The Corner Series
THE FOUR CORNERS in CALIFORNIA
By AMY E. BLANCHARD
George W. Jacobs & Company
Philadelphia.
Copyright, 1907, by
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
_Published September, 1907_
_All rights reserved_
Printed in U. S. A.
[Illustration: UP AND DOWN THE PARADE PASSED IN REVIEW.]
CONTENTS
I. GOING FORTH
II. THE OLD GENTLEMAN
III. AMONG THE MISSIONS
IV. MAKING ACQUAINTANCES
V. HUNTING A HOME
VI. SEÑORITA
VII. AN ENCOUNTER
VIII. THE HOME OF RAMONA
IX. ONE SABBATH DAY
X. THE TOURNAMENT OF ROSES
XI. THE TOMALE MAN
XII. JO POKER
XIII. THE SECRET
XIV. THE TEA
XV. AT THE RANCH
XVI. NAN'S NEW FRIEND
XVII. MAKING UP
XVIII. IN SANTA BARBARA
XIX. THE MESSAGE
XX. HOMEWARD BOUND
ILLUSTRATIONS
Up and down the parade passed in review
The good priest gave many interesting accounts
"I shall love to sit and look at her"
Mary Lee had lost all faith in the burro
A little Scotch air brought bunny to his shoulder
The Four Corners in California
CHAPTER I
GOING FORTH
There was great commotion in the home of the Corners one day in
October. Nan was flying up and down-stairs "like a hen on a hot
griddle," Aunt Sarah said. Mary Lee, less excitable, was, nevertheless,
nervously putting in and taking out various articles from a leather
satchel. Jean was trying to sop up some ink her twin sister, Jack, had
spilt on the floor and over her precious self. "I was just going to
write a card so as it would be all ready to put on Aunt Helen's trunk,"
wailed Jack, "and the ink bottle slipped before I could catch it."
"Never mind, never mind," comforted Jean. "It's coming out a little
bit, Jack, and there's plenty of time. Unc' Landy has something that
will take it out real crick. Now, do be criet and I'll go ask him for
it."
Somewhat pacified, Jack's sobs ceased, though she sat mournfully
contemplating the spot on the floor. Fortunately the carpet was old,
patched and darned in places, so the damage done was less remarked than
if it had been a new one. There had been other overturnings of ink,
of water, of various other things, in days gone by, so its color was
dingy and uncertain. Jack turned her gaze from the carpet to her own
stained fingers saturated to the tips with the inky fluid. "They'll
look dreadful to travel with," she said ruefully as Jean returned, "and
Aunt Helen says ladies never have black fingernails."
"Oh, well, we aren't ladies yet," returned Jean consolingly. "Of course
we'll not have when we are ladies, because we'll have time then to sit
and use all those little things Aunt Helen has: files and scissors and
things. Here's the stuff, Jack. Unc' Landy says this is hosally-assy,
and it is very strong; you have to use only a few grains of it in some
water."
"I wonder what it's made of," remarked Jack, as Jean carefully poured a
few crystals into her hand from the small vial she held.
"I asked him," returned Jean, "and he said he reckoned it was made of
horses and mules, like glue. He said the Bible calls mules asses; you
remember Balaam's ass that spoke. Unc' Landy said he didn't know what
the ally meant, but there was the hoss and the ass. He said they make
lots of things out of animals. Rennet is made from the stomachs of
calves, and then there's ox-gall, he said, for setting colors."
"He's right knowing for an old darky," returned Jack, wetting her
finger and carefully touching a crystal.
"That's not the way to do it," said Jean hastily. "You must put it in
water."
"I don't see why this way isn't just as good," returned Jack. "It is
coming out, Jean. See, that little spot is nearly clean."
"It would be just as well to do it the right way," persisted Jean. She
went over to the washstand, procured a mug half full of water into
which she poured some grains of the oxalic acid, and brought it to Jack
who plunged her fingers in it and sat comfortably soaking them while
Jean attended to the carpet.
They were absorbed in this occupation when Mary Lee came in. "What are
you two doing?" she asked.
"Why, Jack spilled some ink and we are getting it all out," replied
Jean.
"I should think you were," said Mary Lee, viewing the basin of
discolored water. "What is the matter with your hands, Jack? Have you
burned them?"
"No, I am soaking off the ink with hossally-assy that Unc' Landy gave
me."
"Not hossally, goosey; it's oxalic."
"Oh, then it's oxes and mules, Jean," she said in an undertone to her
twin sister.
"It is a good thing mother made you wear that old frock till the very
last minute," remarked Mary Lee, opening a closet door and running her
eye over the contents. "I believe we have left nothing here that we
shall want. You children had better hurry up; Nan wants us to form a
procession to make the good-byes. We're going right away." She came and
stood near her little sisters. "I don't believe you can get any more
out, Jean; it's an old faded carpet, anyhow, and very likely we shall
have a new one when we get back. I wouldn't bother over it. Come on
down. Time is flying and we must say the good-byes."
Thus admonished the twins arose from the floor, Jack carefully
examining her fingers. "They're not crite so bad," said Jean.
"I think they're much better," declared Jack with conviction. "When
they're dry they will do very well."
"I promised Unc' Landy that I would take the bottle right back to him,"
Jean said.
"And tell him it is oxes, not horses," said Jack emptying the contents
of the mug. "Wait a minute and I'll go with you, Jean. We shall have
to go to the stable to say good-bye to Pete and the cow and chickens.
There's Nan calling now."
They ran down to find their two elder sisters waiting for them. "Come
on," said Nan. "We shall have to dress pretty soon, and there is no
time to lose. We are going to the stable first and the gardens last.
Mary Lee has some food for the chickens and I have an apple for Pete."
They started out, Nan leading the procession. At the stable they found
Unc' Landy looking glum and unresponsive. It was a sore day for him
which saw his "fambly" depart for California.
He shook his head as the children went through the ceremony of making
their adieux to the old mule, Pete. "Lak as not yuh-all's don' see dat
ol' mewl agin," he remarked, "an' mebbe I git called to glory mahse'f
fo' yuh gits back, yuh gwine stay so long."
"Why, aren't you well, Unc' Landy?" chorused the four girls.
"I got tur'ble mis'ry in mah back," he said, "an' I only tollable these
days. Lak as not I don' las' th'ough de wintah."
This was distressing, but the practical Mary Lee remembered that Unc'
Landy prophesied this calamity at the beginning of each season. In
the spring it was a "mis'ry in de haid" which would prevent his living
till autumn. In the summer he was "so plumb wo' out" he didn't expect
to see another Christmas. In the winter he was "dat oneasy in de jints"
he wasn't to be expected to leave his bed again by spring. Yet the
prophecies never came true, Mary Lee reflected, so she said cheerfully:
"It would be a real low-down trick, Unc' Landy, for you not to wait
till we get back. I don't believe you could do us so mean as not to
have us here to see to your funeral."
At which speech Unc' Landy chuckled and wagged his head, and when they
took up the line of march after having parted from their stable pets
he followed in their wake. Before long four others had fallen into
line. The first of them was Phil Lewis, then came the Gordon boys,
Ashby and Randolph, and lastly came Trouble, the old mongrel dog who
had shared many an experience of the Corner family's. As for Phil, he
was a "double cousin" because he was related to both the Lees and the
Corners. The Gordon boys were cousins, too, though less nearly related.
They were going to school in the town and were boarding at the Corners'
house which was now overlooked by Aunt Sarah Dent.
"We don't mean to echo your good-byes," said Randolph, as he came up,
"but we want your company when you are going to leave us so soon."
Mary Lee turned to Phil. "You will have an eye to poor old Trouble,
won't you?" she said. "Doctor him up if anything happens to him. Then
the chickens and the ducks and all, I depend on you, Phil, not to let
anything happen to them."
"Gracious!" exclaimed Nan. "You certainly are giving Phil a weight of
responsibility. As if he could run after the chickens and ducks all
day."
"Oh, he knows I don't expect him to do that, but that I hope he will
take a general supervision of them." Phil promised to do his best and
Mary Lee knew he would not fail her.
Jack slipped her hand into Randolph's. He was a tall, fine looking boy
who towered up above the little lass, but who was quite chummy with
her. "Won't you sometimes let Baz in when he is shut out in the cold?"
she whispered. Baz was her cat of whom she was very fond. "Everybody
pays attention to Lady Grey," she went on, "but Baz will get neglected
if I am not here."
Ran smiled down at her. "Shall I get a bell for his neck so I can tell
when he is around?"
"Oh, no, he wouldn't like that. You named him Maher-shaleel-hash-baz,
you know."
"And so as a sort of sponsor I must be responsible for him and try to
keep him from picking and stealing, I suppose. I am afraid I can't
answer for his misdemeanors, Jack, but I will try to give him a warm
corner in my room when I am there."
Jack gave his hand a squeeze. "Oh, thank you," she said. "I knew you
would."
Randolph turned to Nan. "And what shall we do for you?" he inquired.
Nan looked sober. "I think I will speak a word for Aunt Sarah. She is
going to miss us awfully, and she will get very lonely on Sundays, I'm
afraid."
Randolph gave the girl a quick look. He knew that in days gone by Aunt
Sarah Dent and Nan had not been the best of friends. "It is good of you
to think of Miss Sarah before any one else," he said. "I know you and
she weren't always nick-ups."
"Oh, but we are now. Ever since she nursed me last year we have been."
"Well," said Ran, "if she is good enough to come here to keep house
and look after the comfort of us boys, I reckon the least we can do is
to make her as little trouble as possible and to think of her comfort
sometimes."
"Spoken like a true Southern gentleman," returned Nan laughing.
From stable to hen-house; from hen-house to garden; from garden to
orchard they had taken their way. Many were the charges Unc' Landy
received concerning this hen, that duck; this crop of vegetables, that
yield of fruit, and now the final spot was reached and they returned
solemnly to the house, a little cast down as they considered how long
it would be before they saw each familiar place again.
Leaving the three boys to pass away the time as they should choose
till the moment came when they were to escort them to the railway
station, the three younger girls hurried up-stairs to make ready for
their journey. Nan, however, lingered below for a few moments. She had
one more farewell to make. She slipped into the deserted living-room,
and going to her piano, her last year's Christmas gift from her
grandmother, she opened it, passed her hand lovingly along the keys,
and laid her cheek against the shining case. "Good-bye, you precious
thing," she whispered. "I wish I could take you with me, but I will
come back to you, and there is one good thing about it; you will be
exactly the same, no taller, as the boys will be; you will not get
rheumatism in your joints, as Unc' Landy may do, and you will seem
as young as ever when I come back." After a last loving pat upon the
closed lid, she locked the piano and carried the key to Aunt Sarah for
safe keeping. Then she went up-stairs to join the others in making
ready for their journey.
Mary Lee's bag was neatly packed and Jean had followed her example by
stowing away her belongings in an orderly manner, but Jack was pulling
open bureau drawers and ransacking every corner for the gloves and
handkerchief which she declared she had carefully laid away. "Do help
me, Nan," she implored; "the others are so mean and say I am careless
and that they will go off without me if I don't hurry. You won't let
them leave me behind, will you, Nan?"
"Indeed I will not," said Nan heartily. "Don't fly about so crazily.
Sit down for a second and try to think where you last saw the things.
What were you doing after you had them?"
Jack plumped herself down on the floor and folded her hands. "I--let
me see,--oh, yes, I went down-stairs to see if there were any more
caramels. I ate one out of my box and there was a tiny corner that I
wanted to fill up."
"Then like as not you left the things in the pantry."
"No, I didn't. I stopped on the way to put them somewhere."
"Have you looked in the living-room?"
"No."
"Then probably that is where they are. Come, let's go down and see if
they are there." She led the way to the living-room and there, sure
enough, the gloves and handkerchief were found hidden under a book on
the table.
"What a place to put them," exclaimed Nan. "That's just like you, Jack.
Come along, now. Put your hat on straight; it's over your left ear. The
others are all ready. No, don't dive under the sofa for the cat; you'll
get all in a mess. Here, you've dropped one of your gloves. Put them
both on; it's the only safe way. Of course you'll lose them both before
the journey is over, but you may as well start out all right. There
are crumbs sticking to your mouth; wipe them off. Coming, mother," and
pushing Jack ahead of her she gave one swift glance around the room and
joined the group standing on the porch.
The carriage was already waiting at the door. Mary Lee and Jean were
seated complacently therein. It was a big, roomy old hack such as the
livery stable of the town afforded for the use of the traveling public,
and there was space enough for the six of them to be comfortably seated
without crowding. Mary Lee leaned back sedately, but Jack and Nan
stretched their necks out of the window till the corner was turned,
despite the criticism which this performance brought from Mary Lee.
"You look like country jakes," she declared, "as if you had never
traveled before. Do take in your heads; people will laugh at you."
"I don't care if they do," responded Nan. "It won't be the first time
we have been laughed at, will it, Jack?"
"And it won't be the last, if you are going to keep up this sort of
doings," returned Mary Lee with a superior air.
"Oh, don't let's fuss just as we are starting out," put in Jean
plaintively; "it takes away all the good taste."
"Well spoken," said Miss Helen. "Do be amiable, you others, and let us
go forth with a good taste in our mouths, as Jean says."
In consequence all four smiled sweetly as if to assure one another of
their kindly feelings, and even when Nan called to Jack, "Last look,
honey," Mary Lee said no word though Jack reached far out to catch a
final glimpse of the brown house in its frame of red and yellow autumn
leaves.
This last view gave Aunt Sarah on the porch and Unc' Landy leaning
on the gate, Trouble at his side looking up wistfully, one ear
flopping dejectedly over his eye; it was clear that he understood that
something unusual must be the matter when the entire family went off
in this stately manner. Their last view of the station showed three
lads standing a-row, little Phil craning his neck to look after the
departing train, tall Ran waving his hat and Ashby, between the two,
shouting something which they did not hear.
"Now, we're really off," said Nan with a sigh of satisfaction. "I have
been dreadfully afraid that something would happen to prevent our
trip, for it seemed such a tremendously splendid thing for all of us
to do. We'll get somewhere, anyhow, even if there should be a railway
accident."
"Oh, Nan," said Jean in an expostulatory tone, "what makes you say such
a dreadful thing? I didn't want to think about railway accidents and
now you've gone and made me."
"Sorry, dearie. I didn't mean to harrow up your sensibilities. There
isn't going to be any accident; of course there isn't. Think of how
many hundreds and thousands of journeys are taken every day and nobody
gets hurt; it is the exception when anything bad happens, and I know it
won't this time."
This confidence reassured Jean and she proceeded to unfasten her box of
caramels in order to begin the enjoyment of that which was to her an
important part of the day's doings.
"Six of us take up a good deal of room," remarked Jack who, as usual,
chose to sit by the side of her eldest sister. Mary Lee and Jean were
side by side while Mrs. Corner and Miss Helen occupied a third seat.
"Just think, Nan, we were never in sleeping cars before," Jack went on.
"In sleeping cars?" exclaimed Nan. "We've scarcely ever been in any
cars; I expect we'll get good and tired of them, too, before we get
there."
"Oh, but we are to stop off at New Orleans."
"Yes, and other places, too, maybe: Houston and San Antonio, and
Mexico, perhaps." She gave Jack a sudden ecstatic squeeze. "Oh, Jack,
aren't we lucky to have an Aunt Helen to do all this for us?"
"She ought to do it," said Jack stoutly. "You know she ought to divide
with us, for grandmother said it was what grandfather would have wanted
her to do."
"Yes, I know that," returned Nan, "but some persons wouldn't have done
it."
"She would have been the piggiest kind of a pig to keep it all, when
there are five of us and only one of her," insisted Jack.
"All the same," continued Nan, "there are just such human pigs, but
Aunt Helen is a darling." Here Nan fell into a fit of dreaming as was
a frequent habit of hers, and Jack slipped away to the next seat and
squeezed herself in by the side of her twin sister while Nan gazed
out of the window and thought of many things. So many changes in one
short year. Within that time she had met an unknown grandmother and had
encountered her Aunt Helen only a year back, had made her acquaintance
without knowing who she was, and had loved her at first sight. Thus had
followed the renewal of relations between the old brown house where the
Corner girls lived and the big house of Uplands to which the elder Mrs.
Corner and her daughter had returned after several years' residence
abroad. What a long winter it would have been, Nan reflected, if, while
their precious mother was away in the Adirondacks for her health, there
had been no Aunt Helen near by. How like a true fairy godmother she had
come to them full of gifts which meant so much to a poverty-stricken
household. Now Uplands was in ashes and the old brown house, fresh
with new paint, was home to all of them except the grandmother whose
troubled spirit had left a feeble body the spring before. After long
estrangement the sister and wife of John Corner were again dear
friends.
Nan looked across at them, at little Aunt Helen's white hair and sweet
eyes, at her mother's pale, gentle, lovely face. With a swift movement
which she could not resist, Nan rushed across the aisle and bestowed a
kiss upon each.
Her mother smiling, turned to Miss Helen. "How like Nan," she said. "I
can fancy just what made her do that."
Miss Helen nodded. "So can I." And her gaze fell upon Nan's dark head
turned now toward the car window.
It was growing dark, and the landscape dimmed into large forms of
purple mountains and russet plains, softly outlined in the October
evening light. "Speeding away, speeding away into a new world,"
whispered Nan as the train rushed along.
But she was aroused from her dreams by Mary Lee's drawling voice in her
ear. "Aunt Helen's called you three times, you old drowsy owl. Come
along, we're going to the dining-car for supper."
"Oh, Nan," said Jack reproachfully, "how could you be so forgetful?
Why, I've just been sitting here aching for the time to come when
we could eat our supper. We never did have a real meal in a real
dining-car before. I believe you would have sat there all night and
dreamed, if we had let you."
"Night is the time to dream," replied Nan laughing as she bumped along
the aisle of the swaying train in the wake of the others.
"Not when you haven't had any supper," returned Jack over her shoulder.