IV

But for the fact that there was too muchee pidgin for everyone, as

the Chinaman said, or hyu hyu mamook as the Siwashes said, many might

have run after Jenny.

"One piecee litty gal velly hansum, belongy Pitt Liber Pete," said

Wong, who was the helper at the Chinee Trimmer. He said it with a

grin, "Velly nicee klootchman alla samee tenas Yingling gal my know

at Canton, Consoo's litty waifo."

She was as pretty as any Consul's little wife, that's a solid

mahogany hard wood fact. But with twelve hours work of the sort of

work that went on in the Mill who could think of running after the

"one litty piecee hansum gal" but the man who didn't work with his

hands?

Wong was a philosopher, and, like all real philosophers, not a good

patriot--if one excepts Hegel, who was a conservative pig, and a

state toady and hateful to democrats. Wong had fine manners and was

a gentleman, so much so that the white men really liked him and never

wanted to plug him, or jolt him on the jaw or disintegrate him, as

they did most of the Chinkies. He returned the compliment, and

sometimes quarrelled with his countrymen about the merits of the

whites, as one might with Americans and others about the children of

the Flowery Kingdom.

"My likee Melican man and Yingling man," said Wong. "Velly good man

Melican: my savvy. Some velly bad, maskee oders velly good. If

Chinaman makee bobbely and no can do pidgin, Melican man say 'sonny

pitch'; maskee my can do, my savvy stick-mula mamook, so Melican man

and Yingling man say, 'Good Wong, no sonny pitch, velly good.'

Melican gentleman velly good all plopa. What ting you tinkee?"

Wong was an enigmatic mask of a man, wrinkled wondrously and looking

sixty, though nothing near it, as hard as solid truth, fond of

singing to a mandolin, great at Fan tan, but peaceable as a tame duck.

He had a kind heart, "all plopa that one piecee man" from Canton, and

one day (not yet) he has his place here, all out of kindness to the

"litty hansum gal belongy Pitt Liber Pete." May his ashes go back to

China in a nice neat "litty piecee box" and be buried among his

ancestors who ought to be proud of him. Blessed be his name, and may

he rank with Konfutse! I preferred him to Hegel. And if any of you

want to know why I refer to him, you must draw conclusions.

But, as we were saying, who could have full time to run after the

"litty gal" but Quin?

To make another excursion, and explain, it may be as well to let

Pappenhausen talk. There were two Germans in the Mill, and both

worked in the Planing Shed. One was a man of no account, a

shuffling, weak-kneed, weak-eyed, lager-beer Hans, with as much

brains as would have qualified him to be Heir Apparent to some

third-rate Teutonic Opera-House Kingdom. But Pappenhausen was a Man,

that is to say, he didn't compromise on Lager or weep because he

drank too much. And he could work like three, and he wasn't the

German kind as regards courage. German courage is very fine and

fierce when the Teutons are in a majority, but when they aren't their

courage ranks as the finest discretion, that is, as cowardice nine

times out of ten. Pappenhausen would fight anyone or any two any

time and any where. He could fight with fists or a spanner, or a

pickareen or a club, and he took some satisfying. He was an amazing

man, had been in America thirty years. He said he was a

"Galifornian" and fought you if you didn't believe it. Once he stood

up to Quin and was knocked galley-west, for besides Long Mac there

wasn't a man in Saw-Mill Town that could tackle the Boss. Quin got a

black eye, but Papp had two and lay insensible for an hour. Quin was

so pleased with that, that he put him to work again and stood him

drinks. He actually did. After that Papp, as he was called, stood

up for, and not to, George Quin, and said he was a man, and he asked

what it mattered if he did run after the klootchmen?

"Dat's der Teufel," grunted the native "Galifornian," "dat's der

Teufel, we all run avder der klootchmen, if we don'd avder trink.

I'm a philozopher, I, and I notizzes dat if it arn'd one ding it's

anoder. And no one gan help it, boys. One man he run avder dollars,

screamin' oud for dollars, and if you zay a dollar ain'd wort' von

'ondred cents of drubble he tink you grazy. I zay one dollar's wort'

of rest wort' a dollar and a half any day. On'y I cain'd help

workin'. If I don'd I feel I braig somedings mit mein hands. Oders

run avder klootchmen; if dey don'd dey feels as if dey would also

braig somedings. I tinks the welt a foolish blace, but in Shermany

(where my vater game from) I dinks it most foolish. And Misder Guin

he run avder Pete's klootchman and bymby Pete gill her as like as nod

and then Mr. Guin very sorry he spoke. I dell you I knows. Life is

a damn silly choke, boys."

But it was (and is) only a joke to a Democritus of Papp's type. Even

Papp said:--

"Bymby I ged a new sood of glose and fifdy dollars and I go back home

to California."

He said it and had said it.

"Bymby----"

Poor Papp!

It was no joke to Jenny presently that "Misder Guin" ran after her.

But then it is no joke at any time to be the acknowledged belle of

any place, even if it is a Saw-Mill Sawdust Town, and the truth is

that Jenny shone even among the white women, gorgeous in their pride

and occasional new frocks from San Francisco, the Paris of the Coast.

There wasn't a white "litty gal" in the City who was a patch on her:

she was the "slickest piece of caliker" within long miles. Folks who

were critical and travelled, said that there was her equal over at

Victoria, but that was far off, and much water lay between. From the

mighty white-peaked summit of the Rockies, and the wonders of the

Selkirks, down through the Landing and Kamloops and Yale at the end

of the Cañon away to Westminster, she was the prettiest.

Think of it and consider that she lived in a two-roomed shack with a

decent-looking wedger-off who was a Sitcum Siwash! She got

compliments on the street as she went up and down town.

"Great Scott, she's a daisy!"

"By the Great Horn Spoon, and also by the Tail of the Sacred Bull,

she knocks spots off of the hull crowd."

Such things said openly have their effect. But the tulips on the

dressing-gown did even more, and the high-heeled shoes. She hankered

after things in the streets to which the dressing-gown was but a

faded flower. Quin spoke to her once as she glared into a window.

"You like that, Jenny?"

"Oh, my," said little greedy Jenny.

Quin didn't care a hang if he spoke to the little klootchman in

public. He wasn't in society, for even in the River City there was

Society. They drew the line at squaw-men who went to dance-houses

and so on. But for that, the Manager and Owner of a Mill (or half

one or even a quarter) could have had entrance to the loftiest

gaieties and the dullest on earth. He didn't "give a damn," not a

"continental," for the "hull boiling," said Quin. Jenny was his

mark, you can take your oath.

She was worth it in looks only, that's the best and worst of it.

"Oh, my," said Jenny.

"I'll give it you: it's my potlatsh," said the Manager, who cared

little for dollars when the girls came in.

It was a "potlatsh," a gift indeed! To get Jenny, Quin would have

done "a big brave's potlatsh" and given away all he owned, horses,

mill, house, and all. That's a fact, and it must be remembered as

Papp said, that "dey also veels as if dey would braig somedings!"

She got the gorgeous silk of tartan stripes that flared in the window

like a light lightening the darkness, for Quin went in and bought

what is known as a dress length and sent it down to her by his

Chinese "boy." When he met Pete in the road at noon that day he

stopped him.

"Oh, Pete----"

"Sir," said Pete respectfully, for the Tyee was so big and strong

besides being a Tyee, which always counts.

"I have given your wife some stuff to make a dress. She was very

good to my brother and to Mary," said Quin. "She's a very good

little girl."

He nodded and walked on. He wished Pete would get killed on the top

of a log, but his face was inscrutable and calm as that of any

full-blooded Siwash. Pete was as innocent and as unsuspicious as any

child. If he feared anyone it was Spanish Joe, with his guitar and

his songs. He went home as pleased as Punch by the condescension of

the Boss, and found Jenny laying out dinner.

The trouble came as quick as it could come. It came right there and

then, when both were as happy as they could be. Jenny fairly

shivered with pleasure to think of the silk she had hidden inside the

inner room. Real silk it was and new, not a cast-off rag from Mrs.

Alexander, of the Kamloops Hotel. The tulips of the dressing-gown

faded clean out of sight: they died down in their monstrous array.

She saw the Dress, saw it made up, saw the world admire it: heard the

other klootchmen clicking envious admiration. But how was she to

account for it to Pete? She had been kissed by Quin, and she knew he

liked her, wanted her. The big man flattered her senses, he was a

white man, rich and strong. She wouldn't have almost sworn on the

Bible that she wouldn't lass him, now that this silk filled earth and

heaven for her gaudy little mind. She would have to think how to

tell Pete.

So in came Pete in excitement.

"Show me what Mr. Quin give you," he demanded. And her unlucky lie

was ready. It fell from her lips before she had a moment to think.

"He give me nothing; why you say that?"

Pete's jaw fell and his eyes shut to a thin line.

"You damned liar, kliminiwhit," he said. "I know."

"It's not true, you dam' liar you'self," said Jenny. "What for you

tink the Tyee give me tings? You tink me a cultus klootchman like

Indian Annie?"

On his oath he would have sworn one happy moment before that he had

never thought so. Now he thought too much.

"You show it me or I kill you," said Pete. "I know Mr. Quin he give

you some stuff to make a dless."

In his rage his words grew more Indian, and his taught English

failed, his r's became l's. So did hers.

"Damn lie, I have no dless," screamed Jenny. "You no give me

no'ting, you make kokshut my dlessing-gown. I dless like one cultus

klootchman, in lags."

He ran at her and she fled round the table. The newspaper and the

dinner went on the floor, and she screamed. Then she slipped on the

steak, and went down. As chance had it the table came over on top of

her and she held it tight, so that he could not get at her to hurt

her much. But he kicked her legs hard and then went into the inner

room.

"No, Pete, no," she screamed. She knew that he must find the dress,

the precious silk, and she forgot all else in her great desire that

it should not be harmed. "I tell you the trut', Pete."

She crawled from under the table: her hair was down to her waist, her

wretched every-day gown torn from her back: her bosom showed.

"Oh, Pete, oh, Pete!"

Her lips hung piteous for the lovely thing that Pete had found and

now held up in horrid triumph. The roll unrolled: he had the

crumpled end in his hand. It was a flag of blazing silk, a tartan to

appeal to any savage. Now it cried for help.

"You damn klootchman, you," said Pete. "What for Quin he give you

this?"

He kicked the roll with his foot. The stuff unrolled more and Jenny

cried aloud as though it was her papoose that her savage man ill-used.

"I don' know why he give it me," she squealed.

"Him velly kin' man always. Oh, don' tear it, Pete, oh, oh!"

With his hands he ripped the silk in fragments.

"You damn bad woman, mesahchie klootchman," he roared. "You no take

such a ting from Mr. Quin! You look at him lika you look at Spanish

Joe the other day: I see you."

"You no see me do anyting wrong," Jenny cried, weeping bitterly. "I

don' lika Spanish Joe. 'Tis a lie, Pete. And I no can help if Mr.

Quin give me tings. I a very good woman, on the Bible I swear it. I

quite virtuous; Mr. Quin he no touch me, I swear it. Don' tear it no

more. Pete, oh, don'!"

He set his foot on the silk and ripped full twenty yards into

fragments. The room was full of shining stuff, of red and yellow and

green: the floor was gorgeous with colour, and as he exhausted his

rage upon what he had found and was quite pitiless, her little flower

of love for him seemed to die in her outraged heart, which loved

beautiful things so much. Now she had nothing left, her visions

passed from her. She sat down on the floor and howled aloud, keening

over the death of the beautiful dress. She was no longer full of

pride, and conscious of her beauty: she was no more than a poor dirty

ill-used, heart-broken little klootchman, no more thought of than

dirty old Annie and Annawillee, who mourned so sadly the other happy

night.

"Aya, yaya, hyaalleha," she cried aloud. "Hyas klahowyam nika, very

miser'ble, aya!"

And Pete ran out of the shack leaving her moaning.

"That make her know what, eh?" said Pete. He worked furiously at the

Mill, without any food, and was very unhappy, of course, though he

knew he had done quite right in tearing the silk to pieces, and in

knocking thunder out of his klootchman. He didn't believe she had

been "real wicked," but when it came to taking presents from Mr.

Quin, and lying about them, it was time to look out.

"I teach her," said Pete; "give her what for, eh?"

But he wasn't mad with Quin. It was quite natural for Quin to want

Jenny. Pete knew all the men did. She was so pretty. Even the

Chinamen knew it and said so. Pete was proud of that. "Velly hansum

litty klootchman," said Wong. Why should a man be angry because

another man wants his "litty gal?" No need to "makee bobbely 'bout

that" surely. But the litty girl had to be taught, Nawitka!

"I give her the stick by-by," said Pete, and he used the wedges and

the maul as if he were giving poor wretched Jenny the stick then. He

worked that day though he hadn't an ounce of muckamuck inside him.

Ginger White said he was as quick as the devil: worth ten of that

swine Simmons. White's nose was gradually resuming its natural

shape, but when he thought of Simmons his hand went up to it.

Oho, but they all worked, worked like the Bull-Wheel, like Gwya-Gwya

and "him debble-debble," said Wong.

"No Joss in British Columbia," said Wong; "spose wantee catchee Joss

catchee Debble-Debble. Bymby Blitish Columbia-side an'

Californee-side him allo blong China, then Joss he come, galaw!"

The "debble-debble"' was in Pete's heart for hours, but there's

nothing like work to get him out, and by four o'clock he was getting

sorry he had kicked Jenny and torn up the "dless." The little

klootchman had been good, he was sure, and she cooked for him nicely

and didn't get drunk often. If she did get too much, it was his own

fault, he knew that.

"I tell her I'm sorry," he said.

Aya, yaya, what a cruel world it is, Pitt River Pete!

The little klootchman was "dying" now and telling the old hag Indian

Annie all about it. And it's only four o'clock and the Mill runs

till six.

Poor Jenny, with bare shoulders and bare bosom, howled upon the

gorgeous floor of silken rags for a long hour after Pete ran out in a

rage.

"Aya, yaya, nika toketie dless kokshut, no good. Pete him wicket

man, aya!"

Oh, think of it! That beautiful green and yellow and red silk so

fine and thick and soft and shining t That "dless" which it contained

as a possibility, that her natural woman's eye put on her pretty

self! Aya, Yaya! Even a dear white woman would be very cross indeed

if her man came in and said, "You damn person, you have a roll of

silk given you by Smith or Brown or Jones," and then tore it up.

Aya, Yaya! How sad for poor Jenny, only nineteen, and so sweet to

look at and with a love of colour. Aya, as I speak I feel "hyu

keely." I could mourn with Jenny and say I'd get her another roll of

silk, for a kiss, perhaps, for the devil's in such a pretty dear.

Tut, tut, it's a sad world and a wicked, and the pretty ones are the

devil, aya, yaya!

It was quiet enough in Shack-Town in the afternoon and a continual

aya, yaya-ing soon attracted the attention of Indian Annie when she

came from begging up-town past Pete's shack.

"Aha, oho," said the bundle of wicked rags, once a beautiful

klootchman and a white sea-captain's darling, and yet another's and

another's, ay de mi, as Chihuahua said when he was sad, and others

still in a devil of a long diminuendo and degringolade and a sad, sad

fall, just as if she had been an improper white. "Oho, why Jenny

cly, kahta she cly?"

In she went, for she knew Pete was wedging-off, and in the inner room

she found a pretty one half naked on the silken rag carpet.

"Oh, my toketie Jenny, kahta cly? Oh, Lejaub, the pretty stuff all

tole up, yaya? Who done it, Jenny, real kloshe silk all assame white

klootchman have in chu'ch? Who give him, aya?"

She was down on her knees gathering up the silk in whole armfuls.

"Dis Pete? Eh, Pete, pelton Pete, fool Pete, eh?"

Jenny sobbed out it was Pete who had torn it all up, and Annie nodded

cunningly as she stuffed a good bundle of it into her rags.

"Aha, pelton Pete mamook si'k kokshut, but klaksta potlatsh mika,

nika toketie, who give him you, my pretty?"

"Mr. Quin give him, and my bad man he say I mesahchie, no good, a

cultus klootchman alla same you!" howled Jenny open-mouthed.

Annie showed her yellow fangs in a savage grin.

"Cultus, alla same nika? Oho, pelton Pete, fool Pete!"

"And he say," roared Jenny like any baby, "that I no good, not

virtuous, and he beat me, and taka silk and tearum lika so! And I

think I make a dless so pretty and now the pretty dless is all lags,

all lags!"

She roared again and shook with sobs, and Annie got her by the

shoulder.

"Pete is Lejaub, the devil of a bad man, my pretty. I get you ten

new dlesses for that. I hear Pete no go to mamook but go up town and

dlink whisky at Spanish Joe's white woman's. By-by he come back and

beat you, Jenny."

Jenny clutched her.

"Oh, he kick me bad, see, nanitch!"

She showed her pretty knee with a black bruise on it.

"That nothin', tenas toketie, by-by Pete come back pahtlum and knock

hell out of you, Jenny," said Annie. Then she bent and whispered in

Jenny's ear.

"Oh, no, no," said Jenny. She clutched at Annie's skirt as the old

wretch got upon her feet. But Annie turned on her and twitched her

rags away.

"You pelton, too? Much better be live and with rich good man than

dead with Pete and Pete with a lope on him neck. I go tell Mr. Quin,

him very good man, kloshe man."

But Jenny implored her not to go to him. And as she sobbed that she

was afraid of Quin the old hag gathered up more and more of the silk

until she had nearly all that poor Jenny wasn't sitting on.

"You stay. I go see, go think what I do for you. I no go to Mr.

Quin, I promise, tenas toketie."

And she got away and went straight to the office in which Quin was to

be found, and asked to see him.

"Quit, you old devil," said the young clerk, "pull your freight out

of this. No klootchmen wanted here."

She had her ugly old face inside the door and the boy threw the core

of an apple at her.

"I want see Mr. Quin," she cried, as she dodged the missile.

"I want see him. You no kumtuks. Mr. Quin see me, I tell you he

want see me. Ya, pelton!"

The boy knew very little Chinook and missed half the beauty of what

she went on to say to him. But she told him much about his parents

and a great deal about his sisters that would have been disagreeable

even if translated with discretion. By the time she came to a

climax, her voice rose to a shriek that might have been audible in

the Mill itself, and Quin came out in a rage.

"Get to thunder out of this, you old fool," said Quin, "or I'll have

you kicked off the place!"

She looked at him steadily and held up a long fragment of the silk

before him.

"Mika kumtuks okook, you know him?" she asked with a hideous leer.

And Quin came off the step and went up to her.

"Where you get it, Annie?"

"You know," said Annie. "Tenas toketie have him, you give him, ah.

But who tear him, makum kokshut?"

"Pete?" asked Quin with the devil of a face on him. But Annie walked

a little away and beckoned him to follow. She got him round the

corner and he went with her like a child. He thought he understood.

Annie put out her claw and took his coat.

"I give you klootchman often, now you give me tukamonuk dolla, one

hundred dolla, and I give you pretty Jenny."

Quin blew out his breath and bent down to her.

"You old devil," he said with a wavering grin.

"Me Lejaub? Halo, no, I give you pretty young squaw, that not like

Lejaub. You give me one hundred dolla, see."

Quin sighed and opened his mouth.

"I give it. How you do it, Annie?"

"Now she hate Pete, him pelton," said the witch; "he beat her, kick

her knee, kick her back, kick her belly too, and tear up si'k in

tenas bits, Mr. Quin. She cly like any papoose, she scleam and make

gleat latlah. He tear up si'k and tear her dless, now she half-naked

on the floo'. That bad, and she pretty and say Mr. Quin give me

dless, kloshe Mr. Quin. She love you, she tikegh mika, cly kahkwa

the si'k yours. You come: she go with you. I make so no one know

tings, if you take her yo' house."

His house was on the hill above them. There he lived with not a soul

but his Chinese boy.

"How you make no one know?" he asked.

"Kloshe, I do it," said Annie. "I say to Pete she say to me she lun

away, and not come back, eh?"

But as Quin explained to her, the first person Pete would think of

would be the man who had given her the dress.

"Oh, ya, I know," said Annie. "Kloshe; I very clever klootchman, I

know evelything. She lun away with Shipman Jack this very day and

came tell me so I tell Pete. How that do, Mr. Quin? You tink, eh?"

But Quin was doubtful. Annie urged her scheme on him and still drew

him further down the road.

"Pete him once jealous, hab sick tumtum about Jenny with Shipman

Jack, because Jack pinch her behind and she cly out and Pete hear it.

That the other night. I know, I know evelything. I tell him mo'. I

say she often meet Jack befo'. Now you have fire Jack, and he goes

away this day and he now go in _Teaser_ piah-ship to Victolia, I see

him. Ah, velly good, she go with him. I say klahowya to them. I

get Annawillee for a dolla say she say klahowya to them. And alla

time Jenny in yo' house. I bling her this night. You see, all

light. You give me one dolla now?"

"You'll get drunk, you old harridan," said Quin, who was all of a

shake, "and if you do you'll mamook pelton of me and no get the

hundred dolla. No, I give you all to-night."

And knowing that it was true that she might get drunk if she had that

dollar she went away without it, back to Jenny.

V

It was true enough that Jack Mottram, "Shipman" or sailorman, had

been fired that day a little before noon. To be "fired" is to get

the Grand Bounce, and to get that is to get what everyone understands

when the sack is spoken of. Another way of saying it is to mention

that "he got his time," or perhaps his Walking Ticket. So now it is

understood. Before getting all these qualifications as a free

unemployed seaman he had got drunk early in the morning. This is

nearly always a fatal error and brings trouble anywhere. In a

Stick-Moola running at full time it is liable to bring death. For

death stands handy with his scythe, or perhaps his pickareen,

uplifted in a Mill. Indeed, Jack the Shipman very nearly sent back

to Bouddha, or maybe to Posa, one poor native of the Flowery Kingdom

by landing him one on the "ear-hole." Poor Fan Tang (or something

like it) up-ended and disappeared down a chute, and was so sadly

disgruntled that he limped to the office and denounced Jack to Quin

in a fine flow of Pidgin English and mixed Chinook.

"Muchee bad bad man belong Tlimmer pukpuk my! My fallee down chute

allo same lumber. My muchee solly, you look see bluise!"

He exposed his awful injuries to Quin's view. He had parted with

many patches of cuticle in his tumble down the chute.

"Dat shipman bad man, muchee dlunk," said Fan Tang spitefully, and

when Quin went over to the Mill he found that Jack was indeed "muchee

dlunk," and full of insolence and whisky.

"All ri', Mr. Quin, I quit. I'm full up of this work. You give me

my money and I'm off to sea. What the 'ell I ever came ashore for, I

dunno! What ho!"

Tom Willett, a young Englishman, went from the Chinee Trimmer to the

Big Trimmer, and Wong the philosopher took the Chinee Trimmer.

"Out of this," said Quin, "or I'll smash your jaw."

That was to Jack, who wasn't so drunk as to take up the challenge.

He went to the office quite meekly after all. He was almost as meek

as one "Dutchman" among ten English.

"Righto, I'm off to Victoria this very day," said Jack. He drew

fifteen dollars and three bits, rolled up his dunnage, and went to

the wharf where the _Teaser_ steamboat, or "piah-ship," was lying.

He bade farewell to Sawmill Town with much contempt. But Indian

Annie saw him go. He goes out of this history on his way to Hong

Kong with lumber. He got well man-handled by an American mate and

lost much insolence before he sighted Mount Stenhouse.

Annie went back to Jenny, now moaning sadly with a dirty face,

striped with tear-channels, and told the poor pretty dear a dreadful

tale. Pete was up-town, having got drink in spite of his being a

Siwash, and was ready to kill, said Annie.

"Aya, I'm very much flightened," said poor Jenny. "What shall I do,

Annie?"

The procuress stole a little more silk and dragged at Jenny's arm.

"You klatawa, go away, chahco with me. I hide you, toketie. Pete

wicked, bad man, and get hang if he see you. Come hyak, hyak!"

She got her into her own den, and hid her in the inner room. Then

she hobbled off to Annawillee, while Jenny sobbed herself to sleep on

the dirty bed. Annie and Annawillee were old friends, for Annie

liked her. When Chihuahua beat Annawillee too much she took refuge

at Annie's till her man calmed down. For love of Annie and a dollar

Annawillee would do anything.

"I say I see Jenny klatawa in piah-ship with Jack the shipman.

Nawitka, I say it, and you give me dolla?"

"Ha, one dolla, and one dlink, Annawillee," said Annie, grinning.

"Pete he much solly, and get pahtlum to-night, for I take Jenny away

to Mista Quin. By-by I ask mo' dolla. Nanitsh?"

Oh, but indeed Annawillee was no fool and saw quick enough. To get

money for helping Quin to Jenny and to get more for not telling was a

fine business! "What you tink, eh?"

At five o'clock, Jenny dressed in a horrid yellow dress belonging

notoriously to Annawillee, and with her head bound up as if she were

indeed Annawillee after Chihuahua had booted thunder out of her in a

jamboree, crawled with Annie up the hill, and sat behind a big stump

close to Quin's house, which stood alone. Poor Jenny was scared to

death by now, for Annie said terrible things of a drunken Pete, who

was supposed to be sharpening a knife for a pretty throat.

"You very good klootchman to Pete," said Annie, "and he bad, oh, bad

to you, tenas toketie. Mista Quin him good man, rich and very

skookum. Pete kwass, afraid of Mista Quin. You alla same white

klootchman, good dlesses, very pretty. You no forget poor Annie: you

give her dless and dolla when you alla same white woman in chu'ch, in

legleese."

Jenny wept bitterly. She still thought she loved Pete, and she was

conscious that she was no beauty in her dirt and the dreadful yellow

rags of Annawillee.

"I wicked klootchman," said Jenny, "no mo' virtuous, I have shem see

Bible. And I not toketie now, very dirty. How I look now, Annie?"

"You always toketie, tenas," said the old witch truly enough. "I do

up yo' hair, tenas. By-by you mamook wash yo' face, and be very

pretty. Mista Quin mamook wash every day, him gleat man, skookum

man, very lich, very lich, plenty dolla. Him love you mo' than one

hundred dolla."

She did up Jenny's mass of tumbled black hair, and wiped her face

with a rag. She wetted it in her mouth.

"Now you clean," said Annie. "What time Mista Quin come to him

house?"

She peered from behind her stump, and presently saw Quin come up the

hill. As he passed her she called to him in a low voice.

"Yahkwa, here, Mista Quin."

And Quin came across the brush to them. Jenny buried her face in her

hands and her shoulders troubled.

"I bling her," said Annie. "She much aflaid, hyu kwass, of Pete. He

say he makee her mimaloose, kill her dead, she muchee aflaid, and she

tikegh you, love you always."

Jenny shook and trembled like a beaten dog.

"She now very dirty and bad dless, but you mamook wash, and she hyu

toketie. No klootchman here like Jenny. Now, tenas, you klatawa in

house quick."

She dragged the trembling child to her feet, and then held out her

hand to Quin.

"You give me the dolla?"

And Quin gave her the money in notes. She knew well enough what each

one was worth.

"Now I tell Pete she klatawa with shipman Jack to Victoly, ha!"

She scrambled down the hill and Quin took Jenny by the arm.

"Come, tenas," he said in a shaking voice.

But it was a kind voice after all, and Jenny burst into a torrent of

sobs and clung to him.

"I have much shem," she said, "I have much shame."

Even Quin had some too, poor devil.

They went into the house.