Miss Mary, sitting primly behind her desk, with a ruler over her shoulder, opened her gray eyes widely at this, but said nothing.
It aint for you to be complimented by the like of me, I know, she went on hurriedly. It aint for me to be comin here, in broad day, to do it, either; but I come to ask a favor,not for me, miss,not for me, but for the darling boy.
Encouraged by a look in the young schoolmistresss eye, and putting her lilac-gloved hands together, the fingers downward, between her knees, she went on, in a low voice:
You see, miss, theres no one the boy has any claim on but me, and I aint the proper person to bring him up. I thought some, last year, of sending him away to Frisco to school, but when they talked of bringing a schoolmaam here, I waited till I saw you, and then I knew it was all right, and I could keep my boy a little longer. And, oh! miss, he loves you so much; and if you could hear him talk about you in his pretty way, and if he could ask you what I ask you now, you couldnt refuse him.
It is natural, she went on rapidly, in a voice that trembled strangely between pride and humility,its natural that he should take to you, miss, for his father, when I first knew him, was a gentleman,and the boy must forget me, sooner or later,and so I aint a-goin to cry about that. For I come to ask you to take my Tommy,God bless him for the bestest, sweetest boy that lives,tototake him with you.
She had risen and caught the young girls hand in her own, and had fallen on her knees beside her.
Ive money plenty, and its all yours and his. Put him in some good school, where you can go and see him, and help him tototo forget his mother. Do with him what you like. The worst you can do will be kindness to what he will learn with me. Only take him out of this wicked life, this cruel place, this home of shame and sorrow. You will! I know you will,wont you? You will,you must not, you cannot say no! You will make him as pure, as gentle as yourself; and when he has grown-up, you will tell him his fathers name,the name that hasnt passed my lips for years,the name of Alexander Morton, whom they call here Sandy! Miss Mary!do not take your hand away! Miss Mary, speak to me! You will take my boy? Do not put your face from me. I know it ought not to look on such as me. Miss Mary!my God, be merciful!she is leaving me! Miss Mary had risen, and, in the gathering twilight, had felt her way to the open window. She stood there, leaning against the casement, her eyes fixed on the last rosy tints that were fading from the western sky. There was still some of its light on her pure young forehead, on her white collar, on her clasped white hands, but all fading slowly away. The suppliant had dragged herself, still on her knees, beside her.
I know it takes time to consider. I will wait here all night; but I cannot go until you speak. Do not deny me now. You will!I see it in your sweet face,such a face as I have seen in my dreams. I see it in your eyes, Miss Mary!you will take my boy!
The last red beam crept higher, suffused Miss Marys eyes with something of its glory, flickered, and faded, and went out. The sun had set on Red Gulch. In the twilight and silence Miss Marys voice sounded pleasantly.
I will take the boy. Send him to me to-night.
The happy mother raised the hem of Miss Marys skirts to her lips. She would have buried her hot face in its virgin folds, but she dared not. She rose to her feet.
Doesthis manknow of your intention? asked Miss Mary suddenly.
No, nor cares. He has never even seen the child to know it.
Go to him at onceto-nightnow! Tell him what you have done. Tell him I have taken his child, and tell himhe must never seeseethe child again. Wherever it may be, he must not come; wherever I may take it, he must not follow! There, go now, please,Im weary, andhave much yet to do!
They walked together to the door. On the threshold the woman turned.
Good-night!
She would have fallen at Miss Marys feet. But at the same moment the young girl reached out her arms, caught the sinful woman to her own pure breast for one brief moment, and then closed and locked the door.
It was with a sudden sense of great responsibility that Profane Bill took the reins of the Slumgullion stage the next morning, for the schoolmistress was one of his passengers. As he entered the highroad, in obedience to a pleasant voice from the inside, he suddenly reined up his horses and respectfully waited, as Tommy hopped out at the command of Miss Mary.
Not that bush, Tommy,the next.
Tommy whipped out his new pocket-knife, and cutting a branch from a tall azalea-bush, returned with it to Miss Mary. All right now?
All right!
And the stage-door closed on the Idyl of Red Gulch.
BROWN OF CALAVERAS
A subdued tone of conversation, and the absence of cigar-smoke and boot-heels at the windows of the Wingdam stagecoach, made it evident that one of the inside passengers was a woman. A disposition on the part of loungers at the stations to congregate before the window, and some concern in regard to the appearance of coats, hats, and collars, further indicated that she was lovely. All of which Mr. Jack Hamlin, on the box-seat, noted with the smile of cynical philosophy. Not that he depreciated the sex, but that he recognized therein a deceitful element, the pursuit of which sometimes drew mankind away from the equally uncertain blandishments of poker,of which it may be remarked that Mr. Hamlin was a professional exponent.
So that, when he placed his narrow boot on the wheel and leaped down, he did not even glance at the window from which a green veil was fluttering, but lounged up and down with that listless and grave indifference of his class, which was, perhaps, the next thing to good-breeding. With his closely buttoned figure and self-contained air he was a marked contrast to the other passengers, with their feverish restlessness and boisterous emotion; and even Bill Masters, a graduate of Harvard, with his slovenly dress, his over-flowing vitality, his intense appreciation of lawlessness and barbarism, and his mouth filled with crackers and cheese, I fear cut but an unromantic figure beside this lonely calculator of chances, with his pale Greek face and Homeric gravity.
The driver called All aboard! and Mr. Hamlin returned to the coach. His foot was upon the wheel, and his face raised to the level of the open window, when, at the same moment, what appeared to him to be the finest eyes in the world suddenly met his. He quietly dropped down again, addressed a few words to one of the inside passengers, effected an exchange of seats, and as quietly took his place inside. Mr. Hamlin never allowed his philosophy to interfere with decisive and prompt action.
I fear that this irruption of Jack cast some restraint upon the other passengers, particularly those who were making themselves most agreeable to the lady. One of them leaned forward, and apparently conveyed to her information regarding Mr. Hamlins profession in a single epithet. Whether Mr. Hamlin heard it, or whether he recognized in the informant a distinguished jurist, from whom, but a few evenings before, he had won several thousand dollars, I cannot say. His colorless face betrayed no sign; his black eyes, quietly observant, glanced indifferently past the legal gentleman, and rested on the much more pleasing features of his neighbor. An Indian stoicismsaid to be an inheritance from his maternal ancestorstood him in good service, until the rolling wheels rattled upon the river gravel at Scotts Ferry, and the stage drew up at the International Hotel for dinner. The legal gentleman and a member of Congress leaped out, and stood ready to assist the descending goddess, while Colonel Starbottle of Siskiyou took charge of her parasol and shawl. In this multiplicity of attention there was a momentary confusion and delay. Jack Hamlin quietly opened the opposite door of the coach, took the ladys hand, with that decision and positiveness which a hesitating and undecided sex know how to admire, and in an instant had dexterously and gracefully swung her to the ground and again lifted her to the platform. An audible chuckle on the box, I fear, came from that other cynic, Yuba Bill, the driver. Look keerfully arter that baggage, Kernel, said the expressman, with affected concern, as he looked after Colonel Starbottle, gloomily bringing up the rear of the triumphant procession to the waiting-room.
Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse was already saddled and awaiting him. He dashed over the ford, up the gravelly hill, and out into the dusty perspective of the Wingdam road, like one leaving an unpleasant fancy behind him. The inmates uf dusty cabins by the roadside shaded their eyes with their hands and looked after him, recognizing the man by his horse, and speculating what was up with Comanche Jack. Yet much of this interest centred in the horse, in a community where the time made by French Petes mare, in his run from the Sheriff of Calaveras, eclipsed all concern in the ultimate fate of that worthy.
The sweating flanks of his gray at length recalled him to himself. He checked his speed, and turning into a byroad, sometimes used as a cut-off, trotted leisurely along, the reins hanging listlessly from his fingers. As he rode on, the character of the landscape changed and became more pastoral. Openings in groves of pine and sycamore disclosed some rude attempts at cultivation,a flowering vine trailed over the porch of one cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe under the roses of another. A little farther on, Mr. Hamlin came upon some bare-legged children wading in the willowy creek, and so wrought upon them with a badinage peculiar to himself, that they were emboldened to climb up his horses legs and over his saddle, until he was fain to develop an exaggerated ferocity of demeanor, and to escape, leaving behind some kisses and coin. And then, advancing deeper into the woods, where all signs of habitation failed, he began to sing, uplifting a tenor so singularly sweet, and shaded by a pathos so subdued and tender, that I wot the robins and linnets stopped to listen. Mr. Hamlins voice was not cultivated; the subject of his song was some sentimental lunacy, borrowed from the negro minstrels; but there thrilled through all some occult quality of tone and expression that was unspeakably touching. Indeed, it was a wonderful sight to see this sentimental blackleg, with a pack of cards in his pocket and a revolver at his back, sending his voice before him through the dim woods with a plaint about his Nellys grave, in a way that overflowed the eyes of the listener. A sparrow-hawk, fresh from his sixth victim, possibly recognizing in Mr. Hamlin a kindred spirit, stared at him in surprise, and was fain to confess the superiority of man. With a superior predatory capacity he couldnt sing.
But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again on the highroad and at his former pace. Ditches and banks of gravel, denuded hillsides, stumps, and decayed trunks of trees, took the place of woodland and ravine, and indicated his approach to civilization. Then a church-steeple came in sight, and he knew that he had reached home. In a few moments he was clattering down the single narrow street that lost itself in a chaotic ruin of races, ditches, and tailings at the foot of the hill, and dismounted before the gilded windows of the Magnolia saloon. Passing through the long bar-room, he pushed open a green-baize door, entered a dark passage, opened another door with a passkey, and found himself in a dimly lighted room, whose furniture, though elegant and costly for the locality, showed signs of abuse. The inlaid centre-table was overlaid with stained disks that were not contemplated in the original design, the embroidered armchairs were discolored, and the green velvet lounge, on which Mr. Hamlin threw himself, was soiled at the foot with the red soil of Wingdam.
Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay still, looking at a highly colored painting above him, representing a young creature of opulent charms. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that he had never seen exactly that kind of a woman, and that, if he should, he would not, probably, fall in love with her. Perhaps he was thinking of another style of beauty. But just then some one knocked at the door. Without rising, he pulled a cord that apparently shot back a bolt, for the door swung open, and a man entered.
The new-comer was broad-shouldered and robust,a vigor not borne out in the face, which, though handsome, was singularly weak and disfigured by dissipation. He appeared to be, also, under the influence of liquor, for he started on seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, I thought Kate was here; stammered, and seemed confused and embarrassed.
Mr. Hamlin smiled the smile which he had before worn on the Wingdam coach, and sat up, quite refreshed and ready for business.
You didnt come up on the stage, continued the newcomer, did you?
No, replied Hamlin; I left it at Scotts Ferry. It isnt due for half an hour yet. But hows luck, Brown?
Dd bad, said Brown, his face suddenly assuming an expression of weak despair. Im cleaned out again, Jack, he continued, in a whining tone, that formed a pitiable contrast to his bulky figure; cant you help me with a hundred till to-morrows clean-up? You see Ive got to send money home to the old woman, andyouve won twenty times that amount from me.
The conclusion was, perhaps, not entirely logical, but Jack overlooked it, and handed the sum to his visitor. The old-woman business is about played out, Brown, he added, by way of commentary; why dont you say you want to buck agin faro? You know you aint married!
Fact, sir, said Brown, with a sudden gravity, as if the mere contact of the gold with the palm of the hand had imparted some dignity to his frame. Ive got a wifea dd good one, too, if I do say itin the States. Its three years since Ive seen her, and a year since Ive writ to her. When things is about straight, and we get down to the lead, Im going to send for her.
And Kate? queried Mr. Hamlin, with his previous smile.
Mr. Brown of Calaveras essayed an archness of glance to cover his confusion, which his weak face and whiskey-muddled intellect but poorly carried out, and said,
Dn it, Jack, a man must have a little liberty, you know. But come, what do you say to a little game? Give us a show to double this hundred.
Jack Hamlin looked curiously at his fatuous friend. Perhaps he knew that the man was predestined to lose the money, and preferred that it should flow back into his own coffers rather than any other. He nodded his head, and drew his chair toward the table. At the same moment there came a rap upon the door.
Its Kate, said Mr. Brown.
Mr. Hamlin shot back the bolt and the door opened. But, for the first time in his life, he staggered to his feet utterly unnerved and abashed, and for the first time in his life the hot blood crimsoned his colorless cheeks to his forehead. For before him stood the lady he had lifted from the Wingdam coach, whom Brown, dropping his cards with a hysterical laugh, greeted as,
My old woman, by thunder!
They say that Mrs. Brown burst into tears and reproaches of her husband. I saw her in 1857 at Marysville, and disbelieve the story. And the Wingdam Chronicle of the next week, under the head of Touching Reunion, said: One of those beautiful and touching incidents, peculiar to California life, occurred last week in our city. The wife of one of Wingdams eminent pioneers, tired of the effete civilization of the East and its inhospitable climate, resolved to join her noble husband upon these golden shores. Without informing him of her intention, she undertook the long journey, and arrived last week. The joy of the husband may be easier imagined than described. The meeting is said to have been indescribably affecting. We trust her example may be followed.
Whether owing to Mrs. Browns influence, or to some more successful speculations, Mr. Browns financial fortune from that day steadily improved. He bought out his partners in the Nip and Tuck lead, with money which was said to have been won at poker a week or two after his wifes arrival, but which rumor, adopting Mrs. Browns theory that Brown had forsworn the gaming-table, declared to have been furnished by Mr. Jack Hamlin. He built and furnished the Wingdam House, which pretty Mrs. Browns great popularity kept overflowing with guests. He was elected to the Assembly, and gave largess to churches. A street in Wingdam was named in his honor.