The work of repairing the damage caused by the freshet was pushed and
by the end of the week a temporary bridge had been constructed over the
creek and the canal below the house, enabling foot-passengers from the
mountain to cross over to the village.
Mr. De Vere’s letter declining to sell was forwarded to Mills and the
mortgage transferred to Mr. Genung. The latter was very anxious that
Hernando should prospect on Mr. De Vere’s mining claim so, to satisfy
him, Mr. De Vere agreed to accompany them on an expedition to it as
soon as the weather would permit. Accordingly they started up the
mountain back of the house one morning in the following week. They
followed the path to the maple bush for some distance, then, turning
to the east, climbed over rocks and broken trees to Point Wawanda and
then struck into a gully just behind it. Many rivulets flowed down the
mountain above, but one in particular, after a swift rush from the very
summit, dropped down into the earth under Point Wawanda. Placing his
ear to the earth Hernando could hear a roar as of underground waters
and knew that they must have passed through some cavern or cleft far
down in the mountain. Carefully taking his bearings, they were found
to accord exactly with the description of the marks and locations
described by Benny. Hernando felt assured that somewhere near was the
cave and one of considerable extent. Directly in front of him rose a
cliff over one hundred feet in height. Scaling this, the young man
looked westward towards the Laurels. “Ah,” he said, aloud, holding
his nose at a crevice in the rocks, “one mystery is explained to my
satisfaction: gas. So, ‘no one that has ever seen it has been able in
daylight to find whence it arose,’” he laughed. “If all instances were
as harmless as this one what a delightful place to live in this dreary
old world would be.” He descended to his former position for a closer
inspection of the cliff.
Suddenly his experienced eye was attracted by a fissure in the rocks
composing the entire eastern side of Wawanda and which ran almost to
the top. Hernando approached it and brushing aside the snow he forced
his body through an opening just large enough to admit it. The crevice
was full of snow but, with much labor, he dug his way along and found
this was the entrance to a second passage-way, which he also entered.
Further progress was barred by a heap of rocks, but these were loose
and, removing them, an almost circular opening was disclosed. He
lighted a candle and crawling on hands and knees finally emerged into a
sort of cave. Long and loud he shouted to the waiting men outside and
at last a faint “Hello” proclaimed that these portly gentlemen were
squeezing their way through, and after a long time they stood beside
Hernando, panting and perspiring. As soon as they recovered their
breath, they proceeded to explore this mysterious cavern.
“Look here!” said Hernando, who, with a deft stroke of his hammer, had
shivered the rock, disclosing a dull yellow surface. “Gold!” they
exclaimed, looking excitedly into each other’s faces.
“Yes,” Hernando continued calmly. “The whole inner surface of these
rocks is full of gold. Others have been here before us too. Some one
has struck a pocket, and recently. Look, here is a cavity which seems
to have been dug out.”
Mills’s offer flashed through De Vere’s mind, but he dismissed the
thought as unworthy, and turned to listen to a sound of rumbling which
seemed to come from the bowels of the earth. Hernando heard it too,
and removing a heap of rubbish from one corner made his way through a
hole, but quickly reappeared saying he had better be secured by a rope
as these underground passages were treacherous. Mr. De Vere threw a
loop about his waist, securely fastened the other end, and held back
the slack in his hand ready to be guided by signals, and Hernando again
disappeared from view down a slanting rock worn smooth by the action
of water that at one time must have flowed over it, but which now
issued from under a slimy boulder some feet lower down at the opposite
side. Sliding and falling alternately he at last landed on a sort of
platform about ten feet wide and running along the brink of a pit
which seemed bottomless. The dim light from his miner’s candle cast
weird shadows on the black rocks over whose sides snake-like streams
crept stealthily down. Hernando shivered and turned to leave the spot,
when his attention was attracted by an object at the further end of
the platform. There lay what appeared to be an image of stone. He
drew nearer, and kneeling down looked long and carefully down at it.
Unmistakably it was the petrified body of an Indian. Those features
could belong to no other race. The eyes and hair, one foot and three
fingers were gone; but otherwise, the body seemed to be in a state
of perfect preservation,--to have been literally turned into stone.
Of course all remnants of clothing had disappeared, though even the
remaining toe and finger-nails were perfect. But the ears! did human
beings ever possess such appendages? The lobes were so elongated as to
nearly rest on the shoulders.
This man must have been a giant, for the body measured nearly seven
feet. Hernando attempted to roll it over but found this impossible, for
besides its great weight, the image was covered with slime, and during
his efforts one ear was broken off. This Hernando put into his pocket.
The heavy air oppressed him, and so absorbed had he been in his
examination that he had not noticed how near the edge of the platform
he was, until on attempting to rise his feet slipped from under him.
His cap with the candle rolled down into the pit, and in total darkness
he hung suspended over that yawning abyss.
Almost overpowered by the heavy air, he had barely strength enough left
to guide the rope which, from the violent jerk it gave, warned those
above of danger.
Gasping for breath, he was pulled up to where the fresher air soon
revived him and he was then enabled to relate his discovery.
The enormous petrified ear must undoubtedly have belonged to “Old
Ninety-Nine.”
Palæontologists assert and prove the petrifying properties of these
mountain streams. Undoubtedly the lower cave had once been the channel
of the stream which now rumbled far below, and nature in the throes of
growing-pains had opened a new channel.
How “Old Ninety-Nine” came to be there, or met his death, must remain a
mystery, but his cave was at last discovered.
Completely restored, Hernando hastened to procure assistance in
bringing the body out, and after travelling down the mountain toward
the house for a short distance he met Reuben and a sturdy wood-chopper
by the name of Mike McGavitt, on their way to the woods. To them he
unfolded his plans and they readily consented to assist him. Reuben
volunteered to bring whatever articles were needed. These were
rubbers for all the party, plenty of stout rope and a plank. Reuben
comprehended fully what they were needed for, and in little less than
half an hour returned with the things, and they all hastened back to
the cave, where De Vere and Genung were strolling about the entrance.
Hernando led into the cave followed by the others. Inside, Hernando,
Reuben and Mike divested themselves of their boots and securely
strapping on their feet a pair of rubbers to prevent slipping, were
successfully lowered to the platform on which lay all that was left of
“Old Ninety-Nine.” Mike came last, and as he slid down the incline,
clutching the rope, he called, “Schteady, me byes, schteady!” He crept
along the shelf, averting his eyes from the pit. Next the plank was
lowered, and it required the united efforts of all three to roll the
body upon it. At last it was securely fastened, and Reuben was pulled
up to assist the other two in hauling the body to the surface. “Kape
aninst the wall, mind your noose!” Mike shouted, and though his teeth
chattered with terror, he winked at Hernando and said, “Phat’s the
program, me bye? I’m wid ye phatever it do be, but it’s a howlin’
boost!”
They pushed the plank along carefully and were about to signal for a
hoist line when Mike lunged backward and would have fallen over the
precipice but for Hernando’s timely assistance. The plank was not yet
attached to any thing but the rope by which it had been lowered and
Mike’s frantic clutchings sent it over the brink. Down, down, down it
went, crashing against first one side and then another. At last a faint
splash proclaimed that the terrific leap was over and once more “Old
Ninety-Nine’s” body had eluded human gaze. The next discoverer will
find it minus one ear. Learned men will account for this on scientific
principles; they will analyze petrifying fluids and tell us why some
portions of the body are affected and others not; but the fascination
which clings so tenaciously to the memory of “Old Ninety-Nine” will
endure as long as the Shawangunks, and each succeeding generation
will continue to be told that “Every seven years a bright light like
a candle rises at twelve o’clock over the mine and disappears in the
clouds; but no one who has ever seen it has been able by daylight to
find from whence it came.”
The belief of the Indians that after they had endured their punishment
for sins committed, the Great Spirit would restore to them their
hunting-grounds caused them to keep their mines a secret. “Old
Ninety-Nine” is one no longer, and let us hope that in richer mines and
fairer hunting-grounds than he dreamed of, he is beyond the treachery
of his white brother--beyond injustice and unfair dealing, where his
great Manitou does not offer him the cup of good-will in the form of an
unknown intoxicant as did Henry Hudson when planning the seizure of the
land of his forefathers.
Hernando signalled for them to be drawn up and the news of the accident
was duly reported.
“After all,” said Mr. De Vere, “it is better so. His body would simply
have been an object of curiosity. Let the waters which transformed his
flesh into stone receive it again.”
Mike looked relieved. “Shure, Schquire is after schpakin’ the truth. So
help me, God, niver agin will I schpile the works of God Almighty!” he
said.
Mr. Genung was inclined to be provoked, but Hernando explained the
exceedingly dangerous position and how fortunate Mike had been to
escape with his life, and somewhat ashamed, he asked what was to be
done next.
“Put in a blast,” replied Hernando.
Silently they emerged from the cave and followed Hernando around the
eastern side of Wawanda where the fissure was through which they had
entered. Excavations were begun in earnest and a heavy charge put
in. The report which followed must have startled the good people of
Nootwyck. It tore a great piece out of the eastern side of Wawanda and
when the smoke cleared Hernando was almost beside himself with joy at
the result of the explosion. Like the cave, the whole inner surface was
full of bits of gold and some spongy masses intermixed with leaves of
yellow metal. Hernando picked some of the latter off with the point
of his jack-knife and placing it in Mr. De Vere’s hand, said, in the
tone of a seasoned miner, “You have struck it rich, Mr. De Vere, and
I congratulate you. It may not run far like that, but the chances
are that it will. I never saw anything equal to it. Point Wawanda is
literally filled with gold veins. That is the lode cropping out nearly
to the top.”
Stepping up to the young man whose eyes beamed with such unselfish
pleasure, Mr. De Vere placed his hands on his shoulders and said: “Will
you accept the position of superintendent of the Hernando Mine?”
“I will gladly accept the position, but would prefer another name.”
“What name is more appropriate than the name of its discoverer?”
replied Mr. De Vere warmly.
“None; but who is the discoverer?”
[Illustration: Margaret]
Mr. De Vere was silent for a moment and Hernando continued, “Pardon
me for suggesting, but much as I appreciate your wish to perpetuate
my name, it would give me far more pleasure were it named after ‘Old
Ninety-Nine.’”
“Old Ninety-Nine it is then!” they all responded with a shout.
“Ah! Hernando,” said his uncle, “you know paying dirt when you see it.
It is born in you.”
His disinterested efforts were appreciated. It meant untold wealth
to the owner--wealth expended in helping his fellow-beings--work for
hundreds and hundreds of idle miners, comfort for their families, and
the transformation of the slumbering village below into a great city.
It was nearly night and the three had eaten nothing since breakfast, so
Mr. De Vere’s invitation to supper was readily accepted.
The family had grown anxious at their long absence and the tired
prospectors were warmly received. A good bath refreshed them greatly,
and they were ready to do justice to Margaret’s fried chicken and puffy
hot biscuits.
Mr. Genung was apparently intent on dissecting a chicken leg, but
his mind was thousands of miles away. In far-off Nevada another
scene had been enacted which this one brought anew to his memory. His
younger brother, so like Hernando, had also opened up a mine of untold
richness. He also dreamed of founding a mighty city and leaving behind
him a name which would go down in history. Did his dreams materialize?
How would his name appear on the pages of history, and would the volume
be savory reading? Glancing across the table his eyes met Hernando’s,
full of bitterness. The absolute misery he saw pictured there softened
even the stern features of Andrew Genung.
Eletheer, who had been a silent witness of this thought transference,
saw the far-away look in Mr. Genung’s eyes and her heart ached with
pity for Hernando. Some great sorrow must be buried in his past, for
nothing less could cause those blue eyes to become suddenly black and
bring that look of mute suffering into them. From that moment, Eletheer
was his sworn friend, and this conclusion once reached was final.
She said nothing, however, but talked gaily of their prospects and
laughingly asked Mr. Genung what he would do for milkweed greens when
the “Island” was all settled.
“You and Mary must turn your attention to agriculture and cultivate
them,” he replied.
“Our old camping-grounds will all be spoiled,” she said with mock
gravity. “Hunting arbutus, gathering bittersweet berries and picking
huckleberries will be but a memory.”
“And you will be a great lady with suitors by the score,” laughed
Celeste.
“My suitor has long been accepted,” Eletheer returned gravely.
“Indeed,” said Mr. Genung in some surprise, “if his name is not a
secret I should like to know it.”
“Mary is in my confidence,” she answered, “and, like me, has chosen her
life-work.”
Mr. Genung eyed her curiously. His own daughter, just about Eletheer’s
age, was not a girl to have secrets from her parents.
“This is all nonsense,” Eletheer said hotly. “Mary is fitting herself
for a professorship and I intend to become a trained nurse. Granny and
Reuben are teaching me now.”
“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Genung, “I trust you both may find a suitable
field for your talents in our own beautiful valley.”
Hernando’s cheeks were unusually pale, and after supper as they all
followed Mr. De Vere into the library, Granny saw this and remarked on
it, but he only laughed and said he felt perfectly well but a little
tired.
The mine was discussed in all its bearings, and they decided that
Hernando had better spend the night at Mr. De Vere’s so as to be near
the field of operations in the morning.
“You look exhausted anyway,” said Mr. De Vere. “Think of the time you
spent in that damp, foul hole after all your exertions in gaining
access to it.”
Mr. Genung left after making an appointment at Mr. De Vere’s office
the next morning to complete arrangements for working the mine, and
soon after the family retired, but before Granny sought her bed, she
instructed Eletheer in the art of preparing a bowl of boneset tea, and
Hernando obediently promised to swallow it.
Boneset tea was the old lady’s panacea for all ills; a sneeze, cough,
or wet feet when noticed by her caused the good woman to instantly
brew and force down the throat of the victim a bowl full of this
nauseous draught, and Eletheer, who was her special charge, declared
that she was forming the “boneset habit.” She could not help smiling
as she handed the steaming bowl to Hernando saying, “Prepared strictly
according to directions; one scant handful of the dried herb, being
careful to omit blossoms (which nauseate), one-half pint of water
and two tablespoons of molasses. Steep gradually one hour.” Hernando
received it with a quiet “Thank you,” and swallowed it with seeming
relish; then saying “Good-night,” entered his room and closed the door
behind him.
Granny, whose room joined Eletheer’s, was awake when the latter tiptoed
in, and the lamp was still burning. Hearing the door pushed softly to,
she called, “Eletheer!”
“Yes, Granny, I’m coming,” she answered.
“Did you give Mr. Hernando the boneset tea piping hot?”
“Yes, Granny.”
“Did you put a hot brick in the bed?”
“No Ma’am, you didn’t tell me to, did you?”
The old lady looked severely at her and then said: “Go straight to the
kitchen this minute and bring the one I told Margaret to put in the
oven. If you intend to be a trained nurse, you must learn to think for
yourself. That poor, motherless boy has taken cold. I wanted to soak
his feet but he wouldn’t let me, and there is nothing like a good sweat
to break up a cold. Tell him to be sure and tuck the covers in.”
“I will see that he has the brick and attend to him, Granny. You won’t
remain awake any longer, will you?” she said, tucking the covers around
the old lady, after which she started for the kitchen, putting out the
light on her way.
The kitchen was vacant, but she found the brick and wrapping it in a
little old shawl of Margaret’s hurried up to Hernando’s room. Her light
tap received no response.
“I’m afraid he is asleep and hate to wake him,” she thought. “What
makes Granny so set anyway! I’ve got to do it or displease her, so here
goes,” and she gave a sounding knock.
“Come in,” said a faint voice and she opened the door.
“Who is it?” Hernando called, his teeth chattering.
“I. Granny told me to bring you this hot brick,” said Eletheer
advancing.
“She is very kind. Thank you so much,” he managed to say.
Eletheer handed him the brick, and as he reached for it his hand came
in contact with hers. It was like ice.
She glanced helplessly around. “If you are to be a trained nurse you
must think for yourself,” rang in her ears.
“You are shivering with cold,” she said. “Didn’t the boneset tea do you
any good?”
“I think it will.”
“Granny will feel dreadfully if I don’t do something,” she thought.
“There, I have it, I’ll go for Reuben!”
“Reuben!” she whispered at his door, which was always ajar, “I think
Mr. Hernando is sick. The boneset tea didn’t do him any good.”
“Very well, honey, jes’ yo’ go to bed, I’se comin’,” he answered
cheerily.
In a few seconds he was beside Hernando, bringing as he invariably did,
relief. Gradually Hernando’s shivering grew less, then finally ceased
altogether and at last he fell asleep only to mutter in delirium which
grew wild and wilder. Hour after hour passed yet that faithful black
figure met every emergency as it came. Again and again were the heated
pillows turned, was the wild call for “water! water!” answered, his
every need anticipated, and time sped for both patient and nurse.
“Five o’clock,” thought Reuben, as he returned from replenishing the
fire. His charge was asleep; so drawing an easy-chair beside the
bed he settled himself for a nap. One by one each familiar object
in the room fades from sight and he is in a foreign-looking city of
narrow streets, dimly lighted by the soft glow of Chinese lanterns.
The streets are thronged with Celestials weaving back and forth. Even
Reuben is fascinated by the substratum of actual sin around him. It
is a panopticon of strange sights; little rooms in which are huddled
together groups of odd-looking women making shoes; eye and ear doctors
busily operating on meek-faced patrons; unknown fruits and vegetables,
costly wares and curious trinkets; omnipresent female chattels and
moral and physical lepers jostle one another. One peep into an inner
chamber, and with the sickening fumes of opium in his nostrils Reuben
seeks the outer air. But hark! in this fantastic jumble surely he hears
familiar voices. Following the sound through a seemingly endless maze
of dark alleys, he suddenly stops in a small room gaudy with Oriental
hangings. Even in the semi-darkness Reuben sees that there are three
figures; one, that of a young woman, an Oriental, in an attitude of
perfect abandon. She utters no word, but the smile from her eyes causes
Reuben’s to fall in horror. The air clears a little and the two other
figures are visible--Granny and Hernando! The latter’s head is bowed in
shame. Reuben is shocked at the lines of dissipation in his face and to
see how thickly sprinkled with gray is his hair--“Strange!” he thought,
that he had not before noticed it.
Granny is pleading with him to forsake this den of depravity. Her hand
is clasping his and those old, stern lines have melted into a smile of
ineffable sweetness. The air is heavy and her voice not always audible,
but Reuben hears:
“Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he
shall receive the crown of life which the Lord hath promised to them
that love him....
“But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and
enticed.
“Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it
is finished, bringeth forth death.”
“You have had a bad dream, Reuben.”
The gray light of early morning peeped into the room, filling every
nook and corner with the weirdness of unreality. Reuben looked vaguely
at Hernando, lying quietly with an inscrutable smile on his face. He
raised himself in his chair. Sure enough, there were the lines of
dissipation and gray hairs! “’Deed, Massa, I has so!” he replied, as he
went to replenish the fire.
“Surely, Reuben, you don’t believe in dreams!”
“I’se boun’ ter, Massa; didn’t Joseph’s and Pharaoh’s come true?”
“That is a disputed question. I don’t believe that people now-a-days
dream dreams that have no connection with, or some proportion to their
waking knowledge.”
“Mebbe so, Massa, but when Massa John was so dreffel sick down in
Missouri, Massa Murphy’s dog howled t’ree times befo’ de do’. I
sho’ly did b’lieve de Good Laud wanted Massa John Lauzee, how I did go
trompin’ troo de grass aftah dat dog! Listen, Massa, aftah a-chasin’
dat dog laster time, I sat down by Massa John’s bed feelin’ po’ful
sad, an’ I dreampt he was dead an’ I watchin’ in great tribilation of
spirit. I done t’ink de Good Laud didn’t hearken to de moans an’ groans
ob dis po’ niggah. Seemed like I’d go plum ’stracted. My ’tention was
’tracted by a bright an’ shinin’ light an’ outen it came a still, small
voice: ‘Reuben, yo’ Massa will live, an’ yo’, not I, have saved his
life.’ Massa Hernando, dem’s de berry words ob Doctor Hoff when de
fever turned. Yes, Massa, I’se boun’ ter b’leeve dat when de Good Laud
has a message fo’ us, He’ll mebbe give it in a dream.”
“Reuben!”
“Yes, Massa.”
“A drink, please.”
“Reuben!” there was a quaver in his voice now.
“Yes, Massa.”
“Reuben, my friend!” and--Hernando did not ask Reuben his dream.
Hernando stirred uneasily, and presently raised himself on his elbow
only to fall back with a groan. Instantly Reuben was beside him asking
how he felt.
“First rate when I lie still, but the instant I attempt to get up my
back seems broken.”
His face indicated that he was anything but well, and his voice sounded
thick.
“Is yoah throat soah?” Reuben inquired.
“Not exactly sore. It feels as if it were not a part of my own anatomy.”
Reuben asked Hernando a few questions, examined his throat and quietly
said he’d better go for a doctor. “But first let me bring yo’ a cup of
coffee,” he added.
Margaret was in the kitchen, and with her assistance the coffee was
soon ready and, after first making sure that everything was all right,
Reuben closed and locked the door behind him and went to summon the
doctor.
Before long the doctor came; good, genial Doctor Brinton whom every one
loved.
“Hello, Young Nevada!” was his breezy greeting. “What new disease have
you introduced into our valley? Reuben, my good fellow, hand me my bag.”
It was brought.
“You feel as if you’d been licked, my boy,” he said gaily as he felt
the swollen glands in Hernando’s throat. “Been among the miners lately?”
“No. Uncle warned me that many were sick with diphtheria.”
“All the same, you have a suspicious-looking throat, my boy,” replied
the doctor gravely.
“Do you think it diphtheria?” Hernando inquired anxiously.
Dr. Brinton looked puzzled. Plainly this was not diphtheria, as during
the night his temperature must undoubtedly have been high.
“A nasty throat, but what the deuce is the matter with the boy anyway!”
he inwardly commented, then turning to Hernando said, “Your throat
looks uncommonly like it, but your symptoms are not all such. Never
mind though, Reuben here is worth ten doctors, so you are all right.”
“But the whole family would be infected.”
“Not by a jug-full! A germ cannot live long under Reuben’s ruthless
destruction.”
Bidding the latter follow him to the sleigh for some disinfectants, Dr.
Brinton went out, and when beyond hearing, said: “Reuben, my man, all
your skill will be needed if we pull that fellow through. The action
of his heart is decidedly bad. Stimulants, nutritious food and good
nursing will do more than I can. Frankly, I never before saw a case
exactly like this and am not at all sure it is diphtheria.” He then
went in search of Mr. De Vere.
The latter was shocked, and of course everything in the house was
placed at Dr. Brinton’s disposal.
“Well,” said the doctor, “an ounce of prevention--you know. This may
be diphtheria, and it may not. In any case it’s best to be on the safe
side. I don’t go much on religion, as you know, so am frank to say that
I think the Lord made a mistake when he put a black body on that white
soul. When ‘Gabriel sounds his trump’ for me I should feel safe with
Reuben to pilot the way.”
Mr. De Vere’s eyes grew dim.
“And,” the doctor added, “his word is law in this case. No one but he
goes into that room; nothing comes out but through him.” And Doctor
Brinton drove off singing
“There is a happy land--”
It proved indeed a serious case. Hernando’s heart, never very strong,
under the action of this insidious poison and a restless spirit came
very near failing altogether. But once more the eternal vigilance and
conscientious care of Reuben assisted Nature and she conquered, and the
work of repair progressed steadily. Dainty trays tempted the feeble
appetite. Reuben prepared them himself and each one was a surprise.
Somehow he knew just what he liked, to Hernando’s surprise.
All the family vied with one another in making him comfortable.
Mr. De Vere kept him posted in regard to the mine, the articles of
incorporation, and said that operations were to begin in March. He did
not tell him that they were waiting for him to be ready, but Hernando
guessed it and exerted himself to regain strength as much as he was
allowed.
One day Mr. De Vere announced that the mythical Valley Railroad was
to materialize. The company had been chartered the week previous in
New York City with Mr. Valentine Mills as treasurer. A contract had
been made with the banking house of Cobb, Hoover and Company of the
last-named city to sell the railroad stock, and the bonds were going
like hot cakes, so the company felt itself warranted in beginning work
at once.
Mr. De Vere also told him that Elisha Vedder, a young civil engineer
of St. Louis, through his recommendation, was to arrive the following
week and survey the route, which seemed a feasible one, and better in
respect to grades than the company anticipated. The need of the gold
mine had been heralded abroad, and outsiders also were clamoring for
railway facilities.
Genung was jubilant, and his daily visits to Hernando, now out of
quarantine, only increased that young man’s impatience to be actively
engaged with the others in this great enterprise.
Granny had long since taken him under her wing. His deference to her
opinions, and old-fashioned chivalry to all women, completely won her.
There existed a strong attachment between them. She would sit by the
hour in his room recounting adventures of pioneer days and her vivid
pictures interested him intensely. She possessed an inexhaustible fund
of them; her memory never deceived, and she regarded the slightest
deviation from the exact truth as criminal.
“Where is Miss Eletheer?” Hernando inquired of her after she had just
finished a most interesting story. “I have not seen her since dinner.”
“Call the child by her plain name. She has gone daft over that mine
and very likely is there. Celeste!” she called, “come and sing for
Hernando. He is lonesome.”
Hernando protested, but the sight of Celeste’s sweet face quieted all
remonstrance. She flitted in gaily with her guitar, and Hernando would
have been an exception to most of his sex had he not bowed in adoration
before this beautiful creature.
Music had no charm for Granny so she left them to enjoy it by
themselves.
One tiny slippered foot peeped from under Celeste’s skirts and rested
upon the guitar case, while her slender white fingers wandered dreamily
over the strings.
“What shall I sing for you,” she asked, “something gay or something
sad?”
“Anything will please me, only stop before you are tired.”
“Let me see,” she said with one of her rare smiles. “Hernando is a
Spanish name. Now close your eyes and imagine yourself a wee boy, while
I sing you to sleep.”
Touching the strings gently, they responded with a rocking motion and
her voice rose and fell in the words of an old Spanish Folk Song:
“Little shoes are sold at the gateway of Heaven
And to all the tattered little angels are given.
Slumber, my darling, slumber, my darling,
Slumber, my darling do-do,
Dodo--Dodo--
Ave Maria--Dodo.”
Many, many times before had Hernando heard it; but now, to the instinct
of motherhood in the breast of all true women were added the exact
intonation and subtle potential moods of the artiste. Hernando’s keen
musical feelings revelled in the liquid notes of the singer’s voice so
perfectly attuned to the throbbing strings.
“Little shoes are sold at the gateway of Heaven
And to all the tattered little angels are given,”
sang Celeste.
Her listener turned and looked at her with her figure silhouetted
against the glowing western sky, not a line of her exquisitely moulded
proportions escaping him.
“Slumber, my darling Dodo,
Dodo--dodo--”
From what chamber in his memory does that echo come? What is this
indescribable something that courses like fire through his veins?
With that curious double consciousness which sometimes comes to us
in tense moments, Hernando’s mind is thousands of miles away. From
the tumultuous life of mining camps, he is travelling down, down to
the very seething cauldron of nether life; that pest-house of thought
filled with the “moanings of spirit.”
“Dodo, dodo
Ave Maria--Dodo,”
echoed the sweet voice. That awful picture fades away and Hernando sees
a golden-haired child in a snowy crib. Can that cherub be the prophecy
of what has just vanished? No! No! a thousand times no! There sits the
child’s mother beside him. Yes, distinctly the baby voice says: “Sing
me to sleep, mother.” Her great brown eyes soften as only a mother’s
can. She, too, holds a guitar. She, too, is singing:
“Slumber, my darling dodo,
Dodo--Dodo
Ave Maria--Dodo.”
“My singing evidently has not what Doctor Brinton would call a
‘soothing effect’ upon you,” Celeste laughed, putting aside her guitar.
“I must devise other means for entertainment. I have it; let me read
your palm.”
Hernando hesitated but resistance was futile and he held toward her a
shapely white hand.
She looked at it fixedly for a few seconds while the color came and
went in her perfect face. Twice she essayed to speak, but as quickly
the coral lips closed without a sound.
“Let me see the right hand.”
He did so. Another long scrutiny.
“Well!” he said, “I’ve dabbled a little in palmistry, myself. Let me
help you. Life line broken in both hands at about the age of thirty.
Death by accident. Don’t hesitate. What is my calling?”
“Of course we don’t believe it,” she said, reassured by his laugh, “but
truly, yours is the hand of an evangelist!”
“Please tell that to Granny.”
“Indeed, no! Granny thinks fortune-telling dreadfully wicked.”
“Still she believes in dreams?”
“There is something strange about Granny. She really has premonitions.
Much as father taboos everything bordering on the supernatural he
always is guided by her advice on every new undertaking.”
“Very natural as she is his mother and also a level-headed woman; a
really remarkable one. But please go on. An evangelist--?”
“Should be,” she corrected; “but something interferes.”
“Death, probably, as my life line is broken in both hands; then, too,
the ‘good die young.’”
“It is a curious hand,” she stammered. “I don’t know much about
palmistry anyway.”
“Shall I ever marry?” the tone was one of genuine interest now.
“There is a line of marriage but it is slightly curved upward.”
“And that indicates?”
“Some obstacle in the way.”
“My broken life line again, Miss Celeste!”
“No,” she said. “There is some other reason.”
“An all-round disappointing hand, I infer,” he laughed. “But come. I’ll
read your hand.”
He took the frail little member in his own and with difficulty resisted
the impulse to raise it to his lips.
“A lucky hand,” he begins, “broad and plump at the base as every
woman’s should be; thumb not too large, which also is eminently
correct. Life line long, clear and unbroken; head line indicates that
your life will be guided by good judgment. Heart line”--here Reuben’s
step was heard ascending the stairs and shortly he appeared in the
doorway with Hernando’s supper.
Celeste had quickly withdrawn her hand and Hernando was a trifle
paler. “Supper!” Celeste exclaimed, as she fluttered out, “is supper
ready?”
“Yes, Honey!” And Celeste wondered why Reuben’s tone was so tender.
Seating himself before the window, Reuben unfolded the evening paper to
the locals and was about to begin reading aloud when Hernando seized
the paper and flung it from him. But this mood did not last long and
then a demon took possession of him. What right had that black man to
dictate terms to him, what was the awful occult power which enabled
him to read the very thought of one’s inmost soul and wield that power
with such unerring certainty! He clenched his fists until the nails
cut into the flesh but words refused to come. His good angel seemed to
desert him. Striding across the room, he stood before Reuben, twitching
with passion. “Speak! say something, anything or I’ll go mad!” he said
hoarsely.
“Dere aint nuthin’ to say, Massa.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nuthin’! Massa.”
“Then I will!”
“De good Lawd won’t let yo’, Massa. He allers take ca’e o’ His chillen.”
“He does, does He?” Hernando sneered.
“O Thou, who man of baser earth did’st make,
“And ev’n with Paradise devise the snake,
“For all the sins with which the face of man is black’ned
“Man’s forgiveness give--and take.”
“Can’t say ’bout dat, Massa; but when de good Lawd sends me a message
I’s boun’ ter do His bidden.” And as he arose and faced his questioner
like a great watch-dog at bay, Hernando did not doubt his ability to
do so. He made no reply to Reuben’s last remark; had unconsciously
quailed before such bull-dog ferocity in “gentle, patient Reuben.”
He looked up the mountain side until his gaze rested on the rocks
about “Old Ninety-Nine.” It was one of those magical nights in late
winter when grim Time seems making a final effort to rejuvenate, each
rock and frost-bound tree glittering with gems, while over his hoary
head is flung the soft veil of moonlight. “Nature, they tell us,” he
mused, “is a harmonious expression of divine will, and human nature
is the crowning masterpiece; that her laws are just, and she does not
discriminate between transgressing a physical and a moral one; that
justice is ultimately done; but
‘’Tis education moulds the common mind,
Just as the twig is bent the tree’s inclined.’”
Not yet had he mastered the teaching lately given by an eminent
professor in one of our eastern universities: “While science has in
past years been disclosing to us the evolution of worlds, while it has
been explaining the evolution of life, it is now beginning to tell
us of the evolution of mind. While it has found a sufficient cause
for the evolution of worlds in the physical laws of nature, while it
has found the efficient cause of the evolution of life in the laws
of strife and struggle for existence, it is beginning to recognize
to-day that the only law under which is possible the evolution of
mind and soul is the law which was disclosed two thousand years ago
by the lowly Nazarene--faith, hope and love, and greatest of these is
love.” Had he rightly interpreted the message of this “lowly Nazarene,”
this misdirected creature of circumstances would have seen that
God’s laws are Nature’s laws. As a man sows, so he reaps, not “figs
from thistles,” nor harmony from discord. As Hernando stood here in
the window, a strange peace came over him. Did he suspect that this
renunciation was a pivotal point in his life? Did he faintly discern
that nothing else than law, love was the command, “Work out your own
salvation in fear and trembling,” assured that, as Emerson so truly
said: “There is a guidance for each of us and by lowly listening we
shall hear the right word.”
Hernando turned to speak to Reuben but he was alone. Sounds from below
indicated that Granny was coming to bed, and soon her feeble footsteps
were heard ascending the stairs. She leaned heavily on her son’s arm
and, on reaching her room, seemed completely exhausted. No stimulant
had ever passed her lips, and now she sternly declined the glass of
wine proffered by Mr. De Vere, saying she had not arrived at the age of
eighty-seven to first taste the cup of poison.
“But, mother,” her son protested, “you are breathless. Stimulants are
all right in their place. I insist on your taking this.”
“John!”
Mr. De Vere beat a hasty retreat and called Eletheer.
Of late Granny had been steadily but surely failing, her usually severe
manner replaced by one peculiarly gentle, and Eletheer noticed with
delight how softened in Granny’s eyes had become her own many faults.
To-night she looked seriously ill, and after the exertion of disrobing
and preparing for the night was over, she fell back panting on her
pillow.
Eletheer, really frightened, wanted to send for the doctor, but her
grandmother strenuously objected and requested that some boneset
tea be warmed over. She sipped it in silence and handing Eletheer
the emptied cup said: “Never neglect gathering your yearly supply of
boneset. It is a wonderful bracer. Now see if Hernando would like to
join us during our reading of the portion of the Scripture. They have
company downstairs and the poor boy is all alone.”
Eletheer obeyed, but her hands shook as she adjusted the easy-chair for
him and he adroitly reached for the well-worn Bible with “What shall we
read, Granny?”
“You may choose to-night, my boy.”
He drew a little nearer the bed and opening the book at random began:
“My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations.”
Eletheer started. That chapter, as familiar as the multiplication
table, somehow sounded different.
“If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men
liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.
“But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering; for he that wavereth is
like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.”
Hernando read on to the last verse and then Granny’s feeble voice
joined his: “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is
this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to
keep himself unspotted from the world.”
He closed and replaced the Bible on the table and rose to say
good-night, when the old lady expressed a wish to speak with him alone
and Eletheer vanished into the hall. “Hernando,” said Granny, when
he had closed the door and was again seated by the bed, “my days are
numbered. Nearly a score more than man’s allotted time has been granted
me and now I am ready to go. I have never discussed doctrinal questions
with you, but blood tells and any one in whose veins flows the good old
blood of the Genungs cannot be without the fold. My boy, I am an old
woman, let me assure you that God is an ever present friend in time of
need, He will never leave nor forsake you.” She waited an instant,
evidently expecting him to speak, but as he did not do so, went on. “I
have noticed Eletheer’s affection for you, have encouraged her to go
to you for instructions on the different questions which I have been
unable to make clear. It has been my aim to thoroughly ground her in
the tenets of the church in which I was reared, and while I cannot
believe the child wilfully in error, she must be deluded. The Bible
from which you read to-night is hers when I need it no longer. Help her
to find the ‘straight and narrow way.’” Her voice sank with weariness
as she ceased speaking and Hernando hastily held a glass of water to
her lips with shaking hand. She drank a few swallows and then asked
for the boneset tea. It was already prepared as the bowl from which
Eletheer had taken some still remained in the hot ashes, and Granny
soon said she felt stronger.
Hernando knelt beside her. He was breathing heavily and a trembling
old hand felt for his own. How long he knelt there was never quite
clear--it might have been five minutes or it might have been hours.
The beating of his heart was almost choking him. He felt her fingers
tighten their hold. “Granny,” he began huskily, “you are the only
grandmother I have ever known.”
“Then prove it by believing me loyal.”
“I do believe it but you would not understand were I to tell you what
is on my heart.”
“I would try to.”
“Let us suppose a case, a man whose environment and heredity--on one
side at any rate--are morally debilitating. Alas! He knows the seamy
side of life, has drunk to the full the cup of pleasure and found dregs
at the bottom. Yet he does not realize the depths of degradation into
which he has fallen, is simply doing as others before him have done
and are still doing. Circumstances place him amid totally different
surroundings. He is an honored member of a Christian household, a
household where naught but good abides. One among them is a woman, such
a one as he never believed lived outside of dreams and that man loves
her. Yes, that’s it, loves her! At last he has found what his hungry
heart craves. He forgets the past--God knows he prayed to do so--and
lives only in the present with its promises, playing with temptation.
And, Granny, that woman is your granddaughter, Celeste.”
An inaudible sob escaped him as he caught for breath. Granny turned and
looked at him, but felt her tongue arrested.
Poor Granny, she to whom weakness was sin, who, by thought, word or act
had never been known to show the slightest mercy toward a transgressor
of this unwritten moral law! A clock somewhere in the house struck two,
“that magic hour when all time seems to stand still.” The lamp burned
low, flickered and went out. From the deep bed of coals on the hearth,
a spark would now and then flash forth filling the room with shadows.
There were these two souls, one, a weary pilgrim whose struggles with
this world were almost ended and ready to attest, “I have lived, seen
God’s hand through a lifetime, and all was for the best”; the other a
man, a misguided human being brought face to face with himself. Once
again was the “veil of the temple rent” and in the Holy of Holies these
two made sacrifice each for himself.
Morning found Granny no better, too weak to rise and she tried in vain
to eat her dainty breakfast. Each effort left her exhausted, and almost
discouraged. Eletheer had to be content with seeing her take a few
swallows of coffee.
Doctor Brinton, who had been summoned early, looked grave but could
only economize the forces of nature and wait.
Stimulants were flatly refused by the old lady. Pleadings availed
nothing. Deception was impossible and she gradually became weaker and
weaker until at last, with mental faculties clear, her earthly lamp
went out.
Those who have known the influence for good in a household of a
grandmother like this one will understand how deserted the house
seemed. Religious bigot she may have been, yet she was an honest one
and her example of earnestness of purpose, strict integrity and
staunch friendship may well be emulated. She had tried to do as she
wished to be done by, died as she had lived--an example of the faith
she professed.
In real life, one’s environment is practical and when what one most
loves is snatched from one, he must still carry on his part in the
round of life. One precious belonging after another of Granny’s was
tenderly put away and though no more would her feeble footstep be heard
about the house, the good seed sown by her had not fallen on barren
soil.