"Mebbee-an' mebbee not."
"You brought home a large parcel," said Ajax. "A precious parcel. Why,
you held it as a woman holds her first baby."
She smiled, and bade us good-night.
"I've no call ter stan' aroun' gassin'," she assured us. "I've work
ter do--a plenty of it, too."
During the month of October she spent all her leisure hours locked up
in her own room; and, waiting upon us at meals, quoted freely that
famous book--_A Golden Word from Mother_. We often heard her
singing softly to herself, keeping time to the click of her needle.
When pay-day came she demanded leave of absence. The village, she told
us, was sadly behind the times, and with our permission she proposed
to drive her mule and buckboard to the county seat--San Lorenzo.
"I've business of importance," she said proudly, "ter transack."
She returned the following evening with a larger parcel than the
first.
"I've bought a bonnet," she confessed shyly, "an' trimmins."
We prevailed upon her to show us these purchases: white satin ribbon,
jet, and a feather that might have graced the hat of the Master of
Ravenswood. The "locating" of this splendid plume was no easy task.
"Maxims," sighed Gloriana, "is mostly rubbish. Now, fine feathers--an'
ther ain't a finer feather than this in San Lorenzy county--don't make
fine birds. A sparrer is always a sparrer, an' can't look like an
ostridge noway. But, good land! feathers is my weakness."
She burned much oil that night, and on the morrow the phoenix that
sprang from the flames was proudly displayed.
"I bought more'n a bonnet yesterday," she said, with her head on one
side, and a slyly complacent smile upon her lips. "Yes, sir, stuff ter
make a dress--a party dress, the finest kind o' goods."
Ajax stared helplessly at me. The mystery that encompassed this woman
was positively indecent.
"An' shoes," she concluded. "I bought me a pair, hand sewn, with
French tips--very dressy."
Later, inspired by tobacco, we agreed that the problem was solved. Our
head _vaquero_, Uncle Jake, gaunt as a coyote at Christmas, and
quite as hungry, had fallen a victim to Gloriana's flesh-pots. He
lived in an old _adobe_ near the big corral, boarded himself and
a couple of Mexicans upon _tortillas_, _frijoles_ and bacon,
and was famous throughout the countryside as a confirmed bachelor and
woman hater. We entertained a high regard for this veteran, because he
seldom got drunk, and always drove cattle _slowly_. To him the
sly Gloriana served Anglo-Saxon viands: pies, "jell'" (compounded
according to a famous Wisconsin recipe), and hot biscuit, light as the
laughter of children! What misogynist can withstand such arts? I
remembered that at the fall calf-branding Uncle Jake had expressed his
approval of our _cordon bleu_ in no measured terms.
"You've noted," he said, "that a greaser jest naterally hates ter
handle mares. He rides a horse, an' he's right. The best o' mares will
kick. Now, Glory Anne can't help bein' a woman, but I swear she's bin
mighty well broke. She works right up into the collar--quiet an'
steady, an' keeps her tongue, whar it belongs, shet up in her mouth.
I've seen a sight o' wimmen I thot less of than Glory Anne."
I repeated these words to Ajax. He admitted their significance, in
connection with bonnets and furbelows, and we both went to bed with a
sound of marriage-bells in our ears. We slept soundly, convinced that
neither Gloriana nor Uncle Jake would leave our service, and at
breakfast the next morning discoursed at length upon the subject of
wedding presents.
"What would you suggest, Gloriana," said Ajax, "as suitable for a
middle-aged bridegroom?"
She considered the question thoughtfully, a delightful smile upon her
lips.
"Ther's nothin' more interestin' than marryin', excep' mebbee the
courtin'," she replied softly, "an' a gift is, so ter speak, a message
o' love an' tenderness from one human heart t' another. With poor
folks, who ain't experts in the use o' words, a gift means more 'n
tongue kin tell. I'm sot myself on makin' things. Every stitch I put
into a piece o' fancy work fer--a friend makes me feel the happier.
Sech sewin' is a reel labour o' love, an' I kinder hate ter hurry over
it, because, as I was sayin', it means so much that I'd like ter say,
but bein' ignorant don't know how. A present fer a middle-aged
bridegroom? Well, now, if 'twas me, I'd make him a nice comfortable
bed-spread, with the best an' prettiest o' stitchin."
We both laughed. Uncle Jake under a gorgeous counterpane would make a
graven image smile. Gloriana laughed with us.
"It'd be most too dainty fer some," she said, with a surprising sense
of humour, "but I was thinkin' ye wanted a gift fer one o' yer high-
toned relations in the old country. No? Well, take yer time: a gift
ain't lightly chosen."
"I shall tackle Uncle Jake," said Ajax, as he rode over the ranch.
"Gloriana is too discreet, but she bought that bonnet for her own
wedding."
Uncle Jake, however, was cunning of fence.
"I don't feel lonesome," he declared. "Ye see I'm a cattle man, an' I
like the travelled trails. I ain't huntin' no quicksands. Many a
feller has mired down tryin' a new crossin'. No, sir, I calkilate ter
remain single."
"He's very foxy," commented Ajax, "but he means business. It really
bothers me that they won't confide in us."
The November rains were unusually heavy that year, and confined us to
the house. Gloriana had borrowed a sewing-machine from a neighbour,
and worked harder than ever, inflaming her eyes and our curiosity. We
speculated daily upon her past, present and future, having little else
to distract us in a life that was duller than a Chinese comedy. We
waxed fat in idleness, but the cook grew lean.
"You're are losing flesh, Gloriana," said I, noting her sunken cheeks
and glittering eyes.
"In a good cause," she replied fervently. "Anyways, ther ain't a
happier woman than me in the state of Californy! Well, I'm most thro'
with my sewing, an' I'd like ter show ye both what I've done, but----"
"We've have been waiting for this, Gloriana," said Ajax, tartly. "As a
member of the family you have not treated my brother and myself
fairly. This mysterious work of yours is not only wearing you to skin
and bone, it is consuming us with curiosity."
"Ye're jokin', Mr. Ajax."
"This is no joking matter, Gloriana."
She blushed, and glanced indecisively at two solemn faces.
"Ye've bin more 'n good ter me," she said slowly, "but a secret is a
secret till it's told. I hate ter tell my secret, an'--an' yer both
young unmarried men. It's really embarrassin'."
"Your secret is no secret," said my brutal brother. "Somebody,
Gloriana, is about to get married--eh?"
"Good land! How did ye come ter guess that?"
"Uncle Jake has not said a word."
"Well--why should he?"
"He's as close as a clam--the old sinner. So we can congratulate you,
Gloriana?"
"Ye kin indeed."
We shook hands, and she led the way to her own room. There, spread
upon her bed, lay some dainty garments, exquisitely fashioned,--a
regular trousseau! Even to our inexperienced eyes the beauty of the
workmanship was amazing.
"A woman," she murmured, "likes ter look at sech things. An' I do
think these air good enough."
"Good enough!" we repeated. "They're fit for a queen."
"An' a queen is goin' ter wear 'em," said Gloriana proudly--"a queen
o' beauty."
We stared blankly at each other. Had Cupid robbed his victim of her
wits?
"They air fer Miss Miriam Standish, who was queen o' beauty at the San
Lorenzy carnival. Miss Standish is the granddaughter of Doctor
Standish. Ye've heard o' him--of course?"
She glanced keenly at Ajax, who rose to the occasion with an alacrity
that I trust the recording angel appreciated.
"Of course," he said hastily. "Doctor Standish is a man of mark; as a
physician, he----"
"He ain't a physician," said Gloriana. "He's a doctor o' divinity--a
learned, godly man."
"And his granddaughter is about to marry----"
"Mr. Hubert Leadbetter. I should say _Professor_ Leadbetter, who
keeps the biggest drug-store in town."
We had bought drugs from the Professor, and were happily able to
testify to his personal charms. Gloriana beamed.
"Ther ain't a finer young man in the land, Mr. Ajax: he's jest as good
as his own sarsaparilla."
"You are going to attend the wedding?" said I, thinking of the
wonderful bonnet.
"If you please," said Gloriana. "I jest couldn't stay away. Why, I've
made things fer Miriam Standish ever since she was born. That is how I
learned ter sew as few women kin sew."
Ajax touched one of the garments lightly, as became a bachelor.
"This work will bring you many shekels, Gloriana. I had no idea you
were such a needlewoman."
"What!" she cried, her face crimson. "Do you think I'd take money from
Miriam Standish? Why----"
She stopped short in confusion, and covered her poor face with
trembling hands.
"I beg your pardon," said Ajax gravely, "I wouldn't hurt your
feelings, Gloriana, for the world."
She looked up, irresolutely.
"I reckon I've said too much or too little," she said slowly. "Ye're
both gen'lemen, an' ye've bin awful kind ter me. I kin trust ye with
my secret, an' I'm goin' ter do it. The Standishes, are New England
folk--high-toned an' mighty particler. It's as easy fer them ter be
virtuous as ter eat punkin pie fer breakfast. I come from Wisconsin,
where we think more of our bodies than our souls; an' 'twas in
Wisconsin that I first met Dr. Standish. He had a call to the town,
wher I lived with--with my sister. She, my sister, was a real pretty
girl then, but of a prettiness that soon fades. An' she hired out as
cook ter the Doctor. He was a good man, an' a kind one, but she paid
back his kindness by runnin' off with his only son."
"Surely," said Ajax gently, "the son was also to blame?"
"No, sir, my sister was ter blame, an' she knew it. We was common
folk, Mr. Ajax, what they would call in the South--white trash, an'
the Standishes was real quality. My sister knew that, an' refused to
marry the young man, tho' he asked her on his bended knees. Then he
died, an'--an' my sister died, an' nothin' was left but the sorrow an'
the shame, an'--Miriam."
The name fell softly on a silence that we respected. Presently she
continued--
"Doctor Standish offered to take the child, an' I dared not keep her.
His terms were awful hard, but just: the scandal'd broke up his home,
an' his heart. He tole me he'd take Miriam ter Californy, an' that she
must never know the story of her mother's sin. That was right, Mr.
Ajax--eh?"
"I don't know, Gloriana. Go on."
"I promised him never ter speak to the child, an' I've kept my word;
but he let me make her things. That was kind of him--very kind."
"Very kind, indeed," said Ajax.
"I followed 'em ter Californy, an' worked out, an' sold books an'
peddled fruit, but I've kep' track o' little Miriam."
"You have never spoken to her, you say?"
"Never. Doctor Standish kin trust me. He's posted me, too. He tole me
o' the wedding. I got word the night I first went ter the village, an'
that's why--" she smiled through her tears--"that's why I wore my
teeth. They cost me twenty dollars, an' I keep 'em fer high days an'
holidays."
Ajax began to pace up and down the room. I heard him swearing to
himself, and his fists were clenched. I felt certain that he was about
to interfere in matters that did not concern us.
"Miss Standish should be told the truth," said he at last.
"No, no," she exclaimed. "I'm a wicked woman to wish ter kiss her. I
done wrong in telling the secret, but yer sympathy jest twisted it
outer me. Promise me, Mr. Ajax, that ye'll never give me away."
We pledged our word, and left her.
* * * * *
"Gloriana's dun days must soon come to an end," said Ajax to me upon
the eve of the wedding.
"Why shouldn't she marry Uncle Jake? The old chap wants her. He
informed me this afternoon that a double team travelled farther than a
single horse. And he hangs about the kitchen door all the time, and
divides Gloriana's favours with the pig."
"Tell him to propose."
"I'll have to do it for him," replied my brother. "Uncle Jake has not
the gift of tongues."
We accompanied Gloriana to San Lorenzo; as we feared to trust our
friend--for so we had come to regard her--with the mule, a mischievous
beast, spoiled by prosperity. Ajax drove a skittish pair of colts.
Gloriana and I occupied the back seat of our big spring wagon.
"My brother is not Uncle Jake," said Ajax, as soon as the colts had
settled down to business, "but he'll tell you all the pretty things
the old man says about you."
"Uncle Jake is puffectly rediclous," replied Gloriana gaily. "His love
is cupboard love."
"He has mired down at last."
"Nonsense! Mr. Ajax."
"He is set on matrimony. You are the one woman in the world for him.
Take him, Gloriana; and then we'll all live together for ever and
ever."
"Mr. Ajax, you'd sooner joke than eat."
"I'm not joking now. Uncle Jake is an honest man, with money laid by.
He would make you comfortable for life, and such a marriage might pave
the way to--to a better understanding with Doctor Standish."
Her face flushed at these last words, and fire flooded her eyes.
Looking at her, I realised that long ago this worn woman must have
been a beautiful girl.
"No," she answered steadily. "I wouldn't say Yes to the Angel Gabriel.
Uncle Jake and I would make a baulky team. He's obstinate as my old
mule, an' so am I. An' there's another thing: I'm most petered out,
an' need a rest. Mattermony ain't rest."
My brother had tact enough to change the subject.
Descending the San Lorenzo grade, a sharp incline, Gloriana called our
attention to a view panoramic and matchless beneath the glamour of
sunset. Below us lay the mission town, its crude buildings aglow with
rosy light; to the left was the cañon, a frowning wilderness of
manzanita, cactus and chaparral; to the right towered the triune peak
of the Bishop, purple against an amber sky; in the distance were the
shimmering waters of the Pacific. Upon the face of the landscape
brooded infinite peace, and the soft shadows of evening.
"In Californy," said our passenger, "the glorious works o' the Lord
air revealed. There's the Bishop: he looks fine to-night. Ye kin see
the peak, but the sea fog's crawlin' in, an' shets off the main body
o' the mountain. That's wher the fogs air always thickest. An' that's
wher I lost my way, Mr. Ajax. Yes, sir, my feet stumbled on the dark
mountain, as the prophet says, but I clumb the stony places, an' now,
on the top, its clear."
"Gloriana," said Ajax, after a pause, "will you allow my brother, who
is a grave and learned signor, to plead your cause with Doctor
Standish? I know what lies nearest your heart."
In this impudent fashion he laid a grievous burden on me; for I have
no stomach for other folk's pastry, yet the hope that glistened upon
Gloriana's face whetted a strange appetite.
"I'll speak to him--if you wish it," said I.
"No," she returned, her eyes giving the lie to her lips. "It wouldn't
be right."
But a woman's brain is a sorry advocate against her heart. Ajax, as I
expected, put her scruples to rout. It was agreed that I should carry,
as credentials, Gloriana's present--the parcel she hugged to her
bosom, weighty with love and linen; that the interview should take
place after dinner; that the recognition of Gloriana as Miriam's
blood-relation should be not demanded but suggested with all deference
due to a doctor of divinity. The Standishes boarded at the Hotel Buena
Vista, where we always stayed; Gloriana was set down at a modest two-
bit house, some three-quarters of a mile distant.
As the hour of meeting the Doctor approached, my courage oozed from
every pore, distilling a malignant dew of mistrust that not even the
optimism of Ajax could evaporate. As we sat at meat I noted with
apprehension the stern features of Standish, who occupied an adjoining
table. He ate sparingly, as became an old man, and drank no wine. His
granddaughter, a charming girl, with eyes that reminded me of
Gloriana, chattered gaily to him, but he replied in monosyllables.
Doubtless he was thinking of the parting on the morrow.
Half-an-hour later he received me in his room, and asked courteously
in what way he could serve me.
I laid my credentials upon the table. They were flanked, I remarked,
by a Bible, and a well-worn book of prayer.
"This," I began lamely, "is a present from our housekeeper, Gloriana,
to your granddaughter. She asked me to deliver it into your hands."
"I thank you, sir," he replied stiffly. "You say this--er--woman is
your housekeeper?"
"Our housekeeper--and our friend."
"Indeed. Well, sir, I am obliged to you. Good-night."
"A present," said I, "demands an acknowledgment."
"An acknowledgment? You look at me very strangely, young man."
Upon this I spoke; explaining, in halting sentences, my mission. He
listened attentively, a frown upon his somewhat narrow forehead.
"How dare you interfere in such matters!" he asked, in a voice that
quavered with suppressed rage. "What right have you to come between me
and a woman, an ignorant, immoral creature, whose very presence is
contamination?"
"Ignorant, illiterate--yes; but a braver, truer, more loving spirit
never breathed. I count it a privilege to know her. Surely she has
suffered enough for a sister's sin!"
"My life has been poisoned," he muttered. "I was robbed at once of my
son and of my profession, for I dared not preach what I could not
practise--forgiveness. Leave me, sir."
"I beg your pardon," said I bitterly. "If you turn a deaf ear to this"
(I touched his Bible), "and these" (I tore open the parcel, and spread
Gloriana's handiwork upon the table), "how can I expect you to listen
to me?"
"You are in possession of all the facts, sir. Don't presume to judge
me. Go--and take these things with you. It has been the object of my
life to keep my granddaughter and this woman apart. I allowed her to
work for the child, but the clothes she has been sending I have given
to--others. Already, despite my efforts, she suspects that there is
some unhappy mystery about her birth."
* * * * *
Ajax met me on the threshold of our cheerless hotel parlour, and
listened confounded to my story. As we sat smoking and talking the
bell-boy ushered in Gloriana. When she caught sight of her precious
parcel she gasped with satisfaction.
"I'm most choked," she panted, "in trying ter get here in time. I
reckon I run most o' the way. Ever since ye set me down I've bin
tryin' studyin' an' worryin'. I don't want ye," she turned an anxious
face to mine, "ter speak ter Doctor Standish to-night, fer it might
onsettle Miriam. Good land o' Peter, how short my breath is! Ye see
ther couldn't be room in the child's heart jest now fer me an' the
_Pro_fessor. An' when that ther idee took aholt it seemed as if I
couldn't rest till I saw ye. I'm mighty glad I was in time."
The words fell from her lips in sobs and gasps.
"It's all right," said Ajax. "Sit down, Gloriana. You deserve a
scolding."
As he spoke she sank upon the couch, and tugged convulsively at the
white linen band around her throat.
"She is ill," whispered Ajax. "Run for assistance--quick!"
I chanced to meet the bell-boy, and dispatched him in search of a
physician. Unable to discriminate between doctors of medicine and
divinity, the youth summoned in hot haste Doctor Standish. His
granddaughter, learning that a woman was in sore distress, accompanied
him. They entered the room together. The Doctor motioned the girl
back, but she hastened forward, and, looking with infinite compassion
into the poor twisted face, took Gloriana's hands in hers. Some one
administered brandy and spirits of ammonia.
"How did this happen?" said the Doctor aside to me.
I spared him nothing in the recital, and his stern features softened
as I emphasised Gloriana's anxiety to save Miriam from worry. As I
finished, the faithful creature opened her eyes, which rested
naturally upon the face of Miriam.
"Why--it's my little girl," she said faintly. Doctor Standish bent
forward.
"If she mistakes you for one of her own kin, don't undeceive her. Play
the part."
Miriam nodded, and kissed the frail hands that fluttered round her
head.
"Gimme my parcel," she said presently, in a stronger voice. "Mercy
sakes! I'm awful weak; but I'd like ter show my little girl the things
I made for her."
The parcel was brought and untied. Gloriana touched the garments
tenderly.
"Nothin'," she murmured, "kin come closer to ye than these pretty
things, excep' the love I stitched into 'em. When you wear 'em you'll
think o' me, Miss Standish."
At the sound of her name the girl started, and looked askance at her
grandfather, who turned his head aside.
"Who is this woman!" she asked in a low voice.
The answer came from Gloriana, slowly and distinctly.
"I'm--nothin'--to--ye; but ye've bin the world an' all ter me. Well--I
said I'd never go ter my little girl, because I wasn't fit, but I
always thought that the Lord in His mercy would bring her ter me. Ye
wore the clothes I sent, an' mebbee ye wondered who made 'em. 'Twas
the happiness o' my life sewing on 'em, an' ter think you was wearin'
them. I've worked awful hard, but I kin take it easy--now. I feel reel
sleepy, too. Good-night, my pretty, good-night!"
We were quite unprepared for what happened, believing that our poor
friend was merely over-wrought and weary. But as the words "good-
night" fell softly upon our ears Gloriana sighed peacefully--and died.
"Who is this woman?" said Miriam for the second time, thinking that
Gloriana had fallen asleep.
The Doctor was not so deceived. He pressed forward, and laid his
trembling fingers upon the wrist of the dead, and then bent his head
till it rested upon the breast of her he had counted a scandalous
sinner. When he confronted us the tears were rolling down his face.
"May God forgive me!" he cried, falling upon his knees. "This woman,
Miriam, was your mother."
V