling himself in the elaborateduties of hospitality against a probable event in his history. A fewventured the belief that the house was haunted. The imaginative editorof the Five Forks "Record" evolved from the depths of his professionalconsciousness a story that Hawkins's sweetheart had died, and thathe regularly entertained her spirit in this beautifully furnishedmausoleum. The occasional spectacle of Hawkins's tall figure pacing theveranda on moonlight nights lent some credence to this theory, until anunlooked-for incident diverted all speculation into another channel. It was about this time that a certain wild, rude valley, in theneighborhood of Five Forks, had become famous as a picturesque resort. Travellers had visited it, and declared that there were more cubic yardsof rough stone cliff, and a waterfall of greater height, than any theyhad visited. Correspondents had written it up with extravagant rhetoricand inordinate poetical quotation. Men and women who had never enjoyed asunset, a tree, or a flower, who had never appreciated the graciousnessor meaning of the yellow sunlight that flecked their homely doorways, or the tenderness of a midsummer's night, to whose moonlight they baredtheir shirt-sleeves or their tulle dresses, came from thousands of milesaway to calculate the height of this rock, to observe the depth of thischasm, to remark upon the enormous size of this unsightly tree, and tobelieve with ineffable self-complacency that they really admiredNature. And so it came to pass, that, in accordance with the tastes orweaknesses of the individual, the more prominent and salient points ofthe 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, incourse of time, empty soda-water bottles were found at the base of thecataract, and greasy newspapers, and fragments of ham-sandwiches, layat the dusty roots of giant trees. With this, there were frequentirruptions of closely-shaven and tightly-cravated men, and delicate, flower-faced women, in the one long street of Five Forks, and ascampering of mules, and an occasional procession of dusty brown-linencavalry. A year after "Hawkins's Idiot Asylum" was completed, one day theredrifted into the valley a riotous cavalcade of "school-marms, "teachers of the San Francisco public schools, out for a holiday. Notseverely-spectacled Minervas, and chastely armed and mailed Pallases, but, I fear, for the security of Five Forks, very human, charming, andmischievous young women. At least, so the men thought, working in theditches, and tunnelling on the hillside; and when, in the interestsof science, and the mental advancement of juvenile posterity, it wasfinally settled that they should stay in Five Forks two or threedays for the sake of visiting the various mines, and particularly the"Blazing Star" tunnel, there was some flutter of masculine anxiety. There was a considerable inquiry for "store-clothes, " a hopelessoverhauling of old and disused raiment, and a general demand fox "boiledshirts" and the barber. Meanwhile, with that supreme audacity and impudent hardihood of the sexwhen gregarious, the school-marms rode through the town, admiring openlythe 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 isalleged that Jenny Forester, backed and supported by seven other equallyshameless young women, had openly and publicly waved her handkerchief tothe florid Hercules of Five Forks, one Tom Flynn, formerly of Virginia, leaving that good-natured but not over-bright giant pulling his blondemustaches in bashful amazement. It was a pleasant June afternoon that Miss Milly Arnot, principal of theprimary department of one of the public schools of San Francisco, havingevaded her companions, resolved to put into operation a plan which hadlately sprung up in her courageous and mischief-loving fancy. With thatwonderful and mysterious instinct of her sex, from whom no secrets ofthe affections are hid, and to whom all hearts are laid open, she hadheard the story of Hawkins's folly, and the existence of the "IdiotAsylum. " Alone, on Hawkins Hill, she had determined to penetrate itsseclusion. Skirting the underbrush at the foot of the hill, she managedto keep the heaviest timber between herself and the "Blazing Star"tunnel at its base, as well as the cabin of Hawkins, half-way up theascent, until, by a circuitous route, at last she reached, unobserved, the summit. Before her rose, silent, darkened, and motionless, theobject of her search. Here her courage failed her, with all thecharacteristic inconsequence of her sex. A sudden fear of all thedangers she had safely passed--bears, tarantulas, drunken men, andlizards--came upon her. For a moment, as she afterward expressed it, "she thought she should die. " With this belief, probably, she gatheredthree large stones, which she could hardly lift, for the purpose ofthrowing a great distance; put two hair-pins in her mouth; and carefullyre-adjusted with both hands two stray braids of her lovely blue-blackmane, which had fallen in gathering the stones. Then she felt in thepockets of her linen duster for her card-case, handkerchief, pocketbook, and smelling-bottle, and, finding them intact, suddenly assumed anair of easy, ladylike unconcern, went up the steps of the veranda, and demurely pulled the front doorbell, which she knew would not beanswered. After a decent pause, she walked around the encompassingveranda, examining the closed shutters of the French windows until shefound one that yielded to her touch. Here she paused again to adjust hercoquettish hat by the mirror-like surface of the long sash-window, thatreflected the full length of her pretty figure. And then she opened thewindow, and entered the room. Although long closed, the house had a smell of newness and of freshpaint, that was quite unlike the mouldiness of the conventionalhaunted house. The bright carpets, the cheerful walls, the glisteningoil-cloths, were quite inconsistent with the idea of a ghost. Withchildish curiosity, she began to explore the silent house, at firsttimidly, --opening the doors with a violent push, and then steppingback from the threshold to make good a possible retreat, --and then moreboldly, as she became convinced of her security and absolute loneliness. In one of the chambers--the largest--there were fresh flowers in a vase, evidently gathered that morning; and, what seemed still more remarkable, the pitchers and ewers were freshly filled with water. This obliged MissMilly to notice another singular fact, namely, that the house was freefrom dust, the one most obtrusive and penetrating visitor of Five Forks. The floors and carpets had been recently swept, the chairs and furniturecarefully wiped and dusted. If the house WAS haunted, it was possessedby 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 springsof the chair in which she sat creaked stiffly at the novelty; thecloset-doors opened with the reluctance of fresh paint and varnish; andin spite of the warmth, cleanliness, and cheerfulness of furniture anddecoration, there was none of the ease of tenancy and occupation. AsMiss Milly afterward confessed, she longed to "tumble things around;"and, when she reached the parlor or drawing-room again, she could hardlyresist the desire. Particularly was she tempted by a closed piano, thatstood mutely against the wall. She thought she would open it just to seewho was the maker. That done, it would be no harm to try its tone. Shedid so, with one little foot on the soft pedal. But Miss Milly wastoo good a player, and too enthusiastic a musician, to stop athalf-measures. She tried it again, this time so sincerely, that thewhole house seemed to spring into voice. Then she stopped and listened. There was no response: the empty rooms seemed to have relapsed intotheir old stillness. She stepped out on the veranda. A woodpeckerrecommenced his tapping on an adjacent tree: the rattle of a cart in therocky gulch below the hill came faintly up. No one was to be seen far ornear. Miss Milly, re-assured, returned. She again ran her fingers overthe keys, stopped, caught at a melody running in her mind, half playedit, and then threw away all caution. Before five minutes had elapsed, she had entirely forgotten herself, and with her linen duster thrownaside, her straw hat flung on the piano, her white hands bared, and ablack loop of her braided hair hanging upon her shoulder, was fairlyembarked upon a flowing sea of musical recollection. She had played, perhaps, half an hour, when having just finished anelaborate symphony, and resting her hands on the keys, she heard verydistinctly and unmistakably the sound of applause from without. In aninstant the fires of shame and indignation leaped into her cheeks; andshe rose from the instrument, and ran to the window, only in time tocatch sight of a dozen figures in blue and red flannel shirts vanishinghurriedly through the trees below. Miss Milly's mind was instantly made up. I think I have alreadyintimated, that, under the stimulus of excitement, she was not wantingin courage; and as she quietly resumed her gloves, hat, and duster, shewas not, perhaps, exactly the young person that it would be entirelysafe for the timid, embarrassed, or inexperienced of my sex to meetalone. She shut down the piano; and having carefully reclosed allthe windows and doors, and restored the house to its former desolatecondition, she stepped from the veranda, and proceeded directly to thecabin of the unintellectual Hawkins, that reared its adobe chimney abovethe umbrage a quarter of a mile below. The door opened instantly to her impulsive knock, and the "Fool ofFive Forks" stood before her. Miss Milly had never before seen the mandesignated 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 cheeksa little hollowed by care and ill-health shone a pair of hazel eyes, very large, very gentle, but inexpressibly sad and mournful. This wascertainly not the kind of man Miss Milly had expected to see; yet, afterher 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 instantly changed her tactics with theswift intuition of her sex. "I have come, " she said with a dazzling smile, infinitely more dangerousthan her former dignified severity, --"I have come to ask your pardon fora great liberty I have just taken. I believe the new house above us onthe hill is yours. I was so much pleased with its exterior, that I leftmy friends for a moment below here, " she continued artfully, with aslight wave of the hand, as if indicating a band of fearless Amazonswithout, and waiting to avenge any possible insult offered to one oftheir number, "and ventured to enter it. Finding it unoccupied, as I hadbeen told, I am afraid I had the audacity to sit down and amuse myselffor 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 gray eyes glistening with excitement, with two red, slightlyfreckled cheeks glowing a little under his eyes, with a short scarletupper-lip turned back, like a rose-leaf, over a little line of whiteteeth, as she breathed somewhat hurriedly in her nervous excitement. Hesaw all this calmly, quietly, and, save for the natural uneasiness of ashy, 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 elaque. "Ah!" she said, still smiling. "Then I think I heard YOU"-- "I reckon not, " he interrupted gravely. "I didn't stay long. I foundthe boys hanging round the house, and I allowed at first I'd go in andkinder warn you; but they promised to keep still: and you looked socomfortable, and wrapped up in your music, that I hadn't the heart todisturb you, and kem away. I hope, " he added earnestly, "they didn'tlet on ez they heerd you. They ain't a bad lot, --them Blazin' Starboys--though they're a little hard at times. But they'd no more hurtye then they would a--a--a cat!" continued Mr. Hawkins, blushing with afaint apprehension 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 havebehaved foolishly, I suppose--and, if they HAD, it would have served meright. But I only wanted to apologize to you. You'll find every thing asyou left it. Good-day!" She turned to go. Mr. Hawkins began to feel embarrassed. "I'd have askedye to sit down, " he said finally, "if it hed been a place fit for alady. 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 theditches, 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 wastouched. "Can I--can any thing be done?" she asked more timidly than she hadbefore spoken. "No--not onless ye remember suthin' about these pills. " He exhibited abox containing about half a dozen. "I forget the direction--I don'tseem to remember much, any way, these times. They're 'Jones's VegetableCompound. ' If ye've ever took 'em, ye'll remember whether the reg'lardose 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 theludicrous; but somehow Mr. Hawkins's eccentricity only pained her. "Will you let me see you to the foot of the hill?" he said again, afteranother embarrassing pause. Miss Arnot felt instantly that such an act would condone her trespass inthe 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 ofconventionality. She smiled sweetly, and assented; and in another momentthe two were lost in the shadows of the wood. Like many other apparently trivial acts in an uneventful life, it wasdecisive. As she expected, she met two or three of her late applauders, whom, she fancied, looked sheepish and embarrassed; she met, also, hercompanions looking for her in some alarm, who really appeared astonishedat her escort, and, she fancied, a trifle envious of her evidentsuccess. I fear that Miss Arnot, in response to their anxious inquiries, did not state entirely the truth, but, without actual assertion, ledthem to believe that she had, at a very early stage of the proceeding, completely subjugated this weak-minded giant, and had brought himtriumphantly to her feet. From telling this story two or three times, she got finally to believing that she had some foundation for it, thento a vague sort of desire that it would eventually prove to be true, andthen to an equally vague yearning to hasten that consummation. Thatit would redound to any satisfaction of the "Fool" she did not stopto doubt. That it would cure him of his folly she was quite confident. Indeed, there are very few of us, men or women, who do not believe thateven a hopeless love for ourselves is more conducive to the salvation ofthe lover than a requited affection for another. The criticism of Five Forks was, as the reader may imagine, swift andconclusive. When it was found out that Miss Arnot was not the "Hag"masquerading as a young and pretty girl, to the ultimate deception ofFive Forks in general, and the "Fool" in particular, it was at oncedecided that nothing but the speedy union of the "Fool" and the "prettyschool-marm" was consistent with ordinary common sense. The singulargood-fortune of Hawkins was quite in accordance with the theory of hisluck as propounded by the camp. That, after the "Hag" failed to makeher appearance, he should "strike a lead" in his own house, without thetrouble of "prospectin', " seemed to these casuists as a wonderful butinevitable law. To add to these fateful probabilities, Miss Arnot fell, and sprained her ankle, in the ascent of Mount Lincoln, and was confinedfor some weeks to the hotel after her companions had departed. Duringthis period, Hawkins was civilly but grotesquely attentive. When, aftera reasonable time had elapsed, there still appeared to be no immediateprospect of the occupancy of the new house, public opinion experienced asingular 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 theweaknesses and inconsistency of the "Fool. " That, after erecting thisnew house at her request, he had suddenly "gone back" on her; that hiscelibacy was the result of a long habit of weak proposal and subsequentshameless rejection; and that he was now trying his hand on the helplessschoolmarm, was perfectly plain to Five Forks. That he should befrustrated in his attempts at any cost was equally plain. Miss Millysuddenly found herself invested with a rude chivalry that would havebeen amusing, had it not been at times embarrassing; that would havebeen impertinent, but for the almost superstitious respect with whichit was proffered. Every day somebody from Five Forks rode out to inquirethe health of the fair patient. "Hez Hawkins bin over yer to-day?"queried Tom Flynn, with artful ease and indifference, as he leaned overMiss Milly's easy-chair on the veranda. Miss Milly, with a faint pinkflush on her cheek, was constrained to answer, "No. " "Well, he sortersprained his foot agin a rock yesterday, " continued Flynn with shamelessuntruthfulness. "You mus'n't think any thing o' that, Miss Arnot. He'llbe over yer to-morrer; and meantime he told me to hand this yer bookaywith his re-gards, and this yer specimen. " And Mr. Flynn laid down theflowers he had picked en route against such an emergency, and presentedrespectfully a piece of quartz and gold, which he had taken that morningfrom his own sluice-box. "You mus'n't mind Hawkins's ways, Miss Milly, "said another sympathizing miner. "There ain't a better man in camp thanthat theer Cy Hawkins--but he don't understand the ways o' the worldwith wimen. He hasn't mixed as much with society as the rest of us, " headded, with an elaborate Chesterfieldian ease of manner; "but he meanswell. " Meanwhile a few other sympathetic tunnelmen were impressing uponMr. Hawkins the necessity of the greatest attention to the invalid. "Itwon't do, Hawkins, " they explained, "to let that there gal go back toSan Francisco and say, that, when she was sick and alone, the only manin Five Forks under whose roof she had rested, and at whose table shehad sat" (this was considered a natural but pardonable exaggeration ofrhetoric) "ever threw off on her; and it sha'n't be done. It ain't thesquare thing to Five Forks. " And then the "Fool" would rush away to thevalley, and be received by Miss Milly with a certain reserve of mannerthat finally disappeared in a flush of color, some increased vivacity, and a pardonable coquetry. And so the days passed. Miss Milly grewbetter in health, and more troubled in mind; and Mr. Hawkins became moreand more embarrassed; and Five Forks smiled, and rubbed its hands, and waited for the approaching denoument. 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 rodeinto Five Forks. They had just "done" the Valley of Big Things; and, there being one or two Eastern capitalists among the party, itwas deemed advisable that a proper knowledge of the practicalmining-resources of California should be added to their experienceof the merely picturesque in Nature. Thus far every thing had beensatisfactory; the amount of water which passed over the Fall was large, owing to a backward season; some snow still remained in the canyons nearthe highest peaks; they had ridden round one of the biggest trees, andthrough the prostrate trunk of another. To say that they were delightedis to express feebly the enthusiasm of these ladies and gentlemen, drunkwith the champagny hospitality of their entertainers, the utter noveltyof scene, and the dry, exhilarating air of the valley. One or two hadalready expressed themselves ready to live and die there; another hadwritten a glowing account to the Eastern press, depreciating all otherscenery in Europe and America; and, under these circumstances, it wasreasonably expected that Five Forks would do its duty, and equallyimpress the stranger after its own fashion. Letters to this effect were sent from San Francisco by prominentcapitalists there; and, under the able superintendence of one of theiragents, the visitors were taken in hand, shown "what was to be seen, "carefully restrained from observing what ought not to be visible, and sokept in a blissful and enthusiastic condition. And so the graveyard ofFive Forks, in which but two of the occupants had died natural deaths;the dreary, ragged cabins on the hillsides, with their sad-eyed, cynical, broken-spirited occupants, toiling on day by day for amiserable pittance, and a fare that a self-respecting Eastern mechanicwould have scornfully rejected, --were not a part of the Easternvisitors' recollection. But the hoisting works and machinery of the"Blazing Star Tunnel Company" was, --the Blazing Star Tunnel Company, whose "gentlemanly superintendent" had received private informationfrom San Francisco to do the "proper thing" for the party. Wherefore thevaluable heaps of ore in the company's works were shown; the oblong barsof gold, ready for shipment, were playfully offered to the ladies whocould 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 capitalists, "were established beyond a doubt. And then occurred a little incident, which, as an unbiassed spectator, I am free to say offered noinducements to anybody whatever, but which, for its bearing upon thecentral figure of this veracious chronicle, I cannot pass over. It had become apparent to one or two more practical and sober-minded inthe party, that certain portions of the "Blazing Star" tunnel (owing, perhaps, to the exigencies of a flattering annual dividend) wereeconomically and imperfectly "shored" and supported, and were, consequently, unsafe, insecure, and to be avoided. Nevertheless, at atime when champagne corks were popping in dark corners, and enthusiasticvoices and happy laughter rang through the half-lighted levels andgalleries, there came a sudden and mysterious silence. A few lightsdashed 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, ominousrumble. Some of the visitors turned pale: one woman fainted. Something had happened. What? "Nothing" (the speaker is fluent, butuneasy)--"one of the gentlemen, in trying to dislodge a 'specimen'from the wall, had knocked away a support. There had been a 'cave'--thegentleman 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 fromextending the 'cave. ' Didn't know his name. It was that little man, thehusband of that lively lady with the black eyes. Eh! Hullo, there! Stopher! For God's sake! Not that way! She'll fall from that shaft. She'llbe killed!" But the lively lady was already gone. With staring black eyes, imploringly trying to pierce the gloom, with hands and feet that soughtto batter and break down the thick darkness, with incoherent cries andsupplications following the moving of ignis fatuus lights ahead, sheran, and ran swiftly!--ran over treacherous foundations, ran byyawning gulfs, ran past branching galleries and arches, ran wildly, randespairingly, ran blindly, and at last ran into the arms of the "Fool ofFive Forks. " In an instant she caught at his hand. "Oh, save him!" she cried. "Youbelong here; you know this dreadful place: bring me to him. Tell mewhere 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 therope and crowbar he was carrying, and reeled against the wall. "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!" 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 hassent you here to-day. You will come with me. You will--you must--savehim!" "Save who?" cried Cyrus hoarsely. "My husband!" The blow was so direct, so strong and overwhelming, that, even throughher own stronger and more selfish absorption, she saw it in the face ofthe man, and pitied him. "I thought--you--knew--it, " she faltered. He did not speak, but looked at her with fixed, dumb eyes. And thenthe sound of distant voices and hurrying feet started her again intopassionate life. She once more caught his hand. "O Cyrus, hear me! If you have loved me through all these years, youwill not fail me now. You must save him! You can! You are brave andstrong--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 stoodstill. He picked up the rope and crowbar slowly, and in a dazed, blindedway, that, in her agony of impatience and alarm, seemed protractedto 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 laidbefore her the half-conscious, breathing body of her husband, safe andunharmed, but for exhaustion and some slight bruises, she learned thatthe worst fears of the workmen had been realized. In releasing him, asecond cave had taken place. They had barely time to snatch away thehelpless 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 beamlying across his breast, in sight of all, conscious and patient. For twohours they had labored around him, wildly, despairingly, hopefully, withthe wills of gods and the strength of giants; and at the end of thattime they came to an upright timber, which rested its base upon thebeam. There was a cry for axes, and one was already swinging 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 blanched face he turnedto his fellows. It was too true. They were in the uppermost gallery; andthe "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 andstreaming 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'sdeeded to you, Annie; and you must--live there--with HIM! He will notmind 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, theydid not move him, but sat by his body all night with a torch at his feetand head. And the next day they walled up the gallery as a vault; butthey 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 deathand gloom and sorrow, as are other monuments, but is a sign of life andlight and hope, wherefore shall all know that he who lies under it iswhat men call--'a fool'. " BABY SYLVESTER. It was at a little mining-camp in the California Sierras that he firstdawned upon me in all his grotesque sweetness. I had arrived early in the morning, but not in time to intercept thefriend who was the object of my visit. He had gone "prospecting, "--sothey told me on the river, --and would not probably return until latein the afternoon. They could not say what direction he had taken; theycould not suggest that I would be likely to find him if I followed. Butit 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 myinterlocutors, who were even then just disappearing from my horizon, down the steep bank, toward the river's dry bed. I approached the edgeof 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 myself at home in any of those cabins thatI found lying round loose. Or perhaps it would be cooler and pleasanterfor me in my friend's cabin on the hill. Did I see those three largesugar-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'scabin. I could stake my horse in that little hollow, and just hang roundthere till he came. I would find some books in the shanty. I could amusemyself with them or I could play with the baby. Do what? But they had already gone. I leaned over the bank, and called aftertheir vanishing figures, --"What did you say I could do?" The answerfloated 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; therewas not a woman within forty miles of the river camp; he never was sopassionately devoted to children as to import a luxury so expensive. Imust have been mistaken. I turned my horse's head toward the hill. As we slowly climbed thenarrow trail, the little settlement might have been some exhumedPompeiian suburb, so deserted and silent were its habitations. The opendoors plainly disclosed each rudely-furnished interior, --the rough pinetable, with the scant equipage of the morning meal still standing; thewooden bunk, with its tumbled and dishevelled blankets. A golden lizard, the very genius of desolate stillness, had stopped breathless upon thethreshold of one cabin; a squirrel peeped impudently into the windowof another; a woodpecker, with the general flavor of undertakingwhich distinguishes that bird, withheld his sepulchral hammer from thecoffin-lid of the roof on which he was professionally engaged, aswe passed. For a moment I half regretted that I had not accepted theinvitation to the river-bed; but, the next moment, a breeze swept up thelong, dark canyon, and the waiting files of the pines beyond bent towardme in salutation. I think my horse understood, as well as myself, that it was the cabins that made the solitude human, and thereforeunbearable; for he quickened his pace, and with a gentle trot broughtme to the edge of the wood, and the three pines that stood like vedettesbefore the Sylvester outpost. Unsaddling my horse in the little hollow, I unslung the long riata fromthe saddle-bow, and, tethering him to a young sapling, turned toward thecabin. But I had gone only a few steps, when I heard a quick trot behindme; and poor Pomposo, with every fibre tingling with fear, was at myheels. I looked hurriedly around. The breeze had died away; and onlyan occasional breath from the deep-chested woods, more like a long sighthan any articulate sound, or the dry singing of a cicala in theheated canyon, were to be heard. I examined the ground carefully forrattlesnakes, but in vain. Yet here was Pomposo shivering from hisarched neck to his sensitive haunches, his very flanks pulsating withterror. I soothed him as well as I could, and then walked to the edgeof the wood, and peered into its dark recesses. The bright flash of abird's wing, or the quick dart of a squirrel, was all I saw. I confessit was with something of superstitious expectation that I again turnedtowards the cabin. A fairy-child, attended by Titania and her train, lying in an expensive cradle, would not have surprised me: a SleepingBeauty, whose awakening would have repeopled these solitudes with lifeand energy, I am afraid I began to confidently look for, and would havekissed without hesitation. But I found none of these. Here was the evidence of my friend'staste and refinement, in the hearth swept scrupulously clean, in thepicturesque arrangement of the fur-skins that covered the floor andfurniture, and the striped serape lying on the wooden couch. Here werethe walls fancifully papered with illustrations from "The London News;"here was the woodcut portrait of Mr. Emerson over the chimney, quaintlyframed with blue-jays' wings; here were his few favorite books on theswinging-shelf; and here, lying upon the couch, the latest copy of"Punch. " Dear Dick! The flour-sack was sometimes empty; but the gentlesatirist seldom missed his weekly visit. I threw myself on the couch, and tried to read. But I soon exhausted myinterest in my friend's library, and lay there staring through the opendoor on the green hillside beyond. The breeze again sprang up; and adelicious coolness, mixed with the rare incense of the woods, stolethrough the cabin. The slumbrous droning of bumblebees outside thecanvas roof, the faint cawing of rooks on the opposite mountain, andthe fatigue of my morning ride, began to droop my eyelids. I pulled theserape 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 serape;for I awoke once or twice, clutching it with a despairing hand as it wasdisappearing over the foot of the couch. Then I became suddenly arousedto the fact that my efforts to retain it were resisted by some equallypersistent force; and, letting it go, I was horrified at seeing itswiftly drawn under the couch. At this point I sat up, completely awake;for immediately after, what seemed to be an exaggerated muff began toemerge from under the couch. Presently it appeared fully, dragging theserape after it. There was no mistaking it now: it was a baby-bear, --amere suckling, it was true, a helpless roll of fat and fur, butunmistakably a grizzly cub! I cannot recall any thing more irresistibly ludicrous than its aspectas it slowly raised its small, wondering eyes to mine. It was somuch taller on its haunches than its shoulders, its forelegs were sodisproportionately small, that, in walking, its hind-feet invariablytook precedence. It was perpetually pitching forward over its pointed, inoffensive nose, and recovering itself always, after these involuntarysomersaults with the gravest astonishment. To add to its preposterousappearance, one of its hind-feet was adorned by a shoe of Sylvester's, into which it had accidentally and inextricably stepped. As thissomewhat impeded its first impulse to fly, it turned to me; and then, possibly recognizing in the stranger the same species as its master, itpaused. Presently it slowly raised itself on its hind-legs, and vaguelyand 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 serape was forgotten. Nevertheless, I was wise enough to cement our friendship by an actof delicate courtesy. Following the direction of his eyes, I had nodifficulty in finding on a shelf near the ridge-pole the sugar-box andthe square lumps of white sugar that even the poorest miner is neverwithout. While he was eating them, I had time to examine him moreclosely. His body was a silky, dark, but exquisitely-modulated gray, deepening to black in his paws and muzzle. His fur was excessively long, thick, and soft as eider-down; the cushions of flesh beneath perfectlyinfantine in their texture and contour. He was so very young, that thepalms of his half-human feet were still tender as a baby's. Except forthe bright blue, steely hooks, half sheathed in his little toes, therewas not a single harsh outline or detail in his plump figure. He was asfree from angles as one of Leda's offspring. Your caressing handsank away in his fur with dreamy languor. To look at him long was anintoxication of the senses; to pat him was a wild delirium; to embracehim, an utter demoralization of the intellectual faculties. When he had finished the sugar, he rolled out of the door with ahalf-diffident, half-inviting look in his eyes as if he expected meto follow. I did so; but the sniffing and snorting of the keen-scentedPomposo in the hollow not only revealed the cause of his former terror, but decided me to take another direction. After a moment's hesitation, he concluded to go with me, although I am satisfied, from a certainimpish look in his eye, that he fully understood and rather enjoyed thefright of Pomposo. As he rolled along at my side, with a gait not unlikea drunken sailor, I discovered that his long hair concealed a leathercollar 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, crawlingand puffing up again each time with perfect good-humor; how he climbeda young sapling after my Panama hat, which I had "shied" into one of thetopmost branches; how, after getting it, he refused to descend until itsuited his pleasure; how, when he did come down, he persisted in walkingabout 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 tenantlesscabins, with a bottle of sirup between his paws, vainly endeavoring toextract its contents, --these and other details of that eventful day Ishall not weary the reader with now. Enough that, when Dick Sylvesterreturned, I was pretty well fagged out, and the baby was rolled up, animmense bolster, at the foot of the couch, asleep. Sylvester's firstwords after our greeting were, -- "Isn't he delicious?" "Perfectly. Where did you get him?" "Lying under his dead mother, five miles from here, " said Dick, lightinghis pipe. "Knocked her over at fifty yards: perfectly clean shot; nevermoved afterwards. Baby crawled out, scared, but unhurt. She must havebeen carrying him in her mouth, and dropped him when she faced me; forhe wasn't more than three days old, and not steady on his pins. He takesthe only milk that comes to the settlement, brought up by Adams Expressat seven o'clock every morning. They say he looks like me. Do youthink so?" asked Dick with perfect gravity, stroking his hay-coloredmustachios, and evidently assuming his best expression. I took leave of the baby early the next morning in Sylvester'scabin, and, out of respect to Pomposo's feelings, rode by without anypostscript of expression. But the night before I had made Sylvestersolemnly swear, that, in the event of any separation between himself andBaby, it should revert to me. "At the same time, " he had added, "it'sonly fair to say that I don't think of dying just yet, old fellow; and Idon't know of any thing else that would part the cub and me. " Two months after this conversation, as I was turning over the morning'smail at my office in San Francisco, I noticed a letter bearingSylvester's familiar hand. But it was post-marked "Stockton, " and Iopened 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'tfollow me, --East. I know you love the baby; but do you think, dearboy, --now, really, do you think you COULD be a father to it? Considerthis well. You are young, thoughtless, well-meaning enough; but dare youtake upon yourself the functions of guide, genius, or guardian to one soyoung and guileless? Could you be the Mentor to this Telemachus? Thinkof the temptations of a metropolis. Look at the question well, andlet me know speedily; for I've got him as far as this place, and he'skicking up an awful row in the hotel-yard, and rattling his chain like amaniac. Let me know by telegraph at once. "SYLVESTER. "P. S. --Of course he's grown a little, and doesn't take things always asquietly as he did. He dropped rather heavily on two of Watson's 'purps'last week, and snatched old Watson himself bald headed, for interfering. You remember Watson? For an intelligent man, he knows very little ofCalifornia fauna. How are you fixed for bears on Montgomery Street, Imean in regard to corrals and things? S. "P. P. S. --He's got some new tricks. The boys have been teaching him toput up his hands with them. He slings an ugly left. S. " I am afraid that my desire to possess myself of Baby overcame all otherconsiderations; and I telegraphed an affirmative at once to Sylvester. When I reached my lodgings late that afternoon, my landlady was awaitingme 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 wasstaggered at my own precipitation. I had as yet made no preparations, had said nothing to my landlady about her new guest. I expected toarrange every thing in time; and now, through Sylvester's indecenthaste, that time had been shortened twelve hours. Something, however, must be done at once. I turned to Mrs. Brown. Ihad great reliance in her maternal instincts: I had that still greaterreliance common to our sex in the general tender-heartedness of prettywomen. But I confess I was alarmed. Yet, with a feeble smile, I triedto introduce the subject with classical ease and lightness. I even said, "If Shakspeare's Athenian clown, Mrs. Brown, believed that a lion amongladies was a dreadful thing, what must"--But here I broke down; forMrs. Brown, with the awful intuition of her sex, I saw at once wasmore occupied with my manner than my speech. So I tried a businessbrusquerie, and, placing the telegram in her hand, said hurriedly, "Wemust do something about this at once. It's perfectly absurd; but he willbe here at one to-night. Beg thousand pardons; but business prevented myspeaking before"--and paused out of breath and courage. Mrs. Brown read the telegram gravely, lifted her pretty eyebrows, turnedthe paper over, and looked on the other side, and then, in a remote andchilling voice, asked me if she understood me to say that the mother wascoming also. "Oh, dear no!" I exclaimed with considerable relief. "The mother isdead, you know. Sylvester, that is my friend who sent this, shot herwhen 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 nothingbut the fullest explanation would save me. Hastily, and I fear not verycoherently, I told her all. She relaxed sweetly. She said I had frightened her with my talk aboutlions. Indeed, I think my picture of poor Baby, albeit a trifle highlycolored, touched her motherly heart. She was even a little vexed at whatshe called Sylvester's "hard-heartedness. " Still I was not without someapprehension. It was two months since I had seen him; and Sylvester'svague allusion to his "slinging an ugly left" pained me. I looked atsympathetic little Mrs. Brown; and the thought of Watson's pups coveredme with guilty confusion. Mrs. Brown had agreed to sit up with me until he arrived. One o'clockcame, but no Baby. Two o'clock, three o'clock, passed. It was almostfour when there was a wild clatter of horses' hoofs outside, and witha jerk a wagon stopped at the door. In an instant I had opened it, andconfronted a stranger. Almost at the same moment, the horses attemptedto run away with the wagon. The stranger's appearance was, to say the least, disconcerting. Hisclothes were badly torn and frayed; his linen sack hung from hisshoulders like a herald's apron; one of his hands was bandaged; his facescratched; and there was no hat on his dishevelled head. To add to thegeneral 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, ina very thick voice, stated that he had "suthin" for me outside. When hehad finished, the horses made another plunge. Mrs. Brown thought they must be frightened at something. "Frightened!" laughed the stranger with bitter irony. "Oh, no! Hossishain't frightened! On'y ran away four timesh comin' here. Oh, no!Nobody's frightened. Every thin's all ri'. Ain't it, Bill?" he said, addressing the driver. "On'y been overboard twish; knocked down ahatchway once. Thash nothin'! On'y two men unner doctor's han's atStockton. Thash nothin'! Six hunner dollarsh cover all dammish. " I was too much disheartened to reply, but moved toward the wagon. Thestranger eyed me with an astonishment that almost sobered him. "Do you reckon to tackle that animile yourself?" he asked, as hesurveyed me from head to foot. I did not speak, but, with an appearance of boldness I was far fromfeeling, walked to the wagon, and called "Baby!" "All ri'. Cash loose them straps, Bill, and stan' clear. " The straps were cut loose; and Baby, the remorseless, the terrible, quietly tumbled to the ground, and, rolling to my side, rubbed hisfoolish head against me. I think the astonishment of the two men was beyond 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 wasmatted and unkempt; and his claws, those bright steel hooks, had beenruthlessly pared to the quick. His eyes were furtive and restless;and the old expression of stupid good humor had changed to one ofintelligent distrust. His intercourse with mankind had evidentlyquickened his intellect, without broadening his moral nature. I had great difficulty in keeping Mrs. Brown from smothering him inblankets, 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, andasleep. I lay awake some time later with plans for his future. I finallydetermined to take him to Oakland--where I had built a little cottage, and always spent my Sundays--the very next day. And in the midst of arosy picture of domestic felicity, I fell asleep. When I awoke, it was broad day. My eyes at once sought the corner whereBaby had been lying; but he was gone. I sprang from the bed, lookedunder 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 thewindow that I had forgotten to close. He had evidently escaped that way. But where? The window opened upon a balcony, to which the only otherentrance 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 hehad not made himself known, why should I disturb the house? I dressedmyself hurriedly, and slipped into the hall. The first object that metmy eyes was a boot lying upon the stairs. It bore the marks of Baby'steeth; and, as I looked along the hall, I saw too plainly that the usualarray of freshly-blackened boots and shoes before the lodgers' doorswas not there. As I ascended the stairs, I found another, but with theblacking carefully licked off. On the third floor were two or three moreboots, slightly mouthed; but at this point Baby's taste for blacking hadevidently palled. A little farther on was a ladder, leading to an openscuttle. I mounted the ladder, and reached the flat roof, that formeda continuous level over the row of houses to the corner of the street. Behind the chimney on the very last roof, something was lurking. It wasthe fugitive Baby. He was covered with dust and dirt and fragments ofglass. But he was sitting on his hind-legs, and was eating an enormousslab of peanut candy, with a look of mingled guilt and infinitesatisfaction. He even, I fancied, slightly stroked his stomach with hisdisengaged fore-paw as I approached. He knew that I was looking forhim; and the expression of his eye said plainly, "The past, at least, issecure. " I hurried him, with the evidences of his guilt, back to the scuttle, anddescended on tiptoe to the floor beneath. Providence favored us: I metno one on the stairs; and his own cushioned tread was inaudible. I thinkhe was conscious of the dangers of detection; for he even foreboreto breathe, or much less chew the last mouthful he had taken; and heskulked at my side with the sirup dropping from his motionless jaws. Ithink he would have silently choked to death just then, for my sake; andit was not until I had reached my room again, and threw myself pantingon the sofa, that I saw how near strangulation he had been. He gulpedonce or twice apologetically, and then walked to the corner of hisown accord, and rolled himself up like an immense sugarplum, sweatingremorse and treacle at every pore. I locked him in when I went to breakfast, when I found Mrs. Brown'slodgers in a state of intense excitement over certain mysterious eventsof the night before, and the dreadful revelations of the morning. Itappeared that burglars had entered the block from the scuttles; that, being suddenly alarmed, they had quitted our house without committingany depredation, dropping even the boots they had collected in thehalls; but that a desperate attempt had been made to force the till inthe confectioner's shop on the corner, and that the glass show-cases hadbeen ruthlessly smashed. A courageous servant in No. 4 had seen a maskedburglar, 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; norwas I the less embarrassed, on raising my eyes, to meet Mrs. Brown'sfixed curiously and mischievously on mine. As soon as I could make myescape from the table, I did so, and, running rapidly up stairs, soughtrefuge from any possible inquiry in my own room. Baby was still asleepin the corner. It would not be safe to remove him until the lodgers hadgone down town; and I was revolving in my mind the expediency of keepinghim until night veiled his obtrusive eccentricity from the public eye, when there came a cautious tap at my door. I opened it. Mrs. Brownslipped in quietly, closed the door softly, stood with her back againstit, 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 impatiently. "This stuff. " Sheproduced suddenly from behind her a bottle with a Greek label so longas to run two or three times spirally around it from top to bottom. "Hesays 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 ofhaving repeated the name a great many times, --"the old gentleman in theroom above. The simple question I want to ask, " she continued with thecalm manner of one who has just convicted another of gross ambiguity oflanguage, "is only this: If some of this stuff were put in a saucer, andleft carelessly on the table, and a child, or a baby, or a cat, or anyyoung animal, should come in at the window, and drink it up, --a wholesaucer full, --because it had a sweet taste, would it be likely to hurtthem?" I cast an anxious glance at Baby, sleeping peacefully in the corner, anda 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, " she addedsuddenly, abandoning her lofty manner, and wildly rushing to the cornerwith a frantic embrace of the unconscious Baby, "because, if any nastystuff should turn its booful hair a horrid green, or a naughty pink, itwould break its own muzzer's heart, it would!" But, before I could assure Mrs. Brown of the inefficiency of hair-dye asan internal application, she had darted from the room. That night, with the secrecy of defaulters, Baby and I decamped fromMrs. Brown's. Distrusting the too emotional nature of that noble animal, the horse, I had recourse to a handcart, drawn by a stout Irishman, toconvey my charge to the ferry. Even then, Baby refused to go, unless Iwalked by the cart, and at times rode in it. "I wish, " said Mrs. Brown, as she stood by the door, wrapped in animmense shawl, and saw us depart, "I wish it looked less solemn, --lesslike a pauper's funeral. " I must admit, that, as I walked by the cart that night, I felt very muchas if I were accompanying the remains of some humble friend to his lastresting-place; and that, when I was obliged to ride in it, I never couldentirely convince myself that I was not helplessly overcome by liquor, or the victim of an accident, en route to the hospital. But at last wereached the ferry. On the boat, I think no one discovered Baby, except adrunken man, who approached me to ask for a light for his cigar, but whosuddenly dropped it, and fled in dismay to the gentlemen's cabin, wherehis incoherent ravings were luckily taken for the earlier indications ofdelirium tremens. It was nearly midnight when I reached my little cottage on the outskirtsof Oakland; and it was with a feeling of relief and security that Ientered, locked the door, and turned him loose in the hall, satisfiedthat henceforward his depredations would be limited to my own property. He was very quiet that night; and after he had tried to mount thehatrack, under the mistaken impression that it was intended for his owngymnastic exercise, and knocked all the hats off, he went peaceably tosleep on the rug. In a week, with the exercise afforded him by the run of a large, carefully-boarded enclosure, he recovered his health, strength, spirits, and much of his former beauty. His presence was unknown to my neighbors, although it was noticeable that horses invariably "shied" in passingto the windward of my house, and that the baker and milkman had greatdifficulty in the delivery of their wares in the morning, and indulgedin unseemly and unnecessary profanity in so doing. At the end of the week, I determined to invite a few friends to see theBaby, and to that purpose wrote a number of formal invitations. Afterdescanting, at some length, on the great expense and danger attendinghis capture and training, I offered a programme of the performance, ofthe "Infant Phenomenon of Sierran Solitudes, " drawn up into the highestprofessional profusion of alliteration and capital letters. A fewextracts will give the reader some idea of his educational progress:-- 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, andas much of the Crown and Brim thereof, as May be Permitted. 3. He will perform in a pantomime, descriptive of the Conduct of the BigBear, The Middle-Sized Bear, and The Little Bear of the Popular NurseryLegend. 4. He will shake his chain Rapidly, showing his Manner of strikingDismay and Terror in the Breasts of Wanderers in Ursine Wildernesses. The morning of the exhibition came; but an hour before the performancethe wretched Baby was missing. The Chinese cook could not indicate hiswhereabouts. I searched the premises thoroughly; and then, in despair, took my hat, and hurried out into the narrow lane that led toward theopen fields and the woods beyond. But I found no trace nor track ofBaby Sylvester. I returned, after an hour's fruitless search, to findmy guests already assembled on the rear veranda. I briefly recounted mydisappointment, my probable loss, and begged their assistance. "Why, " said a Spanish friend, who prided himself on his accurateknowledge of English, to Barker, who seemed to be trying vainly to risefrom his reclining position on the veranda, "why do you not disengageyourself from the veranda of our friend? And why, in the name of Heaven, do you attach to yourself so much of this thing, and make to yourselfsuch unnecessary contortion? Ah, " he continued, suddenly withdrawing oneof his own feet from the veranda with an evident effort, "I am myselfattached! Surely it is something here!" It evidently was. My guests were all rising with difficulty. The floorof the veranda was covered with some glutinous substance. It was--sirup! I saw it all in a flash. I ran to the barn. The keg of "golden sirup, "purchased only the day before, lay empty upon the floor. There weresticky tracks all over the enclosure, 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 enclosure likean earthquake. I approached cautiously. I saw, what I had not beforenoticed, that the ground was thrown up; and there, in the middle of animmense grave-like cavity, crouched Baby Sylvester, still digging, andslowly but surely sinking from sight in a mass of dust and clay. What were his intentions? Whether he was stung by remorse, and wished tohide himself from my reproachful eyes, or whether he was simply tryingto dry his sirup-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 stillyielded a thin treacle. He was then taken, and carefully inwrapped inblankets, and locked up in the store-room. The next morning he wasgone! The lower portion of the window sash and pane were gone too. His successful experiments on the fragile texture of glass at theconfectioner's, on the first day of his entrance to civilization, hadnot been lost upon him. His first essay at combining cause and effectended in his escape. Where he went, where he hid, who captured him, if he did not succeed inreaching the foothills beyond Oakland, even the offer of a large reward, backed by the efforts of an intelligent police, could not discover. Inever 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 thesidewalk, amid the oaths and execrations of the driver. Immediately infront of the car a crowd had gathered around two performing bears and ashowman. One of the animals, thin, emaciated, and the mere wreck of hisnative strength, attracted my attention. I endeavored to attract his. Heturned a pair of bleared, sightless eyes in my direction; but there wasno 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 justmoving 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!" AN EPISODE OF FIDDLETOWN. In 1858 Fiddletown considered her a very pretty woman. She had aquantity of light chestnut hair, a good figure, a dazzling complexion, and a certain languid grace which passed easily for gentlewomanliness. She always dressed becomingly, and in what Fiddletown accepted as thelatest fashion. She had only two blemishes: one of her velvety eyes, when examined closely, had a slight cast; and her left cheek bore asmall scar left by a single drop of vitriol--happily the only drop ofan entire phial--thrown upon her by one of her own jealous sex, thatreached the pretty face it was intended to mar. But, when the observerhad studied the eyes sufficiently to notice this defect, he wasgenerally incapacitated for criticism; and even the scar on her cheekwas thought by some to add piquancy to her smile. The youthful editorof "The Fiddletown Avalanche" had said privately that it was "anexaggerated dimple. " Col. Starbottle was instantly "reminded of thebeautifying patches of the days of Queen Anne, but more particularly, sir, of the blankest beautiful women, that, blank you, you ever laidyour two blank eyes upon, --a Creole woman, sir, in New Orleans. And thiswoman had a scar, --a line extending, blank me, from her eye to herblank chin. And this woman, sir, thrilled you, sir; maddened you, sir;absolutely sent your blank soul to perdition with her blank fascination!And one day I said to her, 'Celeste, how in blank did you come by thatbeautiful scar, blank you?' And she said to me, 'Star, there isn'tanother white man that I'd confide in but you; but I made that scarmyself, purposely, I did, blank me. ' These were her very words, sir, andperhaps you think it a blank lie, sir; but I'll put up any blank sum youcan name and prove it, blank me. " Indeed, most of the male population of Fiddletown were or had been inlove with her. Of this number, about one-half believed that their lovewas returned, with the exception, possibly, of her own husband. He alonehad been known to express scepticism. The name of the gentleman who enjoyed this infelicitous distinction wasTretherick. He had been divorced from an excellent wife to marry thisFiddletown enchantress. She, also, had been divorced; but it was hintedthat some previous experiences of hers in that legal formality had madeit perhaps less novel, and probably less sacrificial. I would not haveit inferred from this that she was deficient in sentiment, or devoid ofits highest moral expression. Her intimate friend had written (on theoccasion of her second divorce), "The cold world does not understandClara yet;" and Col. Starbottle had remarked blankly, that with theexception of a single woman in Opelousas Parish, La. , she had more soulthan the whole caboodle of them put together. Few indeed could readthose lines entitled "Infelissimus, " commencing, "Why waves no cypresso'er this brow?" originally published in "The Avalanche, " over thesignature of "The Lady Clare, " without feeling the tear of sensibilitytremble on his eyelids, or the glow of virtuous indignation mantle hischeek, at the low brutality and pitiable jocularity of "The Dutch FlatIntelligencer, " which the next week had suggested the exotic characterof the cypress, and its entire absence from Fiddletown, as a reasonableanswer to the query. Indeed, it was this tendency to elaborate her feelings in a metricalmanner, and deliver them to the cold world through the medium of thenewspapers, that first attracted the attention of Tretherick. Severalpoems descriptive of the effects of California scenery upon a toosensitive soul, and of the vague yearnings for the infinite, which anenforced study of the heartlessness of California society produced inthe poetic breast, impressed Mr. Tretherick, who was then driving asix-mule freight-wagon between Knight's Ferry and Stockton, to seek outthe unknown poetess. Mr. Tretherick was himself dimly conscious of acertain hidden sentiment in his own nature; and it is possible thatsome reflections on the vanity of his pursuit, --he supplied severalmining-camps with whiskey and tobacco, --in conjunction with thedreariness of the dusty plain on which he habitually drove, may havetouched some chord in sympathy with this sensitive woman. Howbeit, aftera brief courtship, --as brief as was consistent with some previous legalformalities, --they were married; and Mr. Tretherick brought his blushingbride to Fiddletown, or "Fideletown, " as Mrs. Tretherick preferred tocall it in her poems. The union was not a felicitous one. It was not long before Mr. Tretherick discovered that the sentiment he had fostered whilefreighting between Stockton and Knight's Ferry was different from thatwhich his wife had evolved from the contemplation of California sceneryand her own soul. Being a man of imperfect logic, this caused him tobeat her; and she, being equally faulty in deduction, was impelled toa certain degree of unfaithfulness on the same premise. Then Mr. Tretherick began to drink, and Mrs. Tretherick to contribute regularlyto the columns of "The Avalanche. " It was at this time that Col. Starbottle discovered a similarity in Mrs. Tretherick's verse to thegenius of Sappho, and pointed it out to the citizens of Fiddletown ina two-columned criticism, signed "A. S. , " also published in "TheAvalanche, " and supported by extensive quotation. As "The Avalanche" didnot possess a font of Greek type, the editor was obliged to reproducethe Leucadian numbers in the ordinary Roman letter, to the intensedisgust of Col. Starbottle, and the vast delight of Fiddletown, who sawfit to accept the text as an excellent imitation of Choctaw, --a languagewith which the colonel, as a whilom resident of the Indian Territories, was supposed to be familiar. Indeed, the next week's "Intelligencer"contained some vile doggerel, supposed to be an answer to Mrs. Tretherick's poem, ostensibly written by the wife of a Digger Indianchief, accompanied by a glowing eulogium, signed "A. S. S. " The result of this jocularity was briefly given in a later copy of"The Avalanche. " "An unfortunate rencounter took place on Monday last, between the Hon. Jackson Flash of 'The Dutch Flat Intelligencer' and thewell-known Col. Starbottle of this place, in front of the Eureka saloon. Two shots were fired by the parties without injury to either, althoughit is said that a passing Chinaman received fifteen buckshot in thecalves of his legs from the colonel's double-barrelled shot-gun, whichwere not intended for him. John will learn to keep out of the way ofMelican man's fire-arms hereafter. The cause of the affray is not known, although it is hinted that there is a lady in the case. The rumor thatpoints to a well-known and beautiful poetess whose lucubrations haveoften graced our columns seems to gain credence from those that areposted. " Meanwhile the passiveness displayed by Tretherick under these tryingcircumstances was fully appreciated in the gulches. "The old man'shead is level, " said one long-booted philosopher. "Ef the colonelkills Flash, Mrs. Tretherick is avenged: if Flash drops the colonel, Tretherick is all right. Either way, he's got a sure thing. " Duringthis delicate condition of affairs, Mrs. Tretherick one day left herhusband's home, and took refuge at the Fiddletown Hotel, with only theclothes she had on her back. Here she staid for several weeks, duringwhich period it is only justice to say that she bore herself with thestrictest propriety. It was a clear morning in early spring that Mrs. Tretherick, unattended, left the hotel, and walked down the narrow street toward the fringe ofdark pines which indicated the extreme limits of Fiddletown. The fewloungers at that early hour were pre-occupied with the departure of theWingdown coach at the other extremity of the street; and Mrs. Tretherickreached the suburbs of the settlement without discomposing observation. Here she took a cross street or road, running at right angles with themain thoroughfare of Fiddletown, and passing through a belt of woodland. It was evidently the exclusive and aristocratic avenue of the town. Thedwellings were few, ambitious, and uninterrupted by shops. And here shewas joined by Col. Starbottle. The gallant colonel, notwithstanding that he bore the swelling portwhich usually distinguished him, that his coat was tightly buttoned, andhis boots tightly fitting, and that his cane, hooked over his arm, swung jauntily, was not entirely at his ease. Mrs. Tretherick, however, vouchsafed him a gracious smile and a glance of her dangerous eyes;and the colonel, with an embarrassed cough and a slight strut, took hisplace at her side. "The coast is clear, " said the colonel, "and Tretherick is over at DutchFlat on a spree. There is no one in the house but a Chinaman; and youneed fear no trouble from him. I, " he continued, with a slight inflationof the chest that imperilled the security of his button, "I will seethat you are protected in the removal of your property. " "I'm sure it's very kind of you, and so disinterested!" simpered thelady as they walked along. "It's so pleasant to meet some one whohas soul, --some one to sympathize with in a community so hardened andheartless as this. " And Mrs. Tretherick cast down her eyes, but notuntil they wrought their perfect and accepted work upon her companion. "Yes, certainly, of course, " said the colonel, glancing nervously up anddown the street, --"yes, certainly. " Perceiving, however, that therewas no one in sight or hearing, he proceeded at once to inform Mrs. Tretherick that the great trouble of his life, in fact, had been thepossession of too much soul. That many women--as a gentleman she wouldexcuse him, of course, from mentioning names--but many beautiful womenhad often sought his society, but being deficient, madam, absolutelydeficient, in this quality, he could not reciprocate. But when twonatures thoroughly in sympathy, despising alike the sordid trammels ofa low and vulgar community, and the conventional restraints of ahypocritical society, --when two souls in perfect accord met and mingledin poetical union, then--but here the colonel's speech, which had beenremarkable for a certain whiskey-and-watery fluency, grew husky, almostinaudible, and decidedly incoherent. Possibly Mrs. Tretherick may haveheard something like it before, and was enabled to fill the hiatus. Nevertheless, the cheek that was on the side of the colonel was quitevirginal and bashfully conscious until they reached their destination. It was a pretty little cottage, quite fresh and warm with paint, verypleasantly relieved against a platoon of pines, some of whose foremostfiles had been displaced to give freedom to the fenced enclosure inwhich it sat. In the vivid sunlight and perfect silence, it had a new, uninhabited look, as if the carpenters and painters had just left it. Atthe farther end of the lot, a Chinaman was stolidly digging; but therewas no other sign of occupancy. "The coast, " as the colonel had said, was indeed "clear. " Mrs. Tretherick paused at the gate. The colonelwould have entered with her, but was stopped by a gesture. "Come for mein a couple of hours, and I shall have every thing packed, " she said, as she smiled, and extended her hand. The colonel seized and pressed itwith great fervor. Perhaps the pressure was slightly returned; for thegallant colonel was impelled to inflate his chest, and trip away assmartly as his stubby-toed, high-heeled boots would permit. When he hadgone, Mrs. Tretherick opened the door, listened a moment in the desertedhall, and then ran quickly up stairs to what had been her bedroom. Every thing there was unchanged as on the night she left it. On thedressing-table stood her bandbox, as she remembered to have left itwhen she took out her bonnet. On the mantle lay the other glove she hadforgotten in her flight. The two lower drawers of the bureau were halfopen (she had forgotten to shut them); and on its marble top lay hershawl-pin and a soiled cuff. What other recollections came upon her Iknow not; but she suddenly grew quite white, shivered, and listened witha beating heart, and her hand upon the door. Then she stepped to themirror, and half fearfully, half curiously, parted with her fingers thebraids of her blonde hair above her little pink ear, until she came uponan ugly, half-healed scar. She gazed at this, moving her pretty headup and down to get a better light upon it, until the slight cast in hervelvety eyes became very strongly marked indeed. Then she turned awaywith a light, reckless, foolish laugh, and ran to the closet wherehung her precious dresses. These she inspected nervously, and missingsuddenly a favorite black silk from its accustomed peg, for a moment, thought she should have fainted. But discovering it the next instantlying upon a trunk where she had thrown it, a feeling of thankfulnessto a superior Being who protects the friendless, for the first timesincerely thrilled her. Then, albeit she was hurried for time, she couldnot resist trying the effect of a certain lavender neck-ribbon upon thedress she was then wearing, before the mirror. And then suddenly shebecame aware of a child's voice close beside her, and she stopped. Andthen the child's voice repeated, "Is it mamma?" Mrs. Tretherick faced quickly about. Standing in the doorway was alittle girl of six or seven. Her dress had been originally fine, but wastorn and dirty; and her hair, which was a very violent red, was tumbledserio-comically about her forehead. For all this, she was a picturesquelittle thing, even through whose childish timidity there was a certainself-sustained air which is apt to come upon children who are left muchto themselves. She was holding under her arm a rag doll, apparentlyof her own workmanship, and nearly as large as herself, --a doll with acylindrical head, and features roughly indicated with charcoal. Along shawl, evidently belonging to a grown person, dropped from hershoulders, and swept the floor. The spectacle did not excite Mrs. Tretherick's delight. Perhaps she hadbut a small sense of humor. Certainly, when the child, still standing inthe doorway, again asked, "Is it mamma?" she answered sharply, "No, itisn't, " and turned a severe look upon the intruder. The child retreated a step, and then, gaining courage with the distance, said in deliciously imperfect speech, -- "Dow 'way then! why don't you dow away?" But Mrs. Tretherick was eying the shawl. Suddenly she whipped it off thechild's shoulders, and said angrily, -- "How dared you take my things, you bad child?" "Is it yours? Then you are my mamma; ain't you? You are mamma!" shecontinued gleefully; and, before Mrs. Tretherick could avoid her, shehad dropped her doll, and, catching the woman's skirts with both hands, was dancing up and down before her. "What's your name, child?" said Mrs. Tretherick coldly, removing thesmall and not very white hands from her garments. "Tarry. " "Tarry?" "Yeth. Tarry. Tarowline. " "Caroline?" "Yeth. Tarowline Tretherick. " "Whose child ARE you?" demanded Mrs. Tretherick still more coldly, tokeep down a rising fear. "Why, yours, " said the little creature with a laugh. "I'm your littledurl. You're my mamma, my new mamma. Don't you know my ole mamma's dornaway, never to turn back any more? I don't live wid my ol' mamma now. Ilive wid you and papa. " "How long have you been here?" asked Mrs. Tretherick snappishly. "I fink it's free days, " said Carry reflectively. "You think! Don't you know?" sneered Mrs. Tretherick. "Then, where didyou come from?" Carry's lip began to work under this sharp cross-examination. With agreat effort and a small gulp, she got the better of it, and answered, -- "Papa, papa fetched me, --from Miss Simmons--from Sacramento, last week. " "Last week! You said three days just now, " returned Mrs. Tretherick withsevere deliberation. "I mean a monf, " said Carry, now utterly adrift in sheer helplessnessand confusion. "Do you know what you are talking about?" demanded Mrs. Tretherickshrilly, restraining an impulse to shake the little figure before her, and precipitate the truth by specific gravity. But the flaming red head here suddenly disappeared in the folds of Mrs. Tretherick's dress, as if it were trying to extinguish itself forever. "There now--stop that sniffling, " said Mrs. Tretherick, extricatingher dress from the moist embraces of the child, and feeling exceedinglyuncomfortable. "Wipe your face now, and run away, and don't bother. Stop, " she continued, as Carry moved away. "Where's your papa?" "He's dorn away too. He's sick. He's been dorn"--she hesitated--"two, free, days. " "Who takes care of you, child?" said Mrs. Tretherick, eying hercuriously. "John, the Chinaman. I tresses myselth. John tooks and makes the beds. " "Well, now, run away and behave yourself, and don't bother me any more, "said Mrs. Tretherick, remembering the object of her visit. "Stop--whereare you going?" she added, as the child began to ascend the stairs, dragging the long doll after her by one helpless leg. "Doin up stairs to play and be dood, and no bother mamma. " "I ain't your mamma, " shouted Mrs. Tretherick, and then she swiftlyre-entered her bedroom, and slammed the door. Once inside, she drew forth a large trunk from the closet, and set towork with querulous and fretful haste to pack her wardrobe. She tore herbest dress in taking it from the hook on which it hung: she scratchedher soft hands twice with an ambushed pin. All the while, she kept up anindignant commentary on the events of the past few moments. She said toherself she saw it all. Tretherick had sent for this child of his firstwife--this child of whose existence he had never seemed to care--justto insult her, to fill her place. Doubtless the first wife herself wouldfollow soon, or perhaps there would be a third. Red hair, not auburn, but RED, --of course the child, this Caroline, looked like its mother, and, if so, she was any thing but pretty. Or the whole thing had beenprepared: this red-haired child, the image of its mother, had beenkept at a convenient distance at Sacramento, ready to be sent for whenneeded. She remembered his occasional visits there on--business, as hesaid. Perhaps the mother already was there; but no, she had gone East. Nevertheless, Mrs. Tretherick, in her then state of mind, preferred todwell upon the fact that she might be there. She was dimly conscious, also, of a certain satisfaction in exaggerating her feelings. Surelyno woman had ever been so shamefully abused. In fancy, she sketcheda picture of herself sitting alone and deserted, at sunset, amongthe fallen columns of a ruined temple, in a melancholy yet gracefulattitude, while her husband drove rapidly away in a luxuriouscoach-and-four, with a red-haired woman at his side. Sitting uponthe trunk she had just packed, she partly composed a lugubrious poem, describing her sufferings, as, wandering alone, and poorly clad, shecame upon her husband and "another" flaunting in silks and diamonds. She pictured herself dying of consumption, brought on by sorrow, --abeautiful wreck, yet still fascinating, gazed upon adoringly by theeditor of "The Avalanche, " and Col. Starbottle. And where was Col. Starbottle all this while? Why didn't he come? He, at least, understoodher. He--she laughed the reckless, light laugh of a few moments before;and then her face suddenly grew grave, as it had not a few momentsbefore. What was that little red-haired imp doing all this time? Why was she soquiet? She opened the door noiselessly, and listened. She fanciedthat she heard, above the multitudinous small noises and creakingsand warpings of the vacant house, a smaller voice singing on the floorabove. This, as she remembered, was only an open attic that had beenused as a storeroom. With a half-guilty consciousness, she crept softlyup stairs, and, pushing the door partly open, looked within. Athwart the long, low-studded attic, a slant sunbeam from a single smallwindow lay, filled with dancing motes, and only half illuminating thebarren, dreary apartment. In the ray of this sunbeam she saw the child'sglowing hair, as if crowned by a red aureola, as she sat upon the floorwith her exaggerated doll between her knees. She appeared to be talkingto it; and it was not long before Mrs. Tretherick observed that she wasrehearsing the interview of a half-hour before. She catechised thedoll severely, cross-examining it in regard to the duration of itsstay there, and generally on the measure of time. The imitation of Mrs. Tretherick's manner was exceedingly successful, and the conversationalmost a literal reproduction, with a single exception. After she hadinformed the doll that she was not her mother, at the close of theinterview she added pathetically, "that if she was dood, very dood, shemight be her mamma, and love her very much. " I have already hinted that Mrs. Tretherick was deficient in a sense ofhumor. Perhaps it was for this reason that this whole scene affectedher most unpleasantly; and the conclusion sent the blood tingling to hercheek. There was something, too, inconceivably lonely in the situation. The unfurnished vacant room, the half-lights, the monstrous doll, whosevery size seemed to give a pathetic significance to its speechlessness, the smallness of the one animate, self-centred figure, --all thesetouched more or less deeply the half-poetic sensibilities of the woman. She could not help utilizing the impression as she stood there, andthought what a fine poem might be constructed from this material, if theroom were a little darker, the child lonelier, --say, sitting beside adead mother's bier, and the wind wailing in the turrets. And then shesuddenly heard footsteps at the door below, and recognized the tread ofthe colonel's cane. She flew swiftly down the stairs, and encountered the colonel in thehall. Here she poured into his astonished ear a voluble and exaggeratedstatement of her discovery, and indignant recital of her wrongs. "Don'ttell me the whole thing wasn't arranged beforehand; for I know it was!"she almost screamed. "And think, " she added, "of the heartlessness ofthe wretch, leaving his own child alone here in that way. " "It's a blank shame!" stammered the colonel without the least ideaof what he was talking about. In fact, utterly unable as he was tocomprehend a reason for the woman's excitement with his estimate ofher character, I fear he showed it more plainly than he intended. Hestammered, expanded his chest, looked stern, gallant, tender, butall unintelligently. Mrs. Tretherick, for an instant, experienced asickening doubt of the existence of natures in perfect affinity. "It's of no use, " said Mrs. Tretherick with sudden vehemence, in answerto some inaudible remark of the colonel's, and withdrawing her hand fromthe fervent grasp of that ardent and sympathetic man. "It's of no use:my mind is made up. You can send for my trunk as soon as you like; but Ishall stay here, and confront that man with the proof of his vileness. Iwill put him face to face with his infamy. " I do not know whether Col. Starbottle thoroughly appreciated theconvincing proof of Tretherick's unfaithfulness and malignity affordedby the damning evidence of the existence of Tretherick's own child inhis own house. He was dimly aware, however, of some unforeseen obstacleto the perfect expression of the infinite longing of his own sentimentalnature. But, before he could say any thing, Carry appeared on thelanding above them, looking timidly, and yet half-critically at thepair. "That's her, " said Mrs. Tretherick excitedly. In her deepest emotions, either in verse or prose, she rose above a consideration of grammaticalconstruction. "Ah!" said the colonel, with a sudden assumption of parental affectionand jocularity that was glaringly unreal and affected. "Ah! prettylittle girl, pretty little girl! How do you do? How are you? You findyourself pretty well, do you, pretty little girl?" The colonel's impulsealso was to expand his chest, and swing his cane, until it occurred tohim that this action might be ineffective with a child of six or seven. Carry, however, took no immediate notice of this advance, butfurther discomposed the chivalrous colonel by running quickly to Mrs. Tretherick, and hiding herself, as if for protection, in the folds ofher gown. Nevertheless, the colonel was not vanquished. Falling backinto an attitude of respectful admiration, he pointed out a marvellousresemblance to the "Madonna and Child. " Mrs. Tretherick simpered, butdid not dislodge Carry as before. There was an awkward pause for amoment; and then Mrs. Tretherick, motioning significantly to the child, said in a whisper, "Go now. Don't come here again, but meet meto-night at the hotel. " She extended her hand: the colonel bent over itgallantly, and, raising his hat, the next moment was gone. "Do you think, " said Mrs. Tretherick with an embarrassed voice and aprodigious blush, looking down, and addressing the fiery curls justvisible in the folds of her dress, --"do you think you will be 'dood, ' ifI let you stay in here and sit with me?" "And let me tall you mamma?" queried Carry, looking up. "And let you call me mamma!" assented Mrs. Tretherick with anembarrassed laugh. "Yeth, " said Carry promptly. They entered the bedroom together. Carry's eye instantly caught sight ofthe trunk. "Are you dowin away adain, mamma?" she said with a quick nervous look, and a clutch at the woman's dress. "No-o, " said Mrs. Tretherick, looking out of the window. "Only playing your dowin away, " suggested Carry with a laugh. "Let meplay too. " Mrs. Tretherick assented. Carry flew into the next room, and presentlyre-appeared, dragging a small trunk, into which she gravely proceededto pack her clothes. Mrs. Tretherick noticed that they were not many. Aquestion or two regarding them brought out some further replies fromthe child; and, before many minutes had elapsed, Mrs. Tretherick was inpossession of all her earlier history. But, to do this, Mrs. Tretherickhad been obliged to take Carry upon her lap, pending the mostconfidential disclosures. They sat thus a long time after Mrs. Tretherick had apparently ceased to be interested in Carry'sdisclosures; and, when lost in thought, she allowed the child to rattleon unheeded, and ran her fingers through the scarlet curls. "You don't hold me right, mamma, " said Carry at last, after one or twouneasy shiftings of position. "How should I hold you?" asked Mrs. Tretherick with a half-amused, half-embarrassed laugh. "Dis way, " said Carry, curling up into position, with one arm aroundMrs. Tretherick's neck, and her cheek resting on her bosom, --"disway, --dere. " After a little preparatory nestling, not unlike some smallanimal, she closed her eyes, and went to sleep. For a few moments the woman sat silent, scarcely daring to breathe inthat artificial attitude. And then, whether from some occult sympathy inthe touch, or God best knows what, a sudden fancy began to thrill her. She began by remembering an old pain that she had forgotten, an oldhorror that she had resolutely put away all these years. She recalleddays of sickness and distrust, --days of an overshadowing fear, --days ofpreparation for something that was to be prevented, that WAS prevented, with mortal agony and fear. She thought of a life that might havebeen, --she dared not say HAD been, --and wondered. It was six years ago:if it had lived, it would have been as old as Carry. The arms which werefolded loosely around the sleeping child began to tremble, and tightentheir clasp. And then the deep potential impulse came, and with ahalf-sob, half-sigh, she threw her arms out, and drew the body of thesleeping child down, down, into her breast, down again and again as ifshe would hide it in the grave dug there years before. And the gust thatshook her passed, and then, ah me! the rain. A drop or two fell upon the curls of Carry, and she moved uneasily inher sleep. But the woman soothed her again, --it was so easy to do itnow, --and they sat there quiet and undisturbed, so quiet that they mighthave seemed incorporate of the lonely silent house, the slowly-decliningsunbeams, and the general air of desertion and abandonment, yet adesertion that had in it nothing of age, decay, or despair. Col. Starbottle waited at the Fiddletown hotel all that night in vain. And the next morning, when Mr. Tretherick returned to his husks, hefound the house vacant and untenanted, except by motes and sunbeams. When it was fairly known that Mrs. Tretherick had run away, taking Mr. Tretherick's own child with her, there was some excitement, and muchdiversity of opinion, in Fiddletown. "The Dutch Flat Intelligencer"openly alluded to the "forcible abduction" of the child with the samefreedom, and it is to be feared the same prejudice, with which it hadcriticised the abductor's poetry. All of Mrs. Tretherick's own sex, andperhaps a few of the opposite sex, whose distinctive quality was not, however, very strongly indicated, fully coincided in the views of "TheIntelligencer. " The majority, however, evaded the moral issue: thatMrs. Tretherick had shaken the red dust of Fiddletown from her daintyslippers was enough for them to know. They mourned the loss of the fairabductor more than her offence. They promptly rejected Tretherick asan injured husband and disconsolate father, and even went so far as toopenly cast discredit on the sincerity of his grief. They reserved anironical condolence for Col. Starbottle, overbearing that excellentman with untimely and demonstrative sympathy in bar-rooms, saloons, and other localities not generally deemed favorable to the displayof sentiment. "She was alliz a skittish thing, kernel, " said onesympathizer, with a fine affectation of gloomy concern, and greatreadiness of illustration; "and it's kinder nat'ril thet she'd get awaysome day, and stampede that theer colt: but thet she should shake YOU, kernel, thet she should just shake you--is what gits me. And they dosay thet you jist hung around thet hotel all night, and payrolled themcorriders, and histed yourself up and down them stairs, and meanderedin and out o' thet piazzy, and all for nothing?" It was another generousand tenderly commiserating spirit that poured additional oil and wineon the colonel's wounds. "The boys yer let on thet Mrs. Tretherickprevailed on ye to pack her trunk and a baby over from the house to thestage-offis, and that the chap ez did go off with her thanked you, andoffered you two short bits, and sed ez how he liked your looks, and udemploy you agin--and now you say it ain't so? Well, I'll tell the boysit aint so, and I'm glad I met you, for stories DO get round. " Happily for Mrs. Tretherick's reputation, however, the Chinaman inTretherick's employment, who was the only eye-witness of her flight, stated that she was unaccompanied, except by the child. He furtherdeposed, that, obeying her orders, he had stopped the Sacramento coach, and secured a passage for herself and child to San Francisco. It wastrue that Ah Fe's testimony was of no legal value. But nobody doubtedit. Even those who were sceptical of the Pagan's ability to recognizethe sacredness of the truth admitted his passionless, unprejudicedunconcern. But it would appear, from a hitherto unrecorded passage ofthis veracious chronicle, that herein they were mistaken. It was about six months after the disappearance of Mrs. Tretherick, that Ah Fe, while working in Tretherick's lot, was hailed by two passingChinamen. They were the ordinary mining coolies, equipped with longpoles and baskets for their usual pilgrimages. An animated conversationat once ensued between Ah Fe and his brother Mongolians, --a conversationcharacterized by that usual shrill volubility and apparent animositywhich was at once the delight and scorn of the intelligent Caucasian whodid not understand a word of it. Such, at least, was the feelingwith which Mr. Tretherick on his veranda, and Col. Starbottle who waspassing, regarded their heathenish jargon. The gallant colonel simplykicked them out of his way: the irate Tretherick, with an oath, threw astone at the group, and dispersed them, but not before one or two slipsof yellow rice-paper, marked with hieroglyphics, were exchanged, and asmall parcel put into Ah Fe's hands. When Ah Fe opened this in the dimsolitude of his kitchen, he found a little girl's apron, freshly washed, ironed, and folded. On the corner of the hem were the initials "C. T. "Ah Fe tucked it away in a corner of his blouse, and proceeded to washhis dishes in the sink with a smile of guileless satisfaction. Two days after this, Ah Fe confronted his master. "Me no likeeFiddletown. Me belly sick. Me go now. " Mr. Tretherick violentlysuggested a profane locality. Ah Fe gazed at him placidly, and withdrew. Before leaving Fiddletown, however, he accidentally met Col. Starbottle, and dropped a few incoherent phrases which apparently interested thatgentleman. When he concluded, the colonel handed him a letter anda twenty-dollar gold-piece. "If you bring me an answer, I'll doublethat--Sabe, John?" Ah Fe nodded. An interview equally accidental, with precisely the same result, took place between Ah Fe and anothergentleman, whom I suspect to have been the youthful editor of "TheAvalanche. " Yet I regret to state, that, after proceeding some distanceon his journey, Ah Fe calmly broke the seals of both letters, and, aftertrying to read them upside down and sideways, finally divided them intoaccurate squares, and in this condition disposed of them to a brotherCelestial whom he met on the road, for a trifling gratuity. The agony ofCol. Starbottle on finding his wash-bill made out on the unwritten sideof one of these squares, and delivered to him with his weekly cleanclothes, and the subsequent discovery that the remaining portions of hisletter were circulated by the same method from the Chinese laundryof one Fung Ti of Fiddletown, has been described to me as peculiarlyaffecting. Yet I am satisfied that a higher nature, rising above thelevity induced by the mere contemplation of the insignificant detailsof this breach of trust, would find ample retributive justice in thedifficulties that subsequently attended Ah Fe's pilgrimage. On the road to Sacramento he was twice playfully thrown from the topof the stage-coach by an intelligent but deeply-intoxicated Caucasian, whose moral nature was shocked at riding with one addicted toopium-smoking. At Hangtown he was beaten by a passing stranger, --purelyan act of Christian supererogation. At Dutch Flat he was robbed bywell-known hands from unknown motives. At Sacramento he was arrestedon suspicion of being something or other, and discharged with a severereprimand--possibly for not being it, and so delaying the course ofjustice. At San Francisco he was freely stoned by children of the publicschools; but, by carefully avoiding these monuments of enlightenedprogress, he at last reached, in comparative safety, the Chinesequarters, where his abuse was confined to the police, and limited by thestrong arm of the law. The next day he entered the wash-house of Chy Fook as an assistant, andon the following Friday was sent with a basket of clean clothes to ChyFook's several clients. It was the usual foggy afternoon as he climbed the long wind-swept hillof California Street, --one of those bleak, gray intervals that made thesummer a misnomer to any but the liveliest San Franciscan fancy. Therewas no warmth or color in earth or sky, no light nor shade within orwithout, only one monotonous, universal neutral tint over every thing. There was a fierce unrest in the wind-whipped streets: there was adreary vacant quiet in the gray houses. When Ah Fe reached the top ofthe hill, the Mission Ridge was already hidden; and the chill sea-breezemade him shiver. As he put down his basket to rest himself, it ispossible, that, to his defective intelligence and heathen experience, this "God's own climate, " as it was called, seemed to possess butscant tenderness, softness, or mercy. But it is possible that AhFe illogically confounded this season with his old persecutors, theschool-children, who, being released from studious confinement, at thishour were generally most aggressive. So he hastened on, and, turning acorner, at last stopped before a small house. It was the usual San Franciscan urban cottage. There was the littlestrip of cold green shrubbery before it; the chilly, bare veranda, andabove this, again, the grim balcony, on which no one sat. Ah Fe rangthe bell. A servant appeared, glanced at his basket, and reluctantlyadmitted him, as if he were some necessary domestic animal. Ah Fesilently mounted the stairs, and, entering the open door of thefront-chamber, put down the basket, and stood passively on thethreshold. A woman, who was sitting in the cold gray light of the window, with achild in her lap, rose listlessly, and came toward him. Ah Fe instantlyrecognized Mrs. Tretherick; but not a muscle of his immobile facechanged, nor did his slant eyes lighten as he met her own placidly. Sheevidently did not recognize him as she began to count the clothes. Butthe child, curiously examining him, suddenly uttered a short, glad cry. "Why, it's John, mamma! It's our old John what we had in Fiddletown. " For an instant Ah Fe's eyes and teeth electrically lightened. The childclapped her hands, and caught at his blouse. Then he said shortly, "MeJohn--Ah Fe--allee same. Me know you. How do?" Mrs. Tretherick dropped the clothes nervously, and looked hard at Ah Fe. Wanting the quick-witted instinct of affection that sharpened Carry'sperception, she even then could not distinguish him above his fellows. With a recollection of past pain, and an obscure suspicion of impendingdanger, she asked him when he had left Fiddletown. "Longee time. No likee Fiddletown, no likee Tlevelick. Likee San Flisco. Likee washee. Likee Tally. " Ah Fe's laconics pleased Mrs. Tretherick. She did not stop to considerhow much an imperfect knowledge of English added to his curt directnessand sincerity. But she said, "Don't tell anybody you have seen me, " andtook out her pocket-book. Ah Fe, without looking at it, saw that it was nearly empty. Ah Fe, without examining the apartment, saw that it was scantily furnished. Ah Fe, without removing his eyes from blank vacancy, saw that both Mrs. Tretherick and Carry were poorly dressed. Yet it is my duty tostate that Ah Fe's long fingers closed promptly and firmly over thehalf-dollar which Mrs. Tretherick extended to him. Then he began to fumble in his blouse with a series of extraordinarycontortions. After a few moments, he extracted from apparently noparticular place a child's apron, which he laid upon the basket with theremark, -- "One piecee washman flagittee. " Then he began anew his fumblings and contortions. At last his effortswere rewarded by his producing, apparently from his right ear, amany-folded piece of tissue-paper. Unwrapping this carefully, he atlast disclosed two twenty-dollar gold-pieces, which he handed to Mrs. Tretherick. "You leavee money topside of blulow, Fiddletown. Me findee money. Mefetchee money to you. All lightee. " "But I left no money on the top of the bureau, John, " said Mrs. Tretherick earnestly. "There must be some mistake. It belongs to someother person. Take it back, John. " Ah Fe's brow darkened. He drew away from Mrs. Tretherick's extendedhand, and began hastily to gather up his basket. "Me no takee it back. No, no! Bimeby pleesman he catchee me. He say, 'God damn thief!--catchee flowty dollar: come to jailee. ' Me no takeeback. You leavee money top-side blulow, Fiddletown. Me fetchee moneyyou. Me no takee back. " Mrs. Tretherick hesitated. In the confusion of her flight, she MIGHThave left the money in the manner he had said. In any event, she had noright to jeopardize this honest Chinaman's safety by refusing it. So shesaid, "Very well. John, I will keep it. But you must come again and seeme"--here Mrs. Tretherick hesitated with a new and sudden revelation ofthe fact that any man could wish to see any other than herself--"and, and--Carry. " Ah Fe's face lightened. He even uttered a short ventriloquistic laughwithout moving his mouth. Then shouldering his basket, he shut the doorcarefully, and slid quietly down stairs. In the lower hall he, however, found an unexpected difficulty in opening the front-door, and, afterfumbling vainly at the lock for a moment, looked around for some helpor instruction. But the Irish handmaid who had let him in wascontemptuously oblivious of his needs, and did not appear. There occurred a mysterious and painful incident, which I shall simplyrecord without attempting to explain. On the hall-table a scarf, evidently the property of the servant before alluded to, was lying. As Ah Fe tried the lock with one hand, the other rested lightly on thetable. Suddenly, and apparently of its own volition, the scarf began tocreep slowly towards Ah Fe's hand; from Ah Fe's hand it began to creepup his sleeve slowly, and with an insinuating, snake-like motion;and then disappeared somewhere in the recesses of his blouse. Withoutbetraying the least interest or concern in this phenomenon, Ah Fe stillrepeated his experiments upon the lock. A moment later the tableclothof red damask, moved by apparently the same mysterious impulse, slowlygathered itself under Ah Fe's fingers, and sinuously disappeared by thesame hidden channel. What further mystery might have followed, I cannotsay; for at this moment Ah Fe discovered the secret of the lock, and wasenabled to open the door coincident with the sound of footsteps uponthe kitchen-stairs. Ah Fe did not hasten his movements, but, patientlyshouldering his basket, closed the door carefully behind him again, andstepped forth into the thick encompassing fog that now shrouded earthand sky. From her high casement-window, Mrs. Tretherick watched Ah Fe's figureuntil it disappeared in the gray cloud. In her present loneliness, shefelt a keen sense of gratitude toward him, and may have ascribed tothe higher emotions and the consciousness of a good deed, that certainexpansiveness of the chest, and swelling of the bosom, that was reallydue to the hidden presence of the scarf and tablecloth under his blouse. For Mrs. Tretherick was still poetically sensitive. As the gray fogdeepened into night, she drew Carry closer towards her, and, abovethe prattle of the child, pursued a vein of sentimental and egotisticrecollection at once bitter and dangerous. The sudden apparition of AhFe linked her again with her past life at Fiddletown. Over the drearyinterval between, she was now wandering, --a journey so piteous, wilful, thorny, and useless, that it was no wonder that at last Carry stoppedsuddenly in the midst of her voluble confidences to throw her small armsaround the woman's neck, and bid her not to cry. Heaven forefend that I should use a pen that should be ever dedicatedto an exposition of unalterable moral principle to transcribe Mrs. Tretherick's own theory of this interval and episode, with its feeblepalliations, its illogical deductions, its fond excuses, and weakapologies. It would seem, however, that her experience had been hard. Her slender stock of money was soon exhausted. At Sacramento shefound that the composition of verse, although appealing to the highestemotions of the human heart, and compelling the editorial breast to thenoblest commendation in the editorial pages, was singularly inadequateto defray the expenses of herself and Carry. Then she tried the stage, but failed signally. Possibly her conception of the passions wasdifferent from that which obtained with a Sacramento audience; but itwas certain that her charming presence, so effective at short range, wasnot sufficiently pronounced for the footlights. She had admirers enoughin the green-room, but awakened no abiding affection among the audience. In this strait, it occurred to her that she had a voice, --a contralto ofno very great compass or cultivation, but singularly sweet and touching;and she finally obtained position in a church-choir. She held it forthree months, greatly to her pecuniary advantage, and, it is said, muchto the satisfaction of the gentlemen in the back-pews, who faced towardher during the singing of the last hymn. I remember her quite distinctly at this time. The light that slantedthrough the oriel of St. Dives choir was wont to fall very tenderly onher beautiful head with its stacked masses of deerskin-colored hair, onthe low black arches of her brows, and to deepen the pretty fringesthat shaded her eyes of Genoa velvet. Very pleasant it was to watchthe opening and shutting of that small straight mouth, with its quickrevelation of little white teeth, and to see the foolish blood faintlydeepen her satin cheek as you watched. For Mrs. Tretherick was verysweetly conscious of admiration, and, like most pretty women, gatheredherself under your eye like a racer under the spur. And then, of course, there came trouble. I have it from the soprano, --alittle lady who possessed even more than the usual unprejudiced judgmentof her sex, --that Mrs. Tretherick's conduct was simply shameful; thather conceit was unbearable; that, if she considered the rest of thechoir as slaves, she (the soprano) would like to know it; that herconduct on Easter Sunday with the basso had attracted the attention ofthe whole congregation; and that she herself had noticed Dr. Copetwice look up during the service; that her (the soprano's) friends hadobjected to her singing in the choir with a person who had been on thestage, but she had waived this. Yet she had it from the best authoritythat Mrs. Tretherick had run away from her husband, and that thisred-haired child who sometimes came in the choir was not her own. Thetenor confided to me behind the organ, that Mrs. Tretherick had a wayof sustaining a note at the end of a line in order that her voice mightlinger longer with the congregation, --an act that could be attributedonly to a defective moral nature; that as a man (he was a very populardry-goods clerk on week-days, and sang a good deal from apparentlybehind his eyebrows on the sabbath)--that as a man, sir, he would put upwith it no longer. The basso alone--a short German with a heavy voice, for which he seemed reluctantly responsible, and rather grieved at itspossession--stood up for Mrs. Tretherick, and averred that they werejealous of her because she was "bretty. " The climax was at last reachedin an open quarrel, wherein Mrs. Tretherick used her tongue withsuch precision of statement and epithet, that the soprano burst intohysterical tears, and had to be supported from the choir by her husbandand the tenor. This act was marked intentionally to the congregationby the omission of the usual soprano solo. Mrs. Tretherick went homeflushed with triumph, but on reaching her room frantically told Carrythat they were beggars henceforward; that she--her mother--had justtaken the very bread out of her darling's mouth, and ended by burstinginto a flood of penitent tears. They did not come so quickly as in herold poetical days; but when they came they stung deeply. She was rousedby a formal visit from a vestryman, --one of the music committee. Mrs. Tretherick dried her long lashes, put on a new neck-ribbon, and wentdown to the parlor. She staid there two hours, --a fact that might haveoccasioned some remark, but that the vestryman was married, and had afamily of grown-up daughters. When Mrs. Tretherick returned to her room, she sang to herself in the glass and scolded Carry--but she retained herplace in the choir. It was not long, however. In due course of time, her enemies received apowerful addition to their forces in the committee-man's wife. That ladycalled upon several of the church-members and on Dr. Cope's family. The result was, that, at a later meeting of the music committee, Mrs. Tretherick's voice was declared inadequate to the size of the buildingand she was invited to resign. She did so. She had been out of asituation for two months, and her scant means were almost exhausted, when Ah Fe's unexpected treasure was tossed into her lap. The gray fog deepened into night, and the street-lamps started intoshivering life, as, absorbed in these unprofitable memories, Mrs. Tretherick still sat drearily at her window. Even Carry had slipped awayunnoticed; and her abrupt entrance with the damp evening paper inher hand roused Mrs. Tretherick, and brought her back to an activerealization of the present. For Mrs. Tretherick was wont to scanthe advertisements in the faint hope of finding some avenue ofemployment--she knew not what--open to her needs; and Carry had notedthis habit. Mrs. Tretherick mechanically closed the shutters, lit the lights, andopened the paper. Her eye fell instinctively on the following paragraphin the telegraphic column:-- "FIDDLETOWN, 7th. --Mr. James Tretherick, an old resident of this place, died last night of delirium tremens. Mr. Tretherick was addicted tointemperate habits, said to have been induced by domestic trouble. " Mrs. Tretherick did not start. She quietly turned over another page ofthe paper, and glanced at Carry. The child was absorbed in a book. Mrs. Tretherick uttered no word, but, during the remainder of the evening, was unusually silent and cold. When Carry was undressed and in bed, Mrs. Tretherick suddenly dropped on her knees beside the bed, and, takingCarry's flaming head between her hands, said, -- "Should you like to have another papa, Carry darling?" "No, " said Carry, after a moment's thought. "But a papa to help mamma take care of you, to love you, to give younice clothes, to make a lady of you when you grow up?" Carry turned her sleepy eyes toward the questioner. "Should YOU, mamma?" Mrs. Tretherick suddenly flushed to the roots of her hair. "Go tosleep, " she said sharply, and turned away. But at midnight the child felt two white arms close tightly around her, and was drawn down into a bosom that heaved, fluttered, and at last wasbroken up by sobs. "Don't ky, mamma, " whispered Carry, with a vague retrospect of theirrecent conversation. "Don't ky. I fink I SHOULD like a new papa, if heloved you very much--very, very much!" A month afterward, to everybody's astonishment, Mrs. Tretherick wasmarried. The happy bridegroom was one Col. Starbottle, recently electedto represent Calaveras County in the legislative councils of the State. As I cannot record the event in finer language than that used by thecorrespondent of "The Sacramento Globe, " I venture to quote some of hisgraceful periods. "The relentless shafts of the sly god have been latelybusy among our gallant Solons. We quote 'one more unfortunate. 'The latest victim is the Hon. C. Starbottle of Calaveras. The fairenchantress in the case is a beautiful widow, a former votary ofThespis, and lately a fascinating St. Cecilia of one of the mostfashionable churches of San Francisco, where she commanded a highsalary. " "The Dutch Flat Intelligencer" saw fit, however, to comment upon thefact with that humorous freedom characteristic of an unfettered press. "The new Democratic war-horse from Calaveras has lately advented inthe legislature with a little bill to change the name of Tretherickto Starbottle. They call it a marriage-certificate down there. Mr. Tretherick has been dead just one month; but we presume the gallantcolonel is not afraid of ghosts. " It is but just to Mrs. Tretherickto state that the colonel's victory was by no means an easy one. Toa natural degree of coyness on the part of the lady was added theimpediment of a rival, --a prosperous undertaker from Sacramento, whohad first seen and loved Mrs. Tretherick at the theatre and church; hisprofessional habits debarring him from ordinary social intercourse, andindeed any other than the most formal public contact with the sex. Asthis gentleman had made a snug fortune during the felicitous prevalenceof a severe epidemic, the colonel regarded him as a dangerous rival. Fortunately, however, the undertaker was called in professionally to layout a brother-senator, who had unhappily fallen by the colonel's pistolin an affair of honor; and either deterred by physical considerationfrom rivalry, or wisely concluding that the colonel was professionallyvaluable, he withdrew from the field. The honeymoon was brief, and brought to a close by an untoward incident. During their bridal-trip, Carry had been placed in the charge ofCol. Starbottle's sister. On their return to the city, immediately onreaching their lodgings, Mrs. Starbottle announced her intention ofat once proceeding to Mrs. Culpepper's to bring the child home. Col. Starbottle, who had been exhibiting for some time a certain uneasinesswhich he had endeavored to overcome by repeated stimulation, finallybuttoned his coat tightly across his breast, and, after walkingunsteadily once or twice up and down the room, suddenly faced his wifewith his most imposing manner. "I have deferred, " said the colonel with an exaggeration of port thatincreased with his inward fear, and a growing thickness of speech, --"Ihave deferr--I may say poshponed statement o' fack thash my duty terdishclose ter ye. I did no wish to mar sushine mushal happ'ness, tobligh bud o' promise, to darken conjuglar sky by unpleasht revelashun. Musht be done--by G-d, m'm, musht do it now. The chile is gone!" "Gone!" echoed Mrs. Starbottle. There was something in the tone of her voice, in the suddendrawing-together of the pupils of her eyes, that for a moment nearlysobered the colonel, and partly collapsed his chest. "I'll splain all in a minit, " he said with a deprecating wave of thehand. "Every thing shall be splained. The-the-the-melencholly eventwish preshipitate our happ'ness--the myster'us prov'nice wish releashyou--releash chile! hunerstan?--releash chile. The mom't Tretherickdie--all claim you have in chile through him--die too. Thash law. Whosechile b'long to? Tretherick? Tretherick dead. Chile can't b'long deadman. Damn nonshense b'long dead man. I'sh your chile? no! who's chilethen? Chile b'long to 'ts mother. Unnerstan?" "Where is she?" said Mrs. Starbottle with a very white face and a verylow voice. "I'll splain all. Chile b'long to 'ts mother. Thash law. I'm lawyer, leshlator, and American sis'n. Ish my duty as lawyer, as leshlator, and'merikan sis'n to reshtore chile to suff'rin mother at any coss--anycoss. " "Where is she?" repeated Mrs. Starbottle with her eyes still fixed onthe colonel's face. "Gone to 'ts m'o'r. Gone East on shteamer, yesserday. Waffed by fav'ringales to suff'rin p'rent. Thash so!" Mrs. Starbottle did not move. The colonel felt his chest slowlycollapsing, but steadied himself against a chair, and endeavored to beamwith chivalrous gallantry not unmixed with magisterial firmness upon heras she sat. "Your feelin's, m'm, do honor to yer sex, but conshider situashun. Conshider m'or's feelings--conshider MY feelin's. " The colonel paused, and, flourishing a white handkerchief, placed it negligently in hisbreast, and then smiled tenderly above it, as over laces and ruffles, onthe woman before him. "Why should dark shedder cass bligh on two sholeswith single beat? Chile's fine chile, good chile, but summonelse chile!Chile's gone, Clar'; but all ish'n't gone, Clar'. Conshider dearesht, you all's have me!" Mrs. Starbottle started to her feet. "YOU!" she cried, bringing out achest note that made the chandeliers ring, --"you that I married to givemy darling food and clothes, --YOU! a dog that I whistled to my side tokeep the men off me, --YOU!" She choked up, and then dashed past him into the inner room, which hadbeen Carry's; then she swept by him again into her own bedroom, and thensuddenly re-appeared before him, erect, menacing, with a burning fireover her cheek-bones, a quick straightening of her arched brows andmouth, a squaring of jaw, and ophidian flattening of the head. "Listen!" she said in a hoarse, half-grown boy's voice. "Hear me! Ifyou ever expect to set eyes on me again, you must find the child. If youever expect to speak to me again, to touch me, you must bring her back. For where she goes, I go: you hear me! Where she has gone, look for me. " She struck out past him again with a quick feminine throwing-out of herarms from the elbows down, as if freeing herself from some imaginarybonds, and, dashing into her chamber, slammed and locked the door. Col. Starbottle, although no coward, stood in superstitious fear of an angrywoman, and, recoiling as she swept by, lost his unsteady foothold, and rolled helplessly on the sofa. Here, after one or two unsuccessfulattempts to regain his foothold, he remained, uttering from time to timeprofane but not entirely coherent or intelligible protests, until atlast he succumbed to the exhausting quality of his emotions, and thenarcotic quantity of his potations. Meantime, within, Mrs. Starbottle was excitedly gathering her valuables, and packing her trunk, even as she had done once before in the courseof this remarkable history. Perhaps some recollection of this was in hermind; for she stopped to lean her burning cheeks upon her hand, as ifshe saw again the figure of the child standing in the doorway, and heardonce more a childish voice asking, "Is it mamma?" But the epithet nowstung her to the quick and with a quick, passionate gesture she dashedit away with a tear that had gathered in her eye. And then it chanced, that, in turning over some clothes, she came upon the child's slipperwith a broken sandal-string. She uttered a great cry here, --the firstshe had uttered, --and caught it to her breast, kissing it passionatelyagain and again, and rocking from side to side with a motion peculiarto her sex. And then she took it to the window, the better to see itthrough her now streaming eyes. Here she was taken with a sudden fit ofcoughing that she could not stifle with the handkerchief she put to herfeverish lips. And then she suddenly grew very faint. The windowseemed to recede before her, the floor to sink beneath her feet; and, staggering to the bed, she fell prone upon it with the sandal andhandkerchief pressed to her breast. Her face was quite pale, the orbitof her eyes dark; and there was a spot upon her lip, another on herhandkerchief, and still another on the white counterpane of the bed. The wind had risen, rattling the window-sashes, and swaying the whitecurtains in a ghostly way. Later, a gray fog stole softly over theroofs, soothing the wind-roughened surfaces, and inwrapping all thingsin an uncertain light and a measureless peace. She lay there veryquiet--for all her troubles, still a very pretty bride. And on theother side of the bolted door the gallant bridegroom, from his temporarycouch, snored peacefully. A week before Christmas Day, 1870, the little town of Genoa, in theState of New York, exhibited, perhaps more strongly than at anyother time, the bitter irony of its founders and sponsors. A drivingsnow-storm, that had whitened every windward hedge, bush, wall, andtelegraph-pole, played around this soft Italian Capitol, whirled in andout of the great staring wooden Doric columns of its post-officeand hotel, beat upon the cold green shutters of its best houses, andpowdered the angular, stiff, dark figures in its streets. From thelevel of the street, the four principal churches of the town stood outstarkly, even while their misshapen spires were kindly hidden in thelow, driving storm. Near the railroad-station, the new Methodist chapel, whose resemblance to an enormous locomotive was further heightened bythe addition of a pyramidal row of front-steps, like a cowcatcher, stoodas if waiting for a few more houses to be hitched on to proceed to apleasanter location. But the pride of Genoa--the great Crammer Institutefor Young Ladies--stretched its bare brick length, and reared its cupolaplainly from the bleak Parnassian hill above the principal avenue. Therewas no evasion in the Crammer Institute of the fact that it was a publicinstitution. A visitor upon its doorsteps, a pretty face at its window, were clearly visible all over the township. The shriek of the engine of the four-o'clock Northern express broughtbut few of the usual loungers to the depot. Only a single passengeralighted, and was driven away in the solitary waiting sleigh toward theGenoa Hotel. And then the train sped away again, with thatpassionless indifference to human sympathies or curiosity peculiarto express-trains; the one baggage-truck was wheeled into the stationagain; the station-door was locked; and the station-master went home. The locomotive-whistle, however, awakened the guilty consciousnessof three young ladies of the Crammer Institute, who were eventhen surreptitiously regaling themselves in the bake-shop andconfectionery-saloon of Mistress Phillips in a by-lane. For even theadmirable regulations of the Institute failed to entirely developthe physical and moral natures of its pupils. They conformed tothe excellent dietary rules in public, and in private drew upon theluxurious rations of their village caterer. They attended church withexemplary formality, and flirted informally during service with thevillage beaux. They received the best and most judicious instructionduring school-hours, and devoured the trashiest novels during recess. The result of which was an aggregation of quite healthy, quite human, and very charming young creatures, that reflected infinite credit onthe Institute. Even Mistress Phillips, to whom they owed vast sums, exhilarated by the exuberant spirits and youthful freshness of herguests, declared that the sight of "them young things" did her good; andhad even been known to shield them by shameless equivocation. "Four o'clock, girls! and, if we're not back to prayers by five, we'llbe missed, " said the tallest of these foolish virgins, with an aquilinenose, and certain quiet elan that bespoke the leader, as she rosefrom her seat. "Have you got the books, Addy?" Addy displayed threedissipated-looking novels under her waterproof. "And the provisions, Carry?" Carry showed a suspicious parcel filling the pocket of her sack. "All right, then. Come girls, trudge. --Charge it, " she added, nodding toher host as they passed toward the door. "I'll pay you when my quarter'sallowance comes. " "No, Kate, " interposed Carry, producing her purse, "let me pay: it's myturn. " "Never!" said Kate, arching her black brows loftily, "even if youdo have rich relatives, and regular remittances from California. Never!--Come, girls, forward, march!" As they opened the door, a gust of wind nearly took them off their feet. Kind-hearted Mrs. Phillips was alarmed. "Sakes alive, galls! ye mussn'tgo out in sich weather. Better let me send word to the Institoot, andmake ye up a nice bed to-night in my parlor. " But the last sentence waslost in a chorus of half-suppressed shrieks, as the girls, hand in hand, ran down the steps into the storm, and were at once whirled away. The short December day, unlit by any sunset glow, was failing fast. Itwas quite dark already; and the air was thick with driving snow. Forsome distance their high spirits, youth, and even inexperience, keptthem bravely up; but, in ambitiously attempting a short-cut from thehigh-road across an open field, their strength gave out, the laugh grewless frequent, and tears began to stand in Carry's brown eyes. When theyreached the road again, they were utterly exhausted. "Let us go back, "said Carry. "We'd never get across that field again, " said Addy. "Let's stop at the first house, then, " said Carry. "The first house, " said Addy, peering through the gathering darkness, "is Squire Robinson's. " She darted a mischievous glance at Carry, that, even in her discomfort and fear, brought the quick blood to her cheek. "Oh, yes!" said Kate with gloomy irony, "certainly; stop at the squire'sby all means, and be invited to tea, and be driven home after tea byyour dear friend Mr. Harry, with a formal apology from Mrs. Robinson, and hopes that the young ladies may be excused this time. No!" continuedKate with sudden energy. "That may suit YOU; but I'm going back as Icame, --by the window, or not at all. " Then she pounced suddenly, like ahawk, on Carry, who was betraying a tendency to sit down on a snowbank, and whimper, and shook her briskly. "You'll be going to sleep next. Stay, hold your tongues, all of you, --what's that?" It was the sound of sleigh-bells. Coming down toward them out of thedarkness was a sleigh with a single occupant. "Hold down your heads, girls: if it's anybody that knows us, we're lost. " But it was not; for avoice strange to their ears, but withal very kindly and pleasant, askedif its owner could be of any help to them. As they turned toward him, they saw it was a man wrapped in a handsome sealskin cloak, wearinga sealskin cap; his face, half concealed by a muffler of the samematerial, disclosing only a pair of long mustaches, and two keendark eyes. "It's a son of old Santa Claus!" whispered Addy. The girlstittered audibly as they tumbled into the sleigh: they had regainedtheir former spirits. "Where shall I take you?" said the strangerquietly. There was a hurried whispering; and then Kate said boldly, "Tothe Institute. " They drove silently up the hill, until the long, asceticbuilding loomed up before them. The stranger reined up suddenly. "Youknow the way better than I, " he said. "Where do you go in?"--"Throughthe back-window, " said Kate with sudden and appalling frankness. "Isee!" responded their strange driver quietly, and, alighting quickly, removed the bells from the horses. "We can drive as near as you pleasenow, " he added by way of explanation. "He certainly is a son of SantaClaus, " whispered Addy. "Hadn't we better ask after his father?" "Hush!"said Kate decidedly. "He is an angel, I dare say. " She added with adelicious irrelevance, which was, however, perfectly understood by herfeminine auditors, "We are looking like three frights. " Cautiously skirting the fences, they at last pulled up a few feet froma dark wall. The stranger proceeded to assist them to alight. There wasstill some light from the reflected snow; and, as he handed his faircompanions to the ground, each was conscious of undergoing an intensethough respectful scrutiny. He assisted them gravely to open the window, and then discreetly retired to the sleigh until the difficult andsomewhat discomposing ingress was made. He then walked to the window, "Thank you and good-night!" whispered three voices. A single figurestill lingered. The stranger leaned over the window-sill. "Will youpermit me to light my cigar here? it might attract attention if I strucka match outside. " By the upspringing light he saw the figure of Katevery charmingly framed in by the window. The match burnt slowly outin his fingers. Kate smiled mischievously. The astute young woman haddetected the pitiable subterfuge. For what else did she stand at thehead of her class, and had doting parents paid three years' tuition? The storm had passed, and the sun was shining quite cheerily in theeastern recitation-room the next morning, when Miss Kate, whose seatwas nearest the window, placing her hand pathetically upon her heart, affected to fall in bashful and extreme agitation upon the shoulder ofCarry her neighbor. "HE has come, " she gasped in a thrilling whisper. "Who?" asked Carry sympathetically, who never clearly under stood whenKate was in earnest. "Who?--why, the man who rescued us last night! Isaw him drive to the door this moment. Don't speak: I shall be better ina moment--there!" she said; and the shameless hypocrite passed her handpathetically across her forehead with a tragic air. "What can he want?" asked Carry, whose curiosity was excited. "I don't know, " said Kate, suddenly relapsing into gloomy cynicism. "Possibly to put his five daughters to school; perhaps to finish hisyoung wife, and warn her against us. " "He didn't look old, and he didn't seem like a married man, " rejoinedAddy thoughtfully. "That was his art, you poor creature!" returned Kate scornfully. "Youcan never tell any thing of these men, they are so deceitful Besides, it's just my fate!" "Why, Kate, " began Carry, in serious concern. "Hush! Miss Walker is saying something, " said Kate, laughing. "The young ladies will please give attention, " said a slow, perfunctoryvoice. "Miss Carry Tretherick is wanted in the parlor. " Meantime Mr. Jack Prince, the name given on the card, and variousletters and credentials submitted to the Rev. Mr. Crammer, paced thesomewhat severe apartment known publicly as the "reception parlor, " andprivately to the pupils as "purgatory. " His keen eyes had taken in thevarious rigid details, from the flat steam "radiator, " like anenormous japanned soda-cracker, that heated one end of the room, to themonumental bust of Dr. Crammer, that hopelessly chilled the other;from the Lord's Prayer, executed by a former writing-master in suchgratuitous variety of elegant calligraphic trifling as to considerablyabate the serious value of the composition, to three views of Genoa fromthe Institute, which nobody ever recognized, taken on the spot by thedrawing-teacher; from two illuminated texts of Scripture in an EnglishLetter, so gratuitously and hideously remote as to chill all humaninterest, to a large photograph of the senior class, in which theprettiest girls were Ethiopian in complexion, and sat, apparently, oneach other's heads and shoulders. His fingers had turned listlessly theleaves of school-catalogues, the "Sermons" of Dr. Crammer, the "Poems"of Henry Kirke White, the "Lays of the Sanctuary" and "Lives ofCelebrated Women. " His fancy, and it was a nervously active one, hadgone over the partings and greetings that must have taken place here, and wondered why the apartment had yet caught so little of the flavor ofhumanity; indeed, I am afraid he had almost forgotten the object of hisvisit, when the door opened, and Carry Tretherick stood before him. It was one of those faces he had seen the night before, prettier eventhan it had seemed then; and yet I think he was conscious of somedisappointment, without knowing exactly why. Her abundant waving hairwas of a guinea-golden tint, her complexion of a peculiar flower-likedelicacy, her brown eyes of the color of seaweed in deep water. Itcertainly was not her beauty that disappointed him. Without possessing his sensitiveness to impression, Carry was, on herpart, quite as vaguely ill at ease. She saw before her one of those menwhom the sex would vaguely generalize as "nice, " that is to say, correct in all the superficial appointments of style, dress, manners andfeature. Yet there was a decidedly unconventional quality about him: hewas totally unlike any thing or anybody that she could remember; and, as the attributes of originality are often as apt to alarm as to attractpeople, she was not entirely prepossessed in his favor. "I can hardly hope, " he began pleasantly, "that you remember me. It iseleven years ago, and you were a very little girl. I am afraid I cannoteven claim to have enjoyed that familiarity that might exist between achild of six and a young man of twenty-one. I don't think I was fondof children. But I knew your mother very well. I was editor of 'TheAvalanche' in Fiddletown, when she took you to San Francisco. " "You mean my stepmother: she wasn't my mother, you know, " interposedCarry hastily. Mr. Prince looked at her curiously. "I mean your stepmother, " he saidgravely. "I never had the pleasure of meeting your mother. " "No: MOTHER hasn't been in California these twelve years. " There was an intentional emphasizing of the title and of itsdistinction, that began to coldly interest Prince after his firstastonishment was past. "As I come from your stepmother now, " he went on with a slight laugh, "I must ask you to go back for a few moments to that point. After yourfather's death, your mother--I mean your stepmother--recognized the factthat your mother, the first Mrs. Tretherick, was legally and morallyyour guardian, and, although much against her inclination andaffections, placed you again in her charge. " "My stepmother married again within a month after father died, and sentme home, " said Carry with great directness, and the faintest toss of herhead. Mr. Prince smiled so sweetly, and apparently so sympathetically, thatCarry began to like him. With no other notice of the interruptionhe went on, "After your stepmother had performed this act of simplejustice, she entered into an agreement with your mother to defray theexpenses of your education until your eighteenth year, when you were toelect and choose which of the two should thereafter be your guardian, and with whom you would make your home. This agreement, I think, you arealready aware of, and, I believe, knew at the time. " "I was a mere child then, " said Carry. "Certainly, " said Mr. Prince, with the same smile. "Still theconditions, I think, have never been oppressive to you nor your mother;and the only time they are likely to give you the least uneasiness willbe when you come to make up your mind in the choice of your guardian. That will be on your eighteenth birthday, --the 20th, I think, of thepresent month. " Carry was silent. "Pray do not think that I am here to receive your decision, even if itbe already made. I only came to inform you that your stepmother, Mrs. Starbottle, will be in town to-morrow, and will pass a few days at thehotel. If it is your wish to see her before you make up your mind, shewill be glad to meet you. She does not, however, wish to do any thing toinfluence your judgment. " "Does mother know she is coming?" said Carry hastily. "I do not know, " said Prince gravely. "I only know, that, if youconclude to see Mrs. Starbottle, it will be with your mother'spermission. Mrs. Starbottle will keep sacredly this part of theagreement, made ten years ago. But her health is very poor; and thechange and country quiet of a few days may benefit her. " Mr. Prince benthis keen, bright eyes upon the young girl, and almost held his breathuntil she spoke again. "Mother's coming up to-day or to-morrow, " she said, looking up. "Ah!" said Mr. Prince with a sweet and languid smile. "Is Col. Starbottle here too?" asked Carry, after a pause. "Col. Starbottle is dead. Your stepmother is again a widow. " "Dead!" repeated Carry. "Yes, " replied Mr. Prince. "Your step-mother has been singularlyunfortunate in surviving her affections. " Carry did not know what he meant, and looked so. Mr. Prince smiledre-assuringly. Presently Carry began to whimper. Mr. Prince softly stepped beside her chair. "I am afraid, " he said with a very peculiar light in his eye, and asingular dropping of the corners of his mustache, --"I am afraid you aretaking this too deeply. It will be some days before you are called uponto make a decision. Let us talk of something else. I hope you caught nocold last evening. " Carry's face shone out again in dimples. "You must have thought us so queer! It was too bad to give you so muchtrouble. " "None, whatever, I assure you. My sense of propriety, " he addeddemurely, "which might have been outraged, had I been called upon tohelp three young ladies out of a schoolroom window at night, was deeplygratified at being able to assist them in again. " The door-bell rangloudly, and Mr. Prince rose. "Take your own time, and think well beforeyou make your decision. " But Carry's ear and attention were given tothe sound of voices in the hall. At the same moment, the door was thrownopen, and a servant announced, "Mrs. Tretherick and Mr. Robinson. " The afternoon train had just shrieked out its usual indignant protestat stopping at Genoa at all, as Mr. Jack Prince entered the outskirtsof the town, and drove towards his hotel. He was wearied and cynical. A drive of a dozen miles through unpicturesque outlying villages, past small economic farmhouses, and hideous villas that violated hisfastidious taste, had, I fear, left that gentleman in a captious stateof mind. He would have even avoided his taciturn landlord as he drove upto the door; but that functionary waylaid him on the steps. "There's alady in the sittin'-room, waitin' for ye. " Mr. Prince hurried up stairs, and entered the room as Mrs. Starbottle flew towards him. She had changed sadly in the last ten years. Her figure was wastedto half its size. The beautiful curves of her bust and shoulders werebroken or inverted. The once full, rounded arm was shrunken in itssleeve; and the golden hoops that encircled her wan wrists almostslipped from her hands as her long, scant fingers closed convulsivelyaround Jack's. Her cheek-bones were painted that afternoon with thehectic of fever: somewhere in the hollows of those cheeks were buriedthe dimples of long ago; but their graves were forgotten. Her lustrouseyes were still beautiful, though the orbits were deeper than before. Her mouth was still sweet, although the lips parted more easily over thelittle teeth, and even in breathing, and showed more of them than shewas wont to do before. The glory of her blonde hair was still left: itwas finer, more silken and ethereal, yet it failed even in its plenitudeto cover the hollows of the blue-veined temples. "Clara!" said Jack reproachfully. "Oh, forgive me, Jack!" she said, falling into a chair, but stillclinging to his hand, "forgive me, dear; but I could not wait longer. I should have died, Jack, --died before another night. Bear with me alittle longer (it will not be long), but let me stay. I may not see her, I know; I shall not speak to her: but it's so sweet to feel that I am atlast near her, that I breathe the same air with my darling. I am betteralready, Jack, I am indeed. And you have seen her to-day? How didshe look? What did she say? Tell me all, every thing, Jack. Was shebeautiful? They say she is. Has she grown? Would you have known heragain? Will she come, Jack? Perhaps she has been here already; perhaps, "she had risen with tremulous excitement, and was glancing at thedoor, --"perhaps she is here now. Why don't you speak, Jack? Tell meall. " The keen eyes that looked down into hers were glistening with aninfinite tenderness that none, perhaps, but she would have deemed themcapable of. "Clara, " he said gently and cheerily, "try and composeyourself. You are trembling now with the fatigue and excitement of yourjourney. I have seen Carry: she is well and beautiful. Let that sufficeyou now. " His gentle firmness composed and calmed her now, as it had often donebefore. Stroking her thin hand, he said, after a pause, "Did Carry everwrite to you?" "Twice, thanking me for some presents. They were only school-girlletters, " she added, nervously answering the interrogation of his eyes. "Did she ever know of your own troubles? of your poverty, of thesacrifices you made to pay her bills, of your pawning your clothes andjewels, of your"-- "No, no!" interrupted the woman quickly: "no! How could she? I have noenemy cruel enough to tell her that. " "But if she--or if Mrs. Tretherick--had heard of it? If Carry thoughtyou were poor, and unable to support her properly, it might influenceher decision. Young girls are fond of the position that wealth can give. She may have rich friends, maybe a lover. " Mrs. Starbottle winced at the last sentence. "But, " she said eagerly, grasping Jack's hand, "when you found me sick and helpless atSacramento, when you--God bless you for it, Jack!--offered to help me tothe East, you said you knew of something, you had some plan, that wouldmake me and Carry independent. " "Yes, " said Jack hastily; "but I want you to get strong and well first. And, now that you are calmer, you shall listen to my visit to theschool. " It was then that Mr. Jack Prince proceeded to describe the interviewalready recorded, with a singular felicity and discretion that shamesmy own account of that proceeding. Without suppressing a single fact, without omitting a word or detail, he yet managed to throw a poetic veilover that prosaic episode, to invest the heroine with a romantic roseateatmosphere, which, though not perhaps entirely imaginary, still, I fear, exhibited that genius which ten years ago had made the columns of "TheFiddletown Avalanche" at once fascinating and instructive. It was notuntil he saw the heightening color, and heard the quick breathing, ofhis eager listener, that he felt a pang of self-reproach. "God help herand forgive me!" he muttered between his clinched teeth, "but how can Itell her ALL now!" That night, when Mrs. Starbottle laid her weary head upon her pillow, she tried to picture to herself Carry at the same moment sleepingpeacefully in the great schoolhouse on the hill; and it was a rarecomfort to this yearning, foolish woman to know that she was so near. But at this moment Carry was sitting on the edge of her bed, halfundressed, pouting her pretty lips, and twisting her long, leonine locksbetween her fingers, as Miss Kate Van Corlear--dramatically wrapped in along white counterpane, her black eyes sparkling, and her thorough-brednose thrown high in air, --stood over her like a wrathful and indignantghost; for Carry had that evening imparted her woes and her history toMiss Kate, and that young lady had "proved herself no friend" by fallinginto a state of fiery indignation over Carry's "ingratitude, " and openlyand shamelessly espousing the claims of Mrs. Starbottle. "Why, if thehalf you tell me is true, your mother and those Robinsons are making ofyou not only a little coward, but a little snob, miss. Respectability, forsooth! Look you, my family are centuries before the Trethericks; butif my family had ever treated me in this way, and then asked me to turnmy back on my best friend, I'd whistle them down the wind;" and hereKate snapped her fingers, bent her black brows, and glared around theroom as if in search of a recreant Van Corlear. "You just talk this way, because you have taken a fancy to that Mr. Prince, " said Carry. In the debasing slang of the period, that had even found its wayinto the virgin cloisters of the Crammer Institute, Miss Kate, as sheafterwards expressed it, instantly "went for her. " First, with a shake of her head, she threw her long black hair over oneshoulder, then, dropping one end of the counterpane from the other likea vestal tunic, she stepped before Carry with a purposely-exaggeratedclassic stride. "And what if I have, miss! What if I happen to knowa gentleman when I see him! What if I happen to know, that among athousand such traditional, conventional, feeble editions of theirgrandfathers as Mr. Harry Robinson, you cannot find one original, independent, individualized gentleman like your Prince! Go to bed, miss, and pray to Heaven that he may be YOUR Prince indeed. Ask to have acontrite and grateful heart, and thank the Lord in particular for havingsent you such a friend as Kate Van Corlear. " Yet, after an imposingdramatic exit, she re-appeared the next moment as a straight whiteflash, kissed Carry between the brows, and was gone. The next day was a weary one to Jack Prince. He was convinced in hismind that Carry would not come; yet to keep this consciousness fromMrs. Starbottle, to meet her simple hopefulness with an equal degree ofapparent faith, was a hard and difficult task. He would have tried todivert her mind by taking her on a long drive; but she was fearful thatCarry might come during her absence; and her strength, he was obliged toadmit, had failed greatly. As he looked into her large and awe-inspiringclear eyes, a something he tried to keep from his mind--to put off dayby day from contemplation--kept asserting itself directly to his innerconsciousness. He began to doubt the expediency and wisdom of hismanagement. He recalled every incident of his interview with Carry, andhalf believed that its failure was due to himself. Yet Mrs. Starbottlewas very patient and confident: her very confidence shook his faith inhis own judgment. When her strength was equal to the exertion, she waspropped up in her chair by the window, where she could see the schooland the entrance to the hotel. In the intervals she would elaboratepleasant plans for the future, and would sketch a country home. She hadtaken a strange fancy, as it seemed to Prince, to the present location;but it was notable that the future, always thus outlined, was one ofquiet and repose. She believed she would get well soon: in fact, shethought she was now much better than she had been; but it might be longbefore she should be quite strong again. She would whisper on in thisway until Jack would dash madly down into the bar-room, order liquorsthat he did not drink, light cigars that he did not smoke, talk with menthat he did not listen to, and behave generally as our stronger sex isapt to do in periods of delicate trials and perplexity. The day closed with a clouded sky and a bitter, searching wind. Withthe night fell a few wandering flakes of snow. She was still contentand hopeful; and, as Jack wheeled her from the window to the fire, sheexplained to him, how, that, as the school-term was drawing near itsclose, Carry was probably kept closely at her lessons during the day, and could only leave the school at night. So she sat up the greater partof the evening, and combed her silken hair, and, as far as her strengthwould allow, made an undress toilet to receive her guest. "We must notfrighten the child, Jack, " she said apologetically, and with somethingof her old coquetry. It was with a feeling of relief, that, at ten o'clock, Jack received amessage from the landlord, saying that the doctor would like to seehim for a moment down stairs. As Jack entered the grim, dimly-lightedparlor, he observed the hooded figure of a woman near the fire. He wasabout to withdraw again, when a voice that he remembered very pleasantlysaid, -- "Oh, it's all right! I'm the doctor. " The hood was thrown back; and Prince saw the shining black hair, andblack, audacious eyes, of Kate Van Corlear. "Don't ask any questions. I'm the doctor and there's my prescription, "and she pointed to the half-frightened, half-sobbing Carry in thecorner--"to be taken at once. " "Then Mrs. Tretherick has given her permission?" "Not much, if I know the sentiments of that lady, " replied Kate saucily. "Then how did you get away?" asked Prince gravely. "BY THE WINDOW. " When Mr. Prince had left Carry in the arms of her stepmother, hereturned to the parlor. "Well?" demanded Kate. "She will stay--YOU will, I hope, also--to-night. " "As I shall not be eighteen, and my own mistress on the 20th, and as Ihaven't a sick stepmother, I won't. " "Then you will give me the pleasure of seeing you safely through thewindow again?" When Mr. Prince returned an hour later, he found Carry sitting on a lowstool at Mrs. Starbottle's feet. Her head was in her stepmother's lap;and she had sobbed herself to sleep. Mrs. Starbottle put her fingerto her lip. "I told you she would come. God bless you, Jack! andgood-night. " The next morning Mrs. Tretherick, indignant, the Rev. Asa Crammer, principal, injured, and Mr. Joel Robinson, sen. , complacentlyrespectable, called upon Mr. Prince. There was a stormy meeting, endingin a demand for Carry. "We certainly cannot admit of this interference, "said Mrs. Tretherick, a fashionably dressed, indistinctive lookingwoman. "It is several days before the expiration of our agreement; andwe do not feel, under the circumstances, justified in releasingMrs. Starbottle from its conditions. " "Until the expiration of theschool-term, we must consider Miss Tretherick as complying entirely withits rules and discipline, " imposed Dr. Crammer. "The whole proceeding iscalculated to injure the prospects, and compromise the position, of MissTretherick in society, " suggested Mr. Robinson. In vain Mr. Prince urged the failing condition of Mrs. Starbottle, herabsolute freedom from complicity with Carry's flight, the pardonableand natural instincts of the girl, and his own assurance that they werewilling to abide by her decision. And then with a rising color in hischeek, a dangerous look in his eye, but a singular calmness in hisspeech, he added, -- "One word more. It becomes my duty to inform you of a circumstance whichwould certainly justify me, as an executor of the late Mr. Tretherick, in fully resisting your demands. A few months after Mr. Tretherick'sdeath, through the agency of a Chinaman in his employment, it wasdiscovered that he had made a will, which was subsequently found amonghis papers. The insignificant value of his bequest--mostly land, thenquite valueless--prevented his executors from carrying out his wishes, or from even proving the will, or making it otherwise publicly known, until within the last two or three years, when the property hadenormously increased in value. The provisions of that bequest aresimple, but unmistakable. The property is divided between Carry andher stepmother, with the explicit condition that Mrs. Starbottle shallbecome her legal guardian, provide for her education, and in all detailsstand to her in loco parentis. " "What is the value of this bequest?" asked Mr. Robinson. "I cannottell exactly, but not far from half a million, I should say, " returnedPrince. "Certainly, with this knowledge, as a friend of Miss Tretherick, I must say that her conduct is as judicious as it is honorable to her, "responded Mr. Robinson. "I shall not presume to question the wishes, or throw any obstacles in the way of carrying out the intentions, of mydead husband, " added Mrs. Tretherick; and the interview was closed. When its result was made known to Mrs. Starbottle, she raised Jack'shand to her feverish lips. "It cannot add to MY happiness now, Jack; buttell me, why did you keep it from her?" Jack smiled, but did not reply. Within the next week the necessary legal formalities were concluded; andCarry was restored to her stepmother. At Mrs. Starbottle's request, asmall house in the outskirts of the town was procured; and thither theyremoved to wait the spring, and Mrs. Starbottle's convalescence. Bothcame tardily that year. Yet she was happy and patient. She was fond of watching the buddingof the trees beyond her window, --a novel sight to her Californianexperience, --and of asking Carry their names and seasons. Even at thistime she projected for that summer, which seemed to her so mysteriouslywithheld, long walks with Carry through the leafy woods, whose gray, misty ranks she could see along the hilltop. She even thought shecould write poetry about them, and recalled the fact as evidence of hergaining strength; and there is, I believe, still treasured by one of themembers of this little household a little carol so joyous, so simple, and so innocent, that it might have been an echo of the robin thatcalled to her from the window, as perhaps it was. And then, without warning, there dropped from Heaven a day so tender, somystically soft, so dreamily beautiful, so throbbing, and alive with thefluttering of invisible wings, so replete and bounteously overflowingwith an awakening and joyous resurrection not taught by man or limitedby creed, that they thought it fit to bring her out, and lay her in thatglorious sunshine that sprinkled like the droppings of a bridal torchthe happy lintels and doors. And there she lay beatified and calm. Wearied by watching, Carry had fallen asleep by her side; and Mrs. Starbottle's thin fingers lay like a benediction on her head. Presentlyshe called Jack to her side. "Who was that, " she whispered, "who just came in?" "Miss Van Corlear, " said Jack, answering the look in her great holloweyes. "Jack, " she said, after a moment's silence, "sit by me a moment, dearJack: I've something I must say. If I ever seemed hard, or cold, orcoquettish to you in the old days, it was because I loved you, Jack, toowell to mar your future by linking it with my own. I always loved you, dear Jack, even when I seemed least worthy of you. That is gone now. But I had a dream lately, Jack, a foolish woman's dream, --that you mightfind what I lacked in HER, " and she glanced lovingly at the sleepinggirl at her side; "that you might love her as you have loved me. Buteven that is not to be, Jack, is it?" and she glanced wistfully in hisface. Jack pressed her hand, but did not speak. After a few moments'silence, she again said, "Perhaps you are right in your choice. She is agood-hearted girl, Jack--but a little bold. " And with this last flicker of foolish, weak humanity in her strugglingspirit, she spoke no more. When they came to her a moment later, a tinybird that had lit upon her breast flew away; and the hand that theylifted from Carry's head fell lifeless at her side. A JERSEY CENTENARIAN I have seen her at last. She is a hundred and seven years old, andremembers George Washington quite distinctly. It is somewhat confusing, however, that she also remembers a contemporaneous Josiah W. Perkins ofBasking Ridge, N. J. , and, I think, has the impression that Perkins wasthe better man. Perkins, at the close of the last century, paid her somelittle attention. There are a few things that a really noble woman of ahundred and seven never forgets. It was Perkins, who said to her in 1795, in the streets of Philadelphia, "Shall I show thee Gen. Washington?" Then she said careless-like (foryou 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 atall man who got out of a carriage, and went into a large house. He waslarger than you be. He wore his own hair--not powdered; had aflowered chintz vest, with yellow breeches and blue stockings, and abroad-brimmed hat. In summer he wore a white straw hat, and at his farmat Basking Ridge he always wore it. At this point, it became too evidentthat she was describing the clothes of the all-fascinating Perkins: so Igently but firmly led her back to Washington. Then it appeared that shedid not remember exactly what he wore. To assist her, I sketched thegeneral historic dress of that period. She said she thought he wasdressed like that. Emboldened by my success, I added a hat of CharlesII. , and pointed shoes of the eleventh century. She indorsed these withsuch cheerful alacrity, that I dropped the subject. The house upon which I had stumbled, or, rather, to which my horse--aJersey hack, accustomed to historic research--had brought me, waslow and quaint. Like most old houses, it had the appearance of beingencroached upon by the surrounding glebe, as if it were already half inthe grave, with a sod or two, in the shape of moss thrown on it, likeashes on ashes, and dust on dust. A wooden house, instead of acquiringdignity with age, is apt to lose its youth and respectability together. A porch, with scant, sloping seats, from which even the winter's snowmust have slid uncomfortably, projected from a doorway that opened mostunjustifiably into a small sitting-room. There was no vestibule, orlocus poenitentiae, for the embarrassed or bashful visitor: he passedat once from the security of the public road into shameful privacy. And here, in the mellow autumnal sunlight, that, streaming through themaples and sumach on the opposite bank, flickered and danced upon thefloor, she sat and discoursed of George Washington, and thought ofPerkins. She was quite in keeping with the house and the season, albeita little in advance of both; her skin being of a faded russet, and herhands so like dead November leaves, that I fancied they even rustledwhen she moved them. For all that, she was quite bright and cheery; her faculties still quitevigorous, although performing irregularly and spasmodically. It wassomewhat discomposing, I confess, to observe, that at times her lowerjaw would drop, leaving her speechless, until one of the family wouldnotice it, and raise it smartly into place with a slight snap, --anoperation always performed in such an habitual, perfunctory manner, generally in passing to and fro in their household duties, that it wasvery trying to the spectator. It was still more embarrassing to observethat the dear old lady had evidently no knowledge of this, but believedshe was still talking, and that, on resuming her actual vocal utterance, she was often abrupt and incoherent, beginning always in the middle ofa sentence, and often in the middle of a word. "Sometimes, " said herdaughter, a giddy, thoughtless young thing of eighty-five, --"sometimesjust moving her head sort of unhitches her jaw; and, if we don't happento 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 hadlost several important revelations regarding George Washington throughthese peculiar lapses, I could not help reflecting how beneficent werethese provisions of the Creator, --how, if properly studied and applied, they might be fraught with happiness to mankind, --how a slight jostleor jar at a dinner-party might make the post-prandial eloquence ofgarrulous senility satisfactory to itself, yet harmless to others, --howa more intimate knowledge of anatomy, introduced into the domesticcircle, might make a home tolerable at least, if not happy, --how along-suffering husband, under the pretence of a conjugal caress, might so unhook his wife's condyloid process as to allow the flow ofexpostulation, criticism, or denunciation, to go on with gratificationto her, and perfect immunity to himself. But this was not getting back to George Washington and the earlystruggles of the Republic. So I returned to the commander-in-chief, butfound, after one or two leading questions, that she was rather inclinedto resent his re-appearance on the stage. Her reminiscences here werechiefly social and local, and more or less flavored with Perkins. We gotback as far as the Revolutionary epoch, or, rather, her impressions ofthat epoch, when it was still fresh in the public mind. And here I cameupon an incident, purely personal and local, but, withal, so novel, weird, and uncanny, that for a while I fear it quite displaced GeorgeWashington in my mind, and tinged the autumnal fields beyond with a redthat was not of the sumach. I do not remember to have read of it in thebooks. I do not know that it is entirely authentic. It was attested tome by mother and daughter, as an uncontradicted tradition. In the little field beyond, where the plough still turns up musket-ballsand cartridge-boxes, took place one of those irregular skirmishesbetween the militiamen and Knyphausen's stragglers, that made theretreat historical. A Hessian soldier, wounded in both legs and utterlyhelpless, dragged himself to the cover of a hazel-copse, and lay therehidden for two days. On the third day, maddened by thirst, he managedto creep to the rail-fence of an adjoining farm-house, but found himselfunable to mount it or pass through. There was no one in the house buta little girl of six or seven years. He called to her, and in a faintvoice asked for water. She returned to the house, as if to complywith his request, but, mounting a chair, took from the chimneya heavily-loaded Queen Anne musket, and, going to the door, tookdeliberate aim at the helpless intruder, and fired. The man fell backdead, without a groan. She replaced the musket, and, returning to thefence, covered the body with boughs and leaves, until it was hidden. Twoor three days after, she related the occurrence in a careless, casualway, and leading the way to the fence, with a piece of bread and butterin her guileless little fingers, pointed out the result of her simple, unsophisticated effort. The Hessian was decently buried, but I could notfind out what became of the little girl. Nobody seemed to remember. Itrust, that, in after-years, she was happily married; that no JerseyLovelace attempted to trifle with a heart whose impulses were so prompt, and whose purposes were so sincere. They did not seem to know if she hadmarried or not. Yet it does not seem probable that such simplicity ofconception, frankness of expression, and deftness of execution, werelost to posterity, or that they failed, in their time and season, togive flavor to the domestic felicity of the period. Beyond this, the story perhaps has little value, except as an offset to the usualanecdotes of Hessian atrocity. They had their financial panics even in Jersey, in the old days. She remembered when Dr. White married your cousin Mary--or was itSusan?--yes, it was Susan. She remembers that your Uncle Harry broughtin an armful of bank-notes, --paper money, you know, --and threw them inthe corner, saying they were no good to anybody. She remembered playingwith them, and giving them to your Aunt Anna--no, child, it was your ownmother, bless your heart! Some of them was marked as high as a hundreddollars. Everybody kept gold and silver in a stocking, or in a "chaney"vase, like that. You never used money to buy any thing. When Josiah wentto Springfield to buy any thing, he took a cartload of things with himto exchange. That yaller picture-frame was paid for in greenings. Butthen people knew jest what they had. They didn't fritter their substanceaway in unchristian trifles, like your father, Eliza Jane, who doesn'tknow that there is a God who will smite him hip and thigh; for vengeanceis mine, and those that believe in me. But here, singularly enough, theinferior maxillaries gave out, and her jaw dropped. (I noticed that hergiddy daughter of eighty-five was sitting near her; but I do not pretendto connect this fact with the arrested flow of personal disclosure. )Howbeit, when she recovered her speech again, it appeared that she wascomplaining 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 toSpringfield, in June, she saw the snow still on Watson's Ridge. Therewere whole days when you couldn't git over to William Henry's, theirnext neighbor, a quarter of a mile away. It was that drefful winter thatthe Spanish sailor was found. You don't remember the Spanish sailor, Eliza Jane--it was before your time. There was a little personalskirmishing here, which I feared, at first, might end in a suspension ofmaxillary functions, 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, gayautumnal day? It was a terrible night, that winter's night, when she and the centurywere young together. The sun was lost at three o'clock: the snowy nightcame down like a white sheet, that flapped around the house, beat at thewindows with its edges, and at last wrapped it in a close embrace. Inthe middle of the night, they thought they heard above the wind a voicecrying, "Christus, Christus!" in a foreign tongue. They opened thedoor, --no easy task in the north wind that pressed its strong shouldersagainst it, --but nothing was to be seen but the drifting snow. The nextmorning dawned on fences hidden, and a landscape changed and obliteratedwith drift. During the day, they again heard the cry of "Christus!" thistime faint and hidden, like a child's voice. They searched in vain: thedrifted snow hid its secret. On the third day they broke a path to thefence, and then they heard the cry distinctly. Digging down, they foundthe body of a man, --a Spanish sailor, dark and bearded, with ear-ringsin 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 turnedand fled in superstitious terror to the house. And then one of thechildren, bolder than the rest, knelt down, and opened the dead man'srough pea-jacket, and found--what think you?--a little blue-and-greenparrot, nestling against his breast. It was the bird that had echoedmechanically the last despairing cry of the life that was given to saveit. It was the bird, that ever after, amid outlandish oaths and wildersailor-songs, that I fear often shocked the pure ears of its gentlemistress, and brought scandal into the Jerseys, still retained that oneweird and mournful cry. The sun meanwhile was sinking behind the steadfast range beyond, and Icould not help feeling that I must depart with my wants unsatisfied. I had brought away no historic fragment: I absolutely knew little ornothing new regarding George Washington. I had been addressed variouslyby the names of different members of the family who were dead andforgotten; I had stood for an hour in the past: yet I had not added tomy historical knowledge, nor the practical benefit of your readers. Ispoke once more of Washington, and she replied with a reminiscence ofPerkins. Stand forth, O Josiah W. Perkins of Basking Ridge, N. J. Thou wast oflittle account in thy life, I warrant; thou didst not even feel thegreatness of thy day and time; thou didst criticise thy superiors; thouwast small and narrow in thy ways; thy very name and grave are unknownand 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 upabove thy betters.