"I have been here before,
But when, or how, I cannot tell;
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet, keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,
How long ago I may not know;
But just when, at that swallow's soar,
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall—I knew it all of yore."
—Rossetti.
E must now return to Mr. Armstrong, whom we left in chapter XII. in
conference with Dr. Carver over the Doctor's advertisement of the case
of lost identity inserted in the daily papers ten years before.
The physician listened gravely to Mr. Armstrong's account of the loss of
his wife and infant son, the wild hopes which were now awakened, and to
his request for the address of the lady referred to, and gave him a
pitying glance as he replied:
"So many bereaved persons have come to me fancying that they recognized
a loved one in that notice, only to be cruelly disappointed; and Mrs.
Halsey has in the past been subjected to so many trying interviews of
this description, that I hesitate to encourage your visiting her, unless
you have positive proof of what you hope. A photograph would give this
proof."
"And, unfortunately, I have none of Mrs. Armstrong."
"But I had one taken of Mrs. Halsey, which I have kept in the hope that
it might be identified some day;" and the Doctor drew from his
pocket-book a thumbed and discolored photograph, which he placed in Mr.
Armstrong's hand.
The effect was unmistakable. The strong man rose to his feet, staggered,
and fainted, for he had recognized his wife. The physician quickly
restored him to consciousness, and after waiting until the effect of the
shock had partially passed away, he said:
"I see that there is no danger of any mistake, and that I may direct
you where to find Mrs. Halsey—I beg pardon, Mrs. Armstrong. Her
address, when I last saw her, was No. 1 Rickett's Court."
"Rickett's Court!" exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, in horror.
"Yes, sir; it is not the best quarter of the city, but many of the
respectable poor live there; and you must remember, sir, that your wife
must necessarily have had a hard struggle to support herself and your
little son, alone and friendless, in this great city."
Mr. Armstrong groaned aloud. Rickett's Court had not seemed so bad to
him for other men's children and wives, but that his child, his
wife, should live in such vile surroundings was horrible. He sprang to
his feet, seized his hat, and with a hasty "I will see you again,
Doctor," hurried in the same direction which Stephen Trimble had taken
not a half-hour before. It was only a short distance, but it seemed
miles to him. Just as he came in sight of the building every window in
its front was illuminated with a sudden flash, and a heavy detonation
shook the earth. Then smoke poured from the broken panes, and the air
was filled with flying splinters and débris, while shrieks from
within, and shouts of "Fire! fire!" from without, added to the
confusion.
The smoke cleared in a moment, and people were seen at the windows
dropping down the fire-escape. Only a few minutes later a fire-engine
came tearing around the corner, and the hoarse voice of a fireman was
heard dominating the tumult and giving orders, but before this Alexander
Armstrong, possessed of but one idea—that his wife and child were
somewhere within—had rushed into the burning building. One glance
showed him that this was hopeless. The staircase had been torn out by
the explosion, and the flames were roaring up the space which it had
occupied, as through a chimney. He was dragged back to the court by the
fireman, who exclaimed, "Man alive! can't you see that the staircase has
gone, and that they are coming down the fire-escape? There wouldn't have
been the ghost of a chance for them but for that. Bless the man who had
it put there!"
The words gave him a little heart, and he stood at the foot, helping the
women and catching the children handed to him, hoping in vain to
recognize his wife. They stopped coming. "Are all out?" he shouted.
"There's some one in the fourth story," said a woman, and before the
fireman could lay his hand on the fire-escape Mr. Armstrong was half-way
up. The façade still stood, but the entire interior of the building was
in flames, and blinding smoke and scorching sparks poured from the
windows. At the fourth story a man had staggered to the window and lay
with his arm outside, holding on to the sill. Mr. Armstrong uttered a
cry when he saw that it was a man, but, none the less, he lifted him
tenderly out, and into the arms of the fireman following close behind
them. Then drawing his coat over his mouth and nostrils, he entered the
room. Another man lay at a little distance, or a body that had been a
man, terribly torn and shattered by the explosion. It was the anarchist
who had been the principal in the plot; the other had escaped. Mr.
Armstrong descended, looking into every apartment as he came down to be
sure no living thing was left inside that furnace.
"You are a hero, sir! will you give me your name? I represent ——." It
was the omnipresent reporter on hand for an item. Mr. Armstrong turned
from him, without reply, to the man whom he had rescued, Stephen
Trimble, who lay with a foot torn from the ankle, and a broken arm. A
hospital surgeon knelt at his side bandaging deftly. A policeman had
sent the call when Mr. Armstrong started up the fire-escape, and the
ambulance, a more conclusive "Evidence of Christianity" than that dear
old Dr. Hopkins or any other theologian ever wrote; nobler exponent of
civilization than the fire department even, since that is the rich man's
provision for saving his own property, while the ambulance is the rich
man's provision for saving the poor man's life—the ambulance, with
surgeon on the back seat coolly feeling for his instruments, and
bare-headed driver clanging the gong, and lashing his already galloping
horses, had torn like mad down Broadway. And as it came, aristocratic
carriages hurrying with ladies just a little late for a grand dinner,
and an expectant bridegroom on his way to Grace Church, halted and
waited for it to pass; express and telegraph agents, and rushing men of
business, gave it the right of way as it bounded on its errand of mercy.
Alexander Armstrong spoke for a moment with the surgeon, long enough to
learn that Stephen Trimble's injuries were probably not mortal, and to
urge every attention possible. Then he caught sight of Solomon Meyer
bowing and cringing at a little distance, and he sprang upon him like a
panther on his prey. Solomon, greatly surprised, could only imagine that
the loss of the property had driven him insane, and gasped, "Ze
insurance bolicy is all right," whereat the ex-landlord gave his agent
such a shaking that his teeth rattled in his head, only pausing to
inquire if he knew anything of a tenant by the name of Mrs. Halsey.
Solomon Meyer assured him that Mrs. Halsey had long since quitted the
building, but this only partially reassured him, for he placed very
little reliance on the man's word. His wife, almost found, was lost to
him again. He could not believe that she perished in the burning
building; still, there was this horrible possibility.
There was no one to tell him that she had just gone to Narragansett Pier
at his daughter's bidding, and was occupying the very cottage where so
many of her happier years were passed; and he threw himself more
unreservedly into his business projects, not, however, forgetting the
poor inventor at the hospital, whom he visited frequently, and cared for
as tenderly as though he had been his brother. After the excitement of
the fire was over, he remembered that the law had an account to settle
with Solomon Meyer, but he was not then to be found. His guilty
conscience had taken the alarm, and the subtle magnetism which draws bad
people together had caused him to form a partnership with the anarchist
who had escaped the explosion, and but for Miss Prillwitz's timely
recognition they would have fled to Canada. Mr. Armstrong found them, as
we know, in the Greenfield jail, and had no difficulty in identifying
them, and in having them brought to justice.
As the time approached for the trial of Solomon Meyer and the Russian
anarchist, Mr. Armstrong was troubled with the fear that Stephen Trimble
might not be able to testify in court. He visited him frequently at the
hospital, and whenever he approached the subject of his dealings with
the anarchists he became excited and confused.
His little son, Lovey Dimple, was seated beside him during one of Mr.
Armstrong's calls. He was allowed to visit his father, and waited upon
him day by day, sometimes telling him of the pleasant times he had had
at the seashore, and at others watching him quietly. His presence
seemed to do his father good; and on this visit Mr. Armstrong was able
to obtain much more information from Stephen Trimble than upon any
previous occasion.
"You are quite sure," Mr. Armstrong asked, "that you never saw this
check, which someone has cashed at the bank, and which is indorsed with
your name?"
"Never, never!" replied the wounded man.
"I see it, though," Lovey Dimple spoke up, promptly. "Jim had come down
to the court to see me, and I wanted to show him the machine in the
Rooshans' room, and we follered him in there. Mr. Meyer dropped a piece
of paper which looked like that, and Jim picked it up. He could tell you
what was written on it."
"I must have Jim as a link in our chain of testimony," Mr. Armstrong
replied. "Is he at the Home of the Elder Brother?"
"No, sir; Jim used to be there, but he had the luck to be adopted. He
went away just for to be a tiger for some swells, and they liked him so
much they permoted him. He's Jim Roservelt now."
So this was the lad of whom Adelaide had spoken to him. Mr. Armstrong
wrote to his friend Mr. Roseveldt, requesting that Jim should be sent to
the city. His testimony at the trial was so clear and concise, and his
entire appearance so manly, that Mr. Armstrong was greatly drawn to him.
"If my own boy had lived," he said to Mr. Roseveldt, who had come to the
city with Jim, "he would have been about the age of this little fellow.
I am about to make a western trip of six or seven weeks, and would like
to take him with me. Should the liking which I have taken to him grow
upon acquaintance, I beg of you to relinquish him to me; I need him, for
I am a stricken man, and you are a fortunate one, or I would not ask
it."
Mr. Roseveldt replied that, though he was fond of Jim, he would
willingly give him up to Mr. Armstrong for adoption after his return
from the West, provided the boy's mother would consent to the transfer.
Singularly enough, the name of that mother was not mentioned, and Mr.
Armstrong took Jim with him to Colorado, little dreaming that the boy
was his own son.
He had said that he needed Jim; and he needed him in more ways than he
knew. He had grown world-soiled, as well as world-weary, and the
companionship of a soul white and young was destined to exert upon him a
purifying as well as rejuvenating influence. Before the grand mountain
scenery Jim's fresh enthusiasm stimulated Mr. Armstrong's sated
admiration, and the child's naive ideas of right and wrong were a rebuke
to the man's sophistries. They journeyed together through the wild and
beautiful cañons of the Rocky Mountains, and the boy was deeply
impressed by the stupendous cliffs rising on each side—walls that were
sometimes two thousand feet in height, and so close together that the
narrow river, which had cut its way down from the surface, sometimes
filled the entire space at the bottom of the gorge. But even here the
ingenuity of man had surmounted the barriers of nature, and the
observation-car on which they rode dashed along upon a shelf cut in the
solid rock, with a sheer wall on one hand, and a dizzy precipice on the
other. Such a cañon was the Royal Gorge of the Arkansas; in one portion
an iron bridge hangs suspended from strong supports fixed in the solid
walls, and the train glides along it, swaying as in a hammock, over the
brawling river.
The climax of their tour was reached in the Black Cañon. The scenes here
are awful, even in broad daylight, for the sombre crags tower to the
height of several thousand feet. Our travelers passed through the chasm
at night. Far overhead the stars were shining in the little rift of sky,
which was all that they could see between the walls; and in the
mysterious half-lights of the illumined portions, and the utter
blackness of the shadows, the grotesque shapes of the crags took on
strange forms and awful suggestions. At times it seemed as if the train
was about to dash itself against a wall of solid masonry, which opened,
as though thrown back by genii, as they approached. At one point,
catching the moonlight, a silvery cascade swept over the rocks like a
bow of crystal; and at another, a mighty monument of rosy stone, the
Curricanti Needle, towered far above the cliffs, like the sky-piercing
spire of some grand cathedral.
"The people who live here must be very good," Jim gasped, as they
emerged from the valley of enchantment, "one is so much nearer to God
out here!"
"Nobody lives in the cañon now," Mr. Armstrong replied; "Indians lived
here not very long ago. They used to hold their councils on that shelf
of rock where the pines grow, the last accessible spot on the Curricanti
pinnacle, but the settlers in the neighborhood did not have your idea
about their being such very good men, and as the cañon was the best
pathway through the mountains for the railroad, they were driven out."
"I am sorry for the Indians," Jim said, simply. "If I had owned that
cañon I wouldn't have liked to have given it up, would you?"
Mr. Armstrong evaded the question. "You will not have so much pity for
them when you know them better," he replied. "They are a low lot, and if
they do not know enough to improve the advantages which they possess, it
is only fair that they should be appropriated by those who will make a
better use of them."
Jim did not quite understand what Mr. Armstrong meant by appropriating
the Indians' advantages, but he was to learn more in relation to that
word before the journey was over. Returning to Denver, Mr. Armstrong
took the boy with him on a tour through some of the pueblos of New
Mexico. The word "pueblo" signifies town, and the Pueblo Indians are
those who build houses instead of tents and wigwams, and live from
generation to generation in towns and cities, instead of wandering about
the plains and mountains like the other tribes. There are twenty-six of
these communities in New Mexico, and some of the cities were old when
the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth.
When New Mexico was ceded to the United States by Mexico, the right of
the Pueblo Indians to their towns and to certain tracts of land
surrounding them was confirmed by treaty, so that these Indians are
better off in many ways than any others. Mr. Armstrong had a special
reason for visiting the Pueblos. He had purchased several large herds of
cattle, and wished to rent land of the Indians for pasturage. A man by
the name of Sanchez, who traded among the Pueblos, could speak the
language, and had gained the confidence of the Indians, happened to be
on the train, and recognizing Mr. Armstrong as a wealthy capitalist, who
had large interests in cattle, as well as in railroads, at once guessed
pretty nearly the nature of his errand in the Indian country.
He introduced himself, and, learning that Mr. Armstrong intended to
visit the pueblo of Taos, to witness the celebration of the Festival of
San Geronimo, offered his services as interpreter and courier. These Mr.
Armstrong was very glad to accept, for he had heard of the man, and knew
that he had considerable influence among the Indians. There was
something repellent, however, in his insinuating, cringing manner which
made one feel that here was a man who was not to be trusted. The party
was increased by an army officer and a Catholic priest, who were also
going to Taos to witness the festival. The pueblo lies at a distance of
twenty miles from the railroad station, but an Indian was found waiting
for Mr. Sanchez with a rough wagon, and that gentleman invited the
others to ride with him. They crossed the Rio Grande River and drove
along beside it in a northeasterly direction, through a not very
interesting country. The coloring was all yellowish brown—the sandy
earth, the crisp parched grass, the distant hills, even the water when
taken from the turbid river, were all of a like monotonous tint. Now and
then they met or passed an Indian, wrapped in a striped blanket and
mounted on a small shaggy pony. Toward evening they came in sight of
the pueblo. The first view was very picturesque. The houses of adobe, or
sun-dried brick, were built in ranges one above the other, like a great
stairway, the roof of the lower house serving as the dooryard for the
one above. Ladders were placed against the walls, and up and down these,
nearly naked Indian children scrambled like young monkeys. They parted
their long elf-locks with their hands, and stared at the strangers with
wild, black eyes. Mr. Sanchez conducted them to an unoccupied house,
which he said would be at their service during the festival for quite a
good sum. There was no hotel, and this seemed the best thing to be done.
It had evidently been suddenly cleared for the unexpected guests, and
some of the utensils and furniture remained. The priest pointed out with
pleasure a gaudy print of the Virgin. There were strings of red peppers
drying on the outer wall, and a great olha, or decorated water-pot,
within, but there was no bedding or food. The gentlemen, however, had
each brought with them army blankets, and Mr. Sanchez offered to act as
their commissary and skirmish for provisions. He presently returned,
followed by a woman carrying a bowl of stewed beef and onions, and a
boy driving a donkey, whose panniers were filled with melons. This, with
some coffee, which the officer made over a spirit-lamp, and some
crackers contributed by Mr. Armstrong, constituted their supper, which
hunger made palatable.
After this refreshment they mounted to their roof and watched the
preparations for the festivities of the next day. Mr. Sanchez pointed
out the entrance to the estufa, or underground council-chamber, into
which the young men of the tribe were disappearing for the celebration
of mysterious pagan rites.
"I thought the Pueblos were Roman Catholics," Mr. Armstrong remarked.
The Catholic priest shook his head sadly. "Our converts have always
remained half pagan," he said; "the early missionaries were content to
engraft as much Christianity as they could on the old customs, thinking
that the better faith would gradually supplant the old, but the old
rites and ceremonies have remained. Still we must hesitate to say that
the Fathers did wrong, since it was the only way to win the savages to
the holy faith."
The priest strolled away to visit the church and to find a Mexican
brother who was to celebrate Mass on the next day. The church was a
ruinous building which stood apart from the others. The army officer
told of the siege which it sustained during the Mexican War, and pointed
to the indentations made in its walls by cannon-balls.
The situation was such a strange one that Jim slept but little. All
night long he could hear the dull beat of the tom-toms in the estufa,
and as soon as the first streak of dawn illumined the sky the pueblo was
awake and all excitement. Indians from neighboring towns poured in, some
on foot, and others mounted on ponies or donkeys.
In the plaza stood a great pole resembling a flag-staff, but instead of
a banner there dangled from the top a live sheep and a basket of bread
and grain, with a garland of fruits and vegetables. The church bell was
clanging for Mass, and Jim followed the others. An old Mexican priest
was the celebrant, and a few young Indians in red cotton petticoats and
coarse lace overskirts waited upon him awkwardly as altar-boys. When the
Host was elevated, an Indian at the door beat the tom-tom, and four
musket-shots were fired. The priest then marched down the centre of the
church, followed by the altar-boys, one of whom bore a hideous painting,
which Mr. Sanchez assured them was painted in Spain by the great
Murillo, and might be had, through him, for a trifling sum. The
congregation joined in the procession and followed to the race-track,
where games, races, and dances were participated in by fifty young men
of Taos against fifty from other pueblos. The sports were witnessed by
fully two thousand spectators, who swarmed along the terraces, and
formed a packed mass of men, women, children, horses, and donkeys around
the race-track. There was a group of visitors standing near our
travelers, who regarded the races with intense interest. It consisted of
an old man dressed in white linen blouse and trousers, with a red
handkerchief knotted about his gray locks, an obese and not over cleanly
old lady in full Indian toggery, and a young girl in a pink calico
dress, with a black shawl over her head and shoulders. They watched one
of the runners with the most intense excitement, and when he came off
victor in several of the contests, their enthusiasm knew no bounds.
"That old man is the Governor of the pueblo of ——," said Mr. Sanchez.
"It is his son who has just stepped out to lead the corn-dance. The
daughter, little Rosaria, is pretty, is she not?" He approached her as
he spoke, with easy assurance, and taking her by the chin, made some
remarks in the Pueblo language intended to be complimentary; but the
girl twisted herself from his grasp with hot indignation; and Sanchez
returned, grumbling that since she had been to the Ramona School at
Santa Fé she was too much of a lady to speak to anyone. Jim was standing
beside her; and sure, from her manner, that she understood English, he
asked her to explain the corn-dance to him. She did so, very kindly, and
the hunt-dance which followed, when the painted clowns brought out
grotesque clay images, and after adoring them fired at them, and
shattered them in fragments, the crowd scrambling for the pieces. The
young man who had been pointed out as the Governor's son secured a
piece, and brought it to the girl in triumph. "That is the ear of a
wolf," she said. "It means that he will have success in the south; we,
who have been taught better, do not believe these old charms any more."
The last thing on the programme was the climbing of the pole for the
sheep, which was finally won by a young brave of Taos.
There was racing on ponies afterward by young Indians and Mexicans, but
this was informal, and not included in the rites of the day. The young
girl looked at the races enviously. "My brother ought to win there," she
said, "for we had the swiftest ponies of any of the Pueblos, and ought
to have them, for our pasture lands are the best, but we have sold
nearly all our live-stock, and the pastures are no longer of any use to
us."
Mr. Armstrong overheard this remark, and asked Rosaria if her people
would be willing to rent their lands. She conferred with her father in
the Pueblo language, and Mr. Sanchez immediately joined in the
conversation, talking volubly to the old man, and translating to Mr.
Armstrong. "He says you are welcome to return to his pueblo with him,"
explained Mr. Sanchez, "and he will call a council of his townspeople to
deliberate on your proposition."
There was more conversation, and it was decided to accept the Governor's
invitation. Mr. Armstrong engaging Mr. Sanchez to go with them and help
him in the transaction. This seemed to him the only thing which he could
do, since he did not understand the language, and the Governor seemed to
place confidence in the trader. The party set out the next morning for
San ——, Mr. Armstrong and Jim in Mr. Sanchez's wagon, and the Governor
and his children following on diminutive donkeys. Several days elapsed
before the bargain could be made. The Indians were very suspicious of
being entrapped into some fraud, and it needed all of Mr. Sanchez's
eloquence to persuade them that the arrangement would be to their
advantage. Mr. Armstrong had told Mr. Sanchez that he was willing to pay
fifteen hundred dollars for the rental of the land for three years, and
that he (Sanchez) might deduct his fee for services from this sum. "Then
if I can persuade them to let you have the land for twelve hundred,"
asked Mr. Sanchez, "I may claim three hundred for my assistance in the
matter?"
"That is a pretty round fee," replied Mr. Armstrong, "but it does not
matter to me who has the money. The land is worth fifteen hundred
dollars to me, and if you can persuade the Indians to take less, so much
the better for you."
Jim was much interested in the negotiations. He sat beside Mr. Armstrong
in the council-chamber, trying to make out from the expressive gestures
what it was that the Indians were saying, and sometimes it seemed to him
that Mr. Sanchez did not translate correctly. At such times he went out
to where Rosaria stood by the open door listening, with other children.
She translated for him the treaty as Mr. Sanchez read it, and he was
astonished to find that it offered the Indians only three hundred
dollars as rent for their land, the wily Sanchez having reserved twelve
hundred as his own share.
"But Mr. Armstrong is willing to pay your people fifteen hundred," Jim
protested to Rosaria, and the girl slipped into the council-chamber just
as the Governor was about to sign the paper, and snatched it from his
hand.
"Is it true," she asked of Mr. Armstrong, "that you are willing to pay
more for our land? Mr. Sanchez offers us but three hundred dollars!"
Mr. Armstrong, surprised at the man's effrontery, acknowledged that he
was ready to pay more, while Sanchez, furious at seeing his opportunity
slipping from him, poured upon Rosaria all manner of abuse, and
threatened Mr. Armstrong that unless he held to his bargain to allow him
whatever margin he could make he would spoil the trade for him.
"Here's a pretty affair!" said Mr. Armstrong to Jim. "You had better
have kept quiet and let the old swindler feather his nest. Now I fear
that I shall not be able to make any bargain with the Indians."
"But it was not right, was it," asked Jim, "that the Indians should have
so little and Mr. Sanchez so much?"
"The proportion does seem unfair," Mr. Armstrong admitted to Jim; but he
added, to Sanchez, "I hold to my part of the bargain. I will give you
whatever margin you can make between their demands and fifteen hundred
dollars."
Sanchez attempted to regain his lost advantage, but all this time
Rosaria had been talking excitedly, explaining to one after another of
the Indians, now pointing to the figures in the treaty, now scornfully
at Sanchez, arguing, entreating, scolding, and when the trader began
his defense of her charges, laughing him to scorn. The Governor put an
end to the altercation by tearing the treaty in pieces and ordering two
stout Indians to lead Sanchez from the room. He then bade Rosaria tell
Mr. Armstrong that fifteen hundred dollars was the very least that they
were willing to take for their land.
Mr. Armstrong bowed, and replied that he would think over the matter. He
expected to have an opportunity to discuss it with his agent, but when
he left the council-chamber he saw his wagon on the road to Santa Fé, at
a long distance from the pueblo, and was handed the label from a peach
can, on the back of which was scribbled:
"That boy of yours is too smart to live; the plaguey Indians have
given me an hour to leave their reservation. Manage your own
concerns without the help of—
Sanchez."
The bargain was accordingly struck without the aid of a middle-man, and
Mr. Armstrong was conceded the right to pasture his cattle for three
years in consideration of the sum of five hundred dollars, to be paid in
advance at the beginning of each season. Mr. Armstrong was much amused.
"It has turned out all right," he said to Jim, "but you must acknowledge
that it was really none of your business, and I would advise you, in
future, not to meddle in matters which do not concern you."
"I will try," Jim replied, much abashed. "I ought to have told you
instead of Rosaria, and you would have fixed it all right," he added,
cheerfully. "I ought to have known that you wouldn't have let the
Indians be cheated."
Mr. Armstrong felt the reproach in the undeserved confidence. Here was a
companion who was a sort of embodied conscience. It was not always
profitable to have a conscience in business, and yet there was something
satisfactory and refreshing in the way in which this affair had
terminated. "They say 'honesty is the best policy,'" he said to himself;
"I wonder if this little fellow would not be a Mascot to bring me good
luck. I have a notion to make him my partner in some of my risky
ventures; Providence seems to smile upon him and his principles; perhaps
if I make my good-fortune his as well, it will smile upon me." What he
said to Jim was this: "You seem fond of a wild western life, Jim, and
of the Indians. Our business among the Pueblos is ended. We are going
back to Colorado. I have a notion to show you what the Colorado Indians
are like. They are Utes, and they do not live in houses, like the
Pueblos, but rove about in a perfectly savage manner; they are not
peaceful and industrious, like the Pueblos, but lazy and ugly. I do not
think that they are susceptible of civilization. I would as soon think
of educating a coyote as a Ute.
"Now the Utes possess some of the best mining lands in Colorado, but
will never develop them; so it seems to me better that they should be
removed to the desert lands, which are worthless for purposes of
civilization, and let the whites have their opportunity. I have my eye
on a gulch which I discovered while hunting in the San Juan Mountains
four years ago, and which I mean to pre-empt just as soon as we get the
Utes to give up their present reservation and pack off to Utah. We shall
go back that way, and I will show you the spot."
Jim opened his eyes very wide. He did not quite comprehend what Mr.
Armstrong had said. Surely he could not mean to defraud the Indians in
any way! He would doubtless pay them the worth of their mine, and if
they liked the ready money better than the trouble of mining the silver
for themselves it would be all fair.
At Antonito Mr. Armstrong left the railroad, provided himself with a
span of horses, a wagon, camping outfit, and a brace of greyhounds, and
struck out through the Ute reservation for the mountains. He told some
gentleman whom he met at Antonito that he proposed to enjoy a little
coursing for antelope; but there was a set of surveyors' instruments in
the wagon, which proved that he intended to locate the mine which he had
come across during his previous visit. His acquaintance attempted to
discourage his making the trip alone, saying that the Utes had been
restless of late, owing to a failure in receiving their supplies from
Government, and it was hardly safe to approach their reservation.
"You need not be afraid of the Utes," another gentleman replied. "I knew
their old chief, Ouray, and was entertained once in his house—a neater
farm-house than many a white settler can show, and I was hospitably
waited upon by his wife, Chipeta, who gave me peaches from their own
orchard, and saleratus biscuit, and when I saw the familiar yellow
streaks in them, and tasted the old chief's whisky, I had to confess
that the Indian was capable of civilization."
Mr. Armstrong laughed, but the first speaker bade him be careful, for
all the Utes were not like Ouray, who had so well earned his title of
the White Man's Friend.
"Now," exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, after he had driven out of sight of the
last human habitation—"now at last we can breathe! What do you think of
it, Jim?"
"I didn't know the world was so big," the boy replied; "these must be
the Estates del Paradiso which Miss Prillwitz talks about. Why, there's
room for all New York to spread itself out, and every child to have a
yard to play in. It seems a little bit lonely," he added, after a pause.
"I should think you would have liked to have had some of those gentlemen
go with you."
"Why, you see, Jim," Mr. Armstrong replied, "I am going to hunt up that
silver mine, and I had a little rather not share the secret with any one
but you. Besides, I like the loneliness. I grow very tired of people
sometimes, Jim, and it seems good to get away from them. Don't you ever
feel so?"
"Mother did," Jim said. "She likes helping at the Home very much, but
she got a little tired just before the young ladies sent for her to go
to the seashore, and she came across one verse in the Bible which
sounded so beautiful. It was, 'Come ye yourselves apart into a desert
place and rest awhile, for there were many coming and going, and they
had no leisure so much as to eat.'"
"I didn't know they had such hurrying times down in Galilee," Mr.
Armstrong replied, lightly. He was in good spirits, and they drove a
long distance that day, camping at night by a small stream, in which he
caught some fine trout. As Jim curled up close to him under the army
blanket, Mr. Armstrong felt a slight tremor run through the boy's frame.
"What is the matter?" he asked. "Are you afraid? We are still miles away
from the Indians."
"It isn't the Indians," Jim replied, "but it's all so still! I don't
hear horse-cars, nor the Elevated, nor people passing, nor nothing. Down
at the Pier it was something like this, but there was always the sea;
and at the pueblo there were the dogs; while here it seems as if
something had stopped."
"'All the roaring looms of time,'" Mr. Armstrong replied, quoting from
Tennyson, "have stopped for a little while for us, my boy, and that's
the beauty of it. But the old machines will have us in their grip again
very soon."
The next day Mr. Armstrong enjoyed a rabbit hunt. Jim, though he took
part in the sport, could hardly be said to enjoy it. "It seems such a
pity to kill the pretty things!" he said. But this did not keep him from
making a hearty meal of broiled rabbit, or from hoping that they might
find antelope before the trip was over. The loneliness which he had felt
the night before came on again toward evening, and Jim was not sorry, on
their third day out, to see that they were approaching a new frame
house.
"An old half-breed guide used to have a tepee here," said Mr. Armstrong;
"I shall engage his services for our trip. He is a good cook, a good
hunter, faithful to his employers, and he knows every rock and clump of
sage-brush in all the region. His only fault is that he will get drunk.
He was with me when I found the silver ore, and I need him to guide me
to the spot again."
As they came nearer, Mr. Armstrong seemed greatly surprised to see a
large field of waving corn in front of the house, while some cows were
being driven toward an out-building by a young Indian in checked shirt
and brown overalls.
"What can have come over old Charley!" exclaimed Mr. Armstrong. "When I
was here before, nothing would induce him to degrade himself by farm
labor. Some boomer must have established himself here. It's illegal, for
the land still belongs to the Indians."
They drove up to the front door, and were met by the same young man whom
they had seen driving the cows, but the overalls were replaced by a
faded pair of army trousers, and a paper collar had been hastily added
to the checked shirt. He bade them enter, in good English, and the
interior of the house was clean and inviting. The walls were papered
with newspapers, a bright patchwork quilt was spread upon the bed, and a
pleasant-faced girl was frying ham and eggs over the stove; while there
was a shelf of books over the table. An Indian woman emerged from a
shadowy corner and expressed a welcome by pantomime.
"Is not this Charley's wife?" Mr. Armstrong asked, and the woman smiled
and nodded her recognition.
"Where is your husband?" was the next question. "Charley no good," was
the wife's frank reply; "gone hunting with white men."
This was a disappointment that Mr. Armstrong had not anticipated; he was
not sure that he could find his way to the silver mine without Charley's
help, but it was worth trying. The odor of the frying ham was
appetizing, and the invitation to supper was promptly accepted.
"Are you Charley's son?" Mr. Armstrong asked of the young man, who
presently brought in a foaming pail of milk, and assisted his mother and
sister in waiting on their guests.
"Yes, sir," was the prompt reply, "and my name is Charley too—Charles
Sumner."
Mr. Armstrong stared in astonishment. "Where did you learn to speak
English so well?" he asked.
"At the Indian Industrial School at Carlisle, Pennsylvania."
"Then you are one of Captain Pratt's boys?"
"Yes, sir," and a smile lightened the somewhat stolid features. Mr.
Armstrong did not believe in Eastern schools for Indians, and he asked,
rather sarcastically, "And what did you learn when you were in the
East—Latin and Theology?"
The boy shook his head. "I learned to work on the farm," he said, "and
to read and write, and do a little arithmetic; and I learned some
carpentry—enough to build this house, and make that table, and the
cupboard and things."
"Very creditable, I am sure," Mr. Armstrong replied, half incredulously,
"but how did you come into the fortune necessary to set you up in this
flourishing style?"
"I helped build the new depot at S——, and they paid me off with the
lumber that was left, and I built the house out of that. Then I had some
money which I had put in the savings-bank from my earnings every
vacation in the East, and I bought the cows with that; and then I made a
churn, and we've been making butter the way I saw them do it in
Pennsylvania, and I sell it for a good price at the Springs."
"Well, you have more stuff in you than I ever thought it possible for an
Indian to have," Mr. Armstrong replied, fairly won, in spite of
himself, to admiration. "I always supposed that those Carlisle students,
as soon as they returned to old surroundings, went back to savagery."
"It is pretty hard for us," the boy replied. "Last year I planted about
three times as much corn as you see here. I had taken a contract to
supply the quartermaster at Fort ——, and I thought I should make a
good deal of money; but just as it was green, all of our relations came
to see us. There were ten families. They camped there by the creek, and
they stayed until they had eaten every roasting ear. They said they had
come to celebrate my home-coming, and father made them welcome, and gave
a dance, and killed one of our cows for them. They would have killed
them all, but I drove them off into the mountains, and hid them. That is
the reason I have planted so little corn here this season. I have
another field over in a little valley in the mountains which I hope they
will not find, and I drive the cattle up the cañon every morning, for
they may be here any day."
"You poor fellow!" said Mr. Armstrong. "I have heard the proverb, 'Save
us from our friends!' but I never understood the full force of it
before."
After the hearty meal the little house was put at the service of the
travelers, the family camping outside, and, much to Mr. Armstrong's
contentment, they passed a comfortable and restful night. The next
morning Mr. Armstrong asked Charles Sumner if he was familiar with the
mountains, and could guide him to a certain valley, which he indicated
as having a chimney-like formation at one end.
"Why, certainly," the young man replied; "don't you remember I was with
father when he took you hunting four years ago? He killed an eagle that
had her nest on a ledge high up on the chimney, and I climbed up for the
young ones."
"Ah yes, I remember now, but you were such a little fellow then that I
could not realize the change."
"I grew more at Carlisle," said the young man, significantly, "than at
any other time of my life. We all grew at Carlisle."
"Then you will take us to the chimney," Mr. Armstrong asked, "and cook
for us while we are out? What will you charge?"
"I don't think I ought to ask you anything, sir, for there is good
pasturage thereabout, and I can drive my cows along, and herd them there
until after the visit of our relatives. My sister is going to B—— with
all the green-corn that the ponies can carry, so when they come they
will find mother, and very little else. The valley in which my other
corn is planted is in that direction, and perhaps you will let me bring
some of it in your wagon when we come back?"
Charles Sumner rode cheerily beside them on a diminutive pony, driving
his cows and the pack pony, and chatting freely of many things.
Sometimes Jim sprang from his seat to make him change places and rest
awhile. The pony had a fascination for Jim, and he speedily learned from
Charles Sumner how to manage it, and to "round up" the herd of cows and
calves. The young Indian taught him, also, how to make arrows, and to
shoot with them, to picket the horses, and to use the lasso, to make
camp coffee, and to set up and take down the tepee, or tent of buffalo
hide, which the pack-pony dragged between long poles.
"You would like to be a cow-boy, wouldn't you, Jim?" Mr. Armstrong
asked, but Charles Sumner shook his head. "Cow-boys are no good," he
said, emphatically; "they shoot Indians as if they were wild beasts.
Better stay in the East, where the white people are good. I wish I
could, but the Government insists that as soon as we are educated we
must go back to our reservations. I wish it would let us stay and earn
our living in the East, where it is so much easier to stay civilized."
Jim, on the other hand, was delighted with everything he saw. "If all
the boys in Rickett's Court could only come out here!" he exclaimed,
"and ride, and herd cows, and hunt, and camp out, and all the Indian
boys could only go East, and go to school, and work at trades—how nice
it would be!"
Mr. Armstrong admitted that the change might be good for both, but while
speaking they came in sight of the chimney-shaped pinnacle, and he
hastily unpacked his theodolite and other instruments, and began to take
angles, and to jot down memoranda.
"This is the first time that I have ever seen a surveyor on the Ute
reservation," said Charles Sumner, "and I think that our troubles will
be ended sometime by that little machine. Just as soon as the
Government divides up our land and gives each Indian his own share,
then each good Indian will cultivate his own farm, and will have some
heart to work. How can he now, when the land belongs as much to every
lazy Indian in the tribe as to himself? O sir, is it possible that the
Government has sent you to begin this division?"
Mr. Armstrong confessed that his observations were made only for his own
amusement. He was surprised to find that the young man had such advanced
views on the "land in severalty" question, and he asked whether any of
the other Indians of the tribe shared his opinions.
"There are a good many who have staked out farms and are cultivating
them, just as I have," he replied, "but we know that we have no right to
the land, and may be turned out any day, whenever bad white men persuade
our chiefs to give up this reservation and move away to the bad lands in
the West."
Mr. Armstrong winced a little under the earnest, questioning look with
which Jim regarded him. To turn his train of thought he said, "There is
the old eagle's nest on the ledge still, Charles Sumner. Can you climb
up there to-day as nimbly as you did four years ago?"
For answer, the young man threw himself from his pony and began to
ascend the cliff. It was very steep, but he chose his way cautiously,
seizing each point of vantage in the way of a crevice or projection. He
had almost reached the nest when he paused, looked away to the
southward, and began rapidly to descend. "There is a band of Utes coming
over the divide," he said; "I think it would be as well for us to go a
little further up the valley." He hurriedly collected his herd, and
drove them before him through a pass into a long, shady gorge. Mr.
Armstrong followed with the team. "This is the place!" he exclaimed,
excitedly, as they entered the ravine. "It was in this little cañon that
I found the silver. A vein cropped right out to the surface, and I
filled my pockets with the ore. I set up a buffalo skull to mark the
spot. There it is—at the foot of that pine. It must have rolled down,
for I placed it higher. Hold the reins, Jim, while I scramble up the
bank and see if I see any signs of the vein." With the agility of a
younger man, Mr. Armstrong climbed the steep bank, and came down with
his hands filled with crumbled ore. "It is there, fast enough," he
said, triumphantly; "if it were not on the Indian reservation I would be
the owner of that mine now. They cannot hold the lands long, and when
they are opened to settlement this cañon shall be ours, Jim. You say you
would like to live a western life. If your mother, of whom you seem so
fond, is of the same opinion, you shall pre-empt a claim here, and I
will take one just beside you, and between us we will own the mine. You
don't understand it, my boy; but I have taken a fancy to you, and I mean
to make your fortune."
"And will this ravine be my very own?" Jim asked—"mother's and mine?"
"Yes, my boy; and I am curious to see what you will make of it, and what
you will make of yourself while you are waiting to come into your
possessions. I mean to put you in the way of getting a good practical
education, which shall be of use to you out here."
"And can I learn surveying?"
"Yes; and mining engineering and assaying and mechanics, and all that."
"That is what Lovey Dimple would like to learn too. Can he come with me?
He'd invent a machine right off to dig the silver just as easy."
"We will see, Jim. I would like to give him a good turn for his father's
sake; but don't take too many into our company, or we shall have to
water the stock too freely."
They had nearly reached the head of the gorge, and they found that
Charles Sumner had paused, and had corraled his cows in a little natural
amphitheatre, where they were resting contentedly.
"I must watch them pretty sharply," the Indian explained, "for the corn
I told you about is in the next valley, and if they should get into
that, they would be as bad as our relations. Just walk to the top of the
hill, Mr. Armstrong, and see what a nice field of it I have over there."
Mr. Armstrong returned bringing an armful of fine roasting ears, but
Charles Sumner thought it best not to build a fire until the party of
Utes had passed, and they sat down to a cold supper of canned baked
beans. After supper Jim had a long talk with Charles Sumner, and
ascertained that the young man had fixed his heart upon making this
particular section his home farm as soon as the reservation should be
divided in severalty among the Indians, which he hoped would happen
before many years.
"Then," said Jim, "you think that the white people will never have a
chance to come in here and take up land?"
"Do you think they ought to be allowed to do so, when the land is ours?"
Charles Sumner asked.
"No, I don't," Jim replied, promptly. "I think it is really yours, and
you ought to keep it; and I'll just tell you a secret about this cañon.
It is worth a great deal more than you know. There is a silver mine in
it, and I'll show you where, and you had just better go back East and
study the best way to mine silver, and then when you get your claim you
will know how to work it. I wish you would take me in as your partner,
for Mr. Armstrong is going to have me taught all about mining. He
thought he might pre-empt this mine for me, but, of course, when he sees
that it really belongs to you, he will not want to, unless, perhaps, you
would like to sell out your right in it."
Jim had spoken so rapidly that he did not notice that Mr. Armstrong had
approached, and was listening with an astonished expression to what he
was saying.
"Jim, are you crazy?" Mr. Armstrong exclaimed, as soon as he could
recover himself. "Don't you see that you are throwing away your chances?"
"Oh no," Jim replied, with a smile, "I hadn't any chance at all. You
didn't know, but it all belongs to Charles Sumner."
Their conversation was interrupted by a whoop in the valley below. The
band of Utes had discovered the traces of their last camp, and had
followed their trail into the cañon.
"Drive over into the next ravine!" said Charles Sumner; "they will camp
here when they find my cows. Wait for me just below the corn-field, and
I will join you as soon as I can. They will not hurt you if they find
you, but they will beg and steal everything."
Mr. Armstrong hurriedly followed Charles Sumner's advice, and was joined
about midnight by the young Indian, who drove before him three cows, all
he had been able to rescue from a herd of twelve.
The young man wiped his brow with a despairing gesture. "They were
ugly," he said. "Some Durango cow-boys have been pasturing their cattle
on the reservation, and they insisted that my cows were a part of the
herd, and that the owners were somewhere near. If they had found you,
they might have treated you roughly. I think we had better get away
while they are feasting."
It occurred to Mr. Armstrong that it looked very much as if Charles
Sumner had saved their lives at the sacrifice of his property, and a
feeling of gratitude and liking sprang up in his heart for the young
man.
"I don't know what I shall do," the Indian continued, dejectedly. "It
doesn't seem to be any use to try to be civilized in this country."
"No, my poor fellow!" replied Mr. Armstrong, "it really does not. In
your place, I think I should go back to the blanket and be a savage with
the rest. I will tell you what to do: come East again with your mother
and sister. I will let you try farming on a piece of land which I have
taken a fancy to in Massachusetts, where you will not have these
discouragements. When the land question is settled, you and Jim shall
come back here and form a partnership. If it is divided in severalty to
the Utes, then I will establish your right to the cañon, and you shall
take Jim in as your partner; and if it is opened to the whites for
settlement, he will take up the land and give you a share in it."
This proposition was accepted by Charles Sumner and his sister, the
mother preferring to remain with her husband. After establishing the
young Indians in Massachusetts, Mr. Armstrong brought Jim with him to
Narragansett Pier.
A short space must now be given to Milly and Adelaide, who, though
mingling in a very different class of society, had an experience that
summer not unlike our own. Mrs. Roseveldt gave a lawn-party at the
beginning of the season to organize a tennis club. Tennis was the rage
that season. Many of the cottages had tennis courts, and the different
players wished to plan for a grand tournament at the end of the season.
A pretty uniform was designed of white flannel, the skirt embroidered
with a deep Greek fret in gold thread, and laid in accordion pleats. A
little jacket lined with gold-colored silk, and embroidered in the same
pattern, was to be worn over the shirt waist, and a gold-colored sash
ending in a tassel, with a white Tam o'Shanter, completed the costume.
Milly had planned that Mrs. Halsey should have the making of these
costumes while at the Pier.
A fund was contributed with which to purchase a trophy for the prize
player. It rose quickly to a hundred and fifty dollars, and a meeting
was held to decide what the trophy should be. Most of the members
thought that a gold pin in the shape of a racket, with a pearl ball,
manufactured by Tiffany, would be the correct thing, and this idea would
certainly have been adopted if Milly had not turned the current by a
neat little speech.
"I am sure," she said, "that we do not want to vulgarize our club by
making it professional, and a prize of any great money value would
certainly do this. So I move that the prize be a simple wreath of laurel
tied with a white ribbon, on which the date of the tournament and name
of the club be printed." The members all agreed that this would be in
better form, but asked what was to be done with the money already
contributed. Then Milly rose to the occasion, and flung out the banner
of the Home.
"It seems as if we had no right to be romping in this delicious fresh
air while poor children are gasping in the vile smells of the city."
The Fresh-Air Fund and the Working Girls' Vacation Society were both
popular charities, and were proposed by different members as proper
recipients of our funds. Milly was ready to agree to this, but one young
man, supposed until that day to be a mere gilded youth, without an idea
above his neckties, suggested that it was always pleasanter to be the
distributer of one's own benefits, and moved that the club get up a
little Fresh-Air Fund of its own. "We might rent a cottage down here and
send for a dozen or so young beggars, and take turns in caring for
them."
A general laugh followed this remark. "What would you do, personally,
Mr. Van Silver?" asked one of the girls.
"I would put my coach and four-in-hand at the service of the
enterprise," he said, "and make myself expressman and 'bus driver. I'd
take the children out to drive every day, for one thing."
Everyone insisted that they would like to see him do it, but he
persisted until they were convinced of his sincerity. Mr. Van Silver's
patronage had given an aristocratic stamp to the enterprise, and some
one now proposed that they rent a cottage for the children for the
season.
Milly then explained that Adelaide had already fitted up her cottage for
the purpose, and was expecting an invoice of children by the next day.
Adelaide invited the party to visit the cottage that afternoon, and the
entire club climbed to the top and interior of Mr. Van Silver's coach;
Mr. Stacy Fitz-Simmons, the whilom drum-major of the Cadet band, blowing
the coach horn for all he was worth.
They found a park overgrown into a forest, in the depth of which stood a
pleasant cottage, with broad verandas, which once commanded a beautiful
view of the glistening bay, with Newport in the distance.
"I intend to have some of these trees cut away, so as to leave a vista
through to the water," Adelaide explained.
They entered the house, and found it renovated from the mold and decay
with which ten years had encumbered it, sweet and fresh with new paint,
and papering of pretty design. Light and graceful ratan furniture and
chintz hangings added to the beauty of the room, simple straw mattings
covered the floor. It was as lovely a home as heart could wish.
"I have done all I can afford," Adelaide said, simply, "and if the club
would like to use this cottage for their city children it is at their
service, but first Milly wants to entertain the younger children of the
Home of the Elder Brother here for a couple of weeks."
"And we will each of us take his or her turn for a week," said Mr. Van
Silver; and so the "Paradiso Seaside Home" was provided for.
Mrs. Halsey came with the children. From the moment that she left the
station she seemed to be in a dream.
"It all looks so familiar!" she exclaimed; "I am sure I have been here
before! There is something caressing in the feeling of the damp air, as
though it kissed my cheek like an old friend. And the scent of the
salt-water! I remember it so well; and shall we hear the surf? Oh, when
was it, where was it, that I knew it all?"
When they drove into the grounds she shook her head. "No, it was not
this place," she said, with a wistful look in her eyes; "there were no
trees." But at the first glimpse of the house a trembling seized her,
and she could hardly mount the steps. Within doors a puzzled expression
came into her face.
"It is familiar, yet unfamiliar," she said. "I cannot be sure. If I
could only see some face that I had known before, then I could tell."
"Perhaps the face will come," Adelaide said; and it came.
A few weeks later Mr. Armstrong returned with Jim from the western trip,
and came down to the Pier to make the visit which his daughter so
greatly desired. Adelaide had driven to the station for them in Milly's
pony carriage, Jim mounted to his old place on the rumble, Mr. Armstrong
settled himself for the drive, and Adelaide took the reins.
"I am going to take you around by the cottage, papa," she said. "I want
to show you what I have done there, and how happy the Home children
are."
Mr. Armstrong drew himself up, as though wincing from some sudden pain.
"I did not intend to go there again, daughter," he said; "I shall miss a
face at the window."
"I know, papa—the cameo; but she would have been glad to see the
cottage used as it is."
They turned into the drive, and Mr. Armstrong nerved himself for the
sight of his old home. Suddenly he cried out, and caught his daughter's
arm. "Is it only memory, or have I lost my senses? The face is there!"
Adelaide laughed reassuringly. "I don't wonder that it gave you a turn,
papa; it did me, too, when I saw the same sight in Miss Prillwitz's
window last winter, but it is only dear Mrs. Halsey looking out for us."
"Then thank God!" exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, leaping from the vehicle and
hurrying forward. "Do you not remember me? my own!—my wife!"
His wife remembered: the veil which had blinded her for years fell at
the sight of her husband's face.
Happily the shock had not been as sudden as it seemed; during the time
which she had spent in the cottage the conviction had grown upon her
that this had been her home. She had asked Adelaide its history, and
learning that it had been built for her mother, who had been drowned in
the great steamboat disaster, a hope had sprung up in her heart, which
she dared not express to any one, that she had found her own again.
Adelaide had said that she expected her father, and Mrs. Halsey waited
only to see his face to be assured of the truth.
Adelaide's delight at finding that Mrs. Halsey was her lost mother, and
Jim her brother, was genuine and intense. "I knew, all the time, that
Jim was somebody's child," she exclaimed, incoherently. "It is all too
good to be true! too good to be true!"
"Jim deserves a better father than he has found," said Mr. Armstrong,
"and by God's grace he shall have a better.
"It is too bad to break up this nice little arrangement of a summer home
for the poor children," he added, "and I will allow the cottage to be
used for this purpose just so long as the tennis club desire to maintain
it; but I must have my wife. Please remember that we have been parted
from each other a very long time. I am going West next week, and I must
take her with me; and it will not do Adelaide any harm to have a glimpse
of the great West before we send her to school in the fall. Jim has had
as much of the West as he can stand at present, and we will leave him in
the best school that we can find."
"But what shall we do for a housekeeper for the cottage?" Adelaide
asked, in dismay.
"Mrs. Trimble has just left the hospital, fully recovered, but I have no
doubt she would prefer to run your little enterprise rather than to
return to the store; and as I have deprived you of your housekeeper I
don't mind paying Mrs. Trimble to supply her place for the remainder of
the summer. It will do Mr. Trimble good, too, to complete his
convalescence here, and perhaps in the winter they will accept the
janitorship of your tenement."
"My tenement!" Adelaide replied, in surprise.
"Yes, I intend to give you the management of this property, which I have
always considered your own. You have a matter of twenty thousand dollars
insurance money, which, with the ten thousand which I have deposited to
your name in the savings bank, you may use in erecting a model tenement
on the site of the old Rickett's Court building. I think I shall have
some more money for you to put into the enterprise if the patent works
well. I shall give Mr. Trimble a share in the profits of that invention
over and above the five thousand dollars already paid him, but I think
that he would like one of your suites of rooms in return for acting as
janitor and agent of the building, and it will not interfere with his
teaching mechanics to the boys at the Home."
"If you please, papa," said Adelaide, "I like the plan of engaging Mr.
Trimble as janitor, but I would rather be my own agent and collect the
rents myself; then I can see just what improvements are needed, and be
sure that my tenants are all comfortable."
For the remainder of their stay in the East the Armstrongs busied
themselves with architects' plans and specifications. Adelaide enjoyed
planning the bathrooms and conveniences of different kinds. "And the
paving-stones must be taken up in the court," she said, "and a nice
grass-plot laid out in their place, and we will have pretty iron
balconies before every window, and a fire-escape."
"Yes, daughter," replied her father, "I will make you a present of that,
outside the other matters—the very best kind of fire-escape to be found
in the city; and, while we are about it, I will send one to the Home of
the Elder Brother."
Adelaide's interest in her tenement did not wean her away from the Home,
and I have since observed that it is always those who, seemingly, are
already doing as much as they can in the way of charity who are always
ready to lend a helping hand to other enterprises, and that it is the
earnest workers of little means, as well as the wealthy philanthropists,
who
"To the ages
Fair bequests, and costly, make."
The Armstrongs went West, and Adelaide created an interest for the Home
in her new surroundings, while Milly kept up the enthusiasm of the
tennis club at the Pier. That club flourished in a manner unheard of,
heretofore, in a place where everyone was so busy doing nothing that
even the exertion of tennis had been voted a bore. It was not tennis,
however, that kept them together, or gave the members their bright,
jolly looks, but the Paradiso Cottage.
"For we may find a zest
In any true employ
Which, like a whetstone in the breast,
Shall give an edge to joy."
But while we all worked in our different ways, it was our corresponding
secretary who was the clasp to the necklace, or rather, the central
battery which sent currents of life pulsating through the connecting
wires. The scapegrace who plotted and schemed mischief, she who had
erstwhile reveled in the name of "the malicious, seditious,
insubordinate, disreputable, skeptical Queen of the Hornets," had become
a wise and enterprising central manager of a helpful charity.
The summer vacation is over, and we have all met again for another
winter at Madame's; Amen Corner and Hornets all filled with a fine
enthusiasm for our work, and a deep, true affection for one another.
The Home rests, we are told, on very slender foundations. There is no
financier as a backer, no estate, no great endowment, nothing to ensure
its existence from year to year but the hearts and hands of ten young
girls. Nothing else? They forget that we have behind us and with us the
Elder Brother, with all the estates del Paradiso.
"By each saving word unspoken,
By Thy will, yet poorly done,
Hear us, hear us,
Thou Almighty! help us on."
THE END.
Following is a list of significant typographical errors that have been corrected.
- Page 45, "Celeste's" changed to "Céleste's" (position at Madame Céleste's).
- Page 48, "insistance" changed to "insistence" (on her insistence).
- Page 155, "ochestra" changed to "orchestra" (led her orchestra).
- Page 189, "Vicenzo" changed to "Vincenzo" (and Vincenzo Amati).
- Page 206, "pictture" changed to "picture" (I've made a picture).
- Page 213, "any one" changed to "anyone" (of anyone else).
- Page 228, "Winnnie" changed to "Winnie" (replied Winnie).
- Page 277, "formerely" changed to "formerly" (which formerly groaned).
- Page 282, "salvages" changed to "savages" (barbarous savages).
- Page 314, "Amstrong" changed to "Armstrong" (Mr. Armstrong evaded).
- Page 326, "Sante" changed to "Santa" (road to Santa Fé).
- Page 334, "pantomine" changed to "pantomime" (welcome by pantomime).
- Page 352, "f r" changed to "for" (station for them).
E never had any until Witch Winnie came to room in our corner.
RISTOCRATIC Adelaide was now as deeply attached to "that little witch"
Winnie as she had been prejudiced against her, and Winnie, who had
hitherto spoken of her new friend as "that stuck-up Armstrong girl," was
now her devoted admirer.
RS. GROGAN, the baby-farmer of Rickett's Court, could hardly have been
described as a court lady, and yet she was a very typical specimen of
the women of this locality. But before introducing the reader to the
society of Rickett's Court, I must first explain how it was that we came
to make its acquaintance.
HAT day the botany class found their teacher in a flutter of
excitement. There was a fresh, pink glow in the faded cheeks, and an
unusual sparkle in the kindly eyes. She seated herself in the episcopal
chair, lifted her lorgnette, and began to arrange the specimens for the
day's lesson, but her hand trembled so that she could scarcely adjust
the microscope, and the papers on which her notes were written sifted
through her fingers and were strewn in confusion on the floor.
RS. HETTERMAN came into our life in consequence of a train of troubles
which arose in the boarding-school from the frequent change of the cook.
Madame had been served for several years by a faithful colored man, who
had suddenly taken it into his head to go off as steward on a
gentleman's yacht. She had supplied his place by a Biddy, who was found
intoxicated on the kitchen floor. A woman followed who turned out to be
a thief, and we were now enduring an incompetent creature who made sour
bread and spoiled nearly every dish which passed through her hands. Half
of the girls were suffering with dyspepsia, and all were grumbling. The
Amen Corner was especially out of sorts. Milly, who was always
fastidious, had eaten nothing but maple-sugar for breakfast, and had a
sick headache; Emma Jane was snappish; Witch Winnie had stolen a box of
crackers from the pantry, which she had passed around. Adelaide and I
had regaled ourselves upon them, but Emma Jane had declined on high
moral grounds, and was virtuously miserable. It was in this unchristian
frame of mind, or rather of stomach, that we took our next botany
lesson. We found the princess beaming with pleasure. "My tear young
ladies," she exclaimed, "you must felicitate me. It is all so much
better as I had hoped. Ze leetle prince has not been so badly elevated
after all. He haf been taught to be kind and unselfish; zat is already
ze foundation of a gentleman."
ILHELM KALBFLEISCH, the butcher's boy, was one of the most
uninteresting specimens of humanity that I have ever seen. That any of
us would ever give him even a passing glance seemed quite beyond the
range of probability, and yet Wilhelm's stolid, good-natured face
haunted Winnie's dreams like a very Nemesis, and came to acquire a new
and singular interest even in my own mind.
OTWITHSTANDING Winnie's protestations to the contrary, I insisted on
going with her the next morning when she went to make her confession.
ILLY ROSEVELDT made an important entry in her diary a few days after
this. She was very exact about keeping her diary, recording for the most
part, however, very trivial matters, but the day that she wrote "We have
organized a 'King's Daughters Ten'" was a day with a white stone in it,
and deserved to be remembered.
OLOMON MEYER, who collected the rents at Rickett's Court, was looked
upon by the tenants as the landlord, though he distinctly disclaimed
that honor, explaining that he was only the agent, empowered merely to
receive money, never to disburse. According to Mr. Meyer the landlord
was a heartless miser, whom he had entreated to make repairs and to
lower rents, but who always turned a deaf ear to such appeals. If he,
Solomon Meyer, only owned Rickett's Court, there would be no end to the
reforms which his tender heart would cause him to institute; as it was,
there was no hope for anything of the kind; his orders were explicit—if
tenants could not pay, they must leave.
FEW days before school closed saw the Home filled for the summer.
HE anarchist of Rickett's Court, under whose influence the inventor had
fallen, was a thoroughly bad man, and the writer has no sympathy to
waste upon him or his methods, but with his deluded and desperate victim
we should all sympathize.
HILE all these sad things were happening Winnie and I were enjoying a
happy summer at my beloved home in the blessed country.
T must not be imagined that our entire summer was given over to works
of charity and mercy. There were times when we quite forgot the Home of
the Elder Brother in merry romping and girlish enjoyment; and one of the
pleasantest experiences of that season was an excursion in two
tin-peddler's carts, or rather, in two carts belonging to one
tin-peddler; a pilgrimage which was undertaken solely and simply as a
lark, and most successfully realized its aims.