WHAT THE BLIZZARD BROUGHT TO NEW CONSTANTINOPLE
A moment after the hail was heard from the roof, the muffled noise
which accompanied it ceased. The stranger groping about in the snowy
gloom had stepped off the roof into the huge drift outside the
Heavenly Bower, and a minute later, lifted the latch of the door and
pushed in among the astonished miners. They saw the figure of a sturdy
man holding something in his arms, so wrapped round with blankets and
coverings that no one could tell its nature. He stamped the snow from
his boots, shook himself like a shaggy dog, then walked heavily to the
chair which Budge Isham placed near the fire for him, and almost fell
into it.
"Good evening, friends," he said in a grave voice; "It was no fault of
mine that I tried at first to enter by the roof."
"When I built the Heavenly Bower," replied Landlord Ortigies; "I
meant to place a door up there, but there wasn't anybody in New
Constantinople with enough sense to know how to do it. I 'spose you
was looking fur it, stranger."
"No," was the reply, "I wasn't looking for anything; I was just
walking, walking through the storm, not knowing or caring where I
went. I can't say how far I came, but it must have been a number of
miles. I was still plodding on, when I set my foot on vacancy and down
I went."
"Gracious! you fell nearly a hundred feet," said Parson Brush; "it was
a wonderful providence that saved you from being dashed to death."
"The snow on the roof must be five or six feet deep," replied the
stranger; "for it received me as if it were a feather bed. I saw a
glow from the top of your chimney against the rocks and knew I was on
the roof of a house. I hardly felt jarred and groped my way off into a
lot more snow and here I am."
The astonishment of the listeners did not make them forget the laws of
hospitality. Budge Isham looked significantly at the landlord, but he
had already drawn a glass of spirits and was coming from behind the
bar with it.
"Stranger, swallow this; you look cold; you're welcome to the Heavenly
Bower, whether you come through the roof or down the chimbley."
"Thank you; I'll take the whiskey in a minute."
And then feeling that he owed those who made him so welcome some
explanation of his coming among them, the stranger said:
"My friends, my name is Maurice Dawson. About two months ago, I left
Independence, Missouri, with an emigrant train for the Pacific coast.
The elements, disease and the Indians made such inroads upon us that
after a time only half a dozen families remained. As if that wasn't
enough, the few survivors quarreled over the course to follow, most of
them aiming for a pass through the mountains into Southern California,
while I, the greatest fool of them all, set out to find Dead Man's
Gulch, of which I had heard from a party of trappers. My canvas
covered wagon, with a single span of horses, contained all my worldly
goods, and my companions were my wife and little girl Nellie, only
three years old. Everything might have gone well but for this
blizzard, which jumbled up the points of the compass and made
traveling so difficult that after a time it became impossible."
All were listening with the closest interest, and every heart was
touched by the emotion of the man, which he could not control for
several minutes. No one interrupted, and, feeling that his story was
not quite completed, he added:
"I fired my gun in the hope of attracting attention, but fortunately
for others I was the only one abroad. By and by the horses stopped.
They could draw the wagon no further. They stood panting and exhausted
and soon lay down in the snow. I turned to speak to my wife, when I
found she had been dead for some minutes, the cold carrying her off as
quietly as if she were dropping asleep. Before she passed away, she
wrapped nearly all her clothing about Nellie, who was cuddling beside
her, so that really the mother, like the noble woman she was, gave her
life for the little one. It was because Nellie was alive, that I
jumped out of the wagon and began floundering through the snow. I
ploughed blindly forward until providence guided me to you."
While uttering the last words, Maurice Dawson was tenderly unwrapping
the bundle in his arms. There were many folds to draw away, but at
last he reached the treasure within, which was his Nellie, still sound
asleep.
If the miners were startled by the resounding thump on the roof, they
were now almost struck dumb with amazement. They sat with open mouths,
staring eyes and for a minute no one spoke or stirred.
"God bless you, my Nellie," murmured the father, bending his head and
touching his lips to the cool forehead; "I had no hope of this when I
left your dead mother and started on my tramp through the snow."
A general sigh went up from the group of awed miners. Wade Ruggles,
who had been leaning on the bar, with his gaze fixed on that of the
handsome stranger, was the first to recover from the spell which held
them all. Tiptoeing across the room, he paused in front of the father
and his child and stared, wondering and speechless. Then one by one
the others did the same, until the whole company were grouped around
the man and child, each afraid to whisper, as if doing so would
dissolve the heavenly vision.
When the wrappings had been laid aside, and the little one was placed
upright, she stared bewildered into the shaggy faces around her. Her
big blue eyes were open to their widest extent, the mass of golden
curls rippled about her shoulders and the fairy-like feet were
inclosed in thick, warm shoes and stockings. The dress of a dull brown
color and thick texture, fitted her tiny frame perfectly and she
formed a most winsome picture of infantile beauty.
For fully five minutes all stared in silence at the marvelous picture.
As before, Wade Ruggles was the first to come to himself, but when he
spoke, it was in an awed, hesitating whisper:
"Is she really alive?"
The sorrowful face of the father lit up with a faint smile as he
answered:
"Yes; thank heaven; alive and well."
"May I touch her?" timidly asked Ike Hoe, extending his finger which
faintly brushed the rosy cheek, and was instantly snatched away as if
he felt he had done a sacrilegious thing.
"I say," ventured Ruggles gathering courage, "I wonder now if she
would let me take her in my arms for a minute or so; I won't drop her;
but that's too much to ask, howsumever."
While he stood hopeful, hesitating and doubtful, Nellie with a half
frightened smile, dived her head under the arm of her father, as if to
get away from the embarrassing situation. He gently fondled the golden
hair and drew her face into view again.
"There, little one, there's nothing to be frightened at; these people
are all your friends and will do anything they can to please you."
"You're right!" exclaimed Landlord Ortigies, with a shake of his head;
"we'll do anything in the world for you; if you say the word, I'll
stand on my head or stand any one else here the same way."
And he showed an alarming inclination to invert himself for the
amusement of the child, but she did not seem to grasp the meaning of
the offer. She fixed her eyes upon Ruggles, who made bold by what
seemed a favorable sign, took a step forward and invitingly extended
his hands. She debated for a moment, whether to meet the proffer and
then with the impulsiveness of infancy leaned toward him. With a
thrill of pleasure the grizzled miner carefully placed his huge arms
underneath hers, and lifted her as if she were a doll from her
father's knee. As he did so, every one saw the big tears trickling
down his cheeks.
"I can't help it, boys," he said apologetically; "the last child I
held in these arms was my own Jennie, and she was dead."
With infinite affection, he pressed his bearded lips against the
chubby cheek, while she, relieved of all fear, flung her dimpled arms
about his neck and kissed him in return. With one hand, she lifted the
flapping hat from his head and with the other smoothed away the
luxuriant hair from his forehead.
"I like you ever so much, but you are crying," she said sympathetically;
"what makes you do that? Haven't you got a little girl like me?"
"No, my precious child; I once had just such a sweet tot as you, but
the good Lord took her from me, and I love you just as I loved her."
"And that's what we all are going to do," remarked Ike Hoe, with a
sniff as he drew his sleeve across his eyes; "this beats anything in
the history of New Constantinople, by seven hundred and eighty-four
thousand majority."
"Come, Wade, you must be fair with us," said the landlord, reaching
out his arms; "we all claim an equal share in her."
The miner felt the truth of this, and without a word relinquished the
treasure. Drawing his handkerchief, he wiped his eyes clear of their
mist and jealously followed the surrendered one as she was fondled in
turn by the others. First one and then another, until she had
completed the round. All had something pleasant to say to her and she
replied in her sweet innocent way, causing laughter and winning her
path straight to the hearts of the hardy fellows, to whom such
endearments had been unknown for years, but whose better natures were
stirred by the presence of the child, as if she were in reality an
angel sent from heaven.
Felix Brush had purposely left his turn for the last, hoping thereby
to retain her longer than his friends. After chatting with her for a
moment and repeating some rigmarole that set her laughing, followed by
the request for him to say it again, he stood her on the bar. Then he
danced in front of her, swung his arms like a jumping-jack, and told
some outlandish fairy story from the stock that no one had ever
suspected he possessed.
"Can you stand on your head?" asked Nellie, rippling over with fun.
"Certainly," he replied, as without a moment's hesitation, he inverted
himself and cracked his heels together, though the attitude was such
an unfamiliar one that he careened and went over on his back with a
thump that made the room tremble. Nellie clapped her chubby hands
with delight and before Brush could repeat the performance, she
called:
"Catch me; I'm going to jump."
"All right; I'm ready for you."
She recoiled a step to gather momentum and Landlord Ortigies,
terrified at the fear that she might step off backward, made a dive
round the end of the bar, catching his foot in an obstruction and
falling with a crash that drew all attention to him.
"I'm so sorry; be you hurt?" asked Nellie, turning her head and
surveying him, as his face came up to view like the full moon rising
above the horizon.
"Not a bit; I done that on purpose to make you laugh; I always do that
to please good little girls like you."
"Bime by I'll let you fall all the time, but just see me jump."
Felix Brush was still standing, with arms outstretched, and, without a
second's hesitation the child leaped off into space. She showed no
fright, for there was no cause for it, since she was caught fairly and
securely. Inasmuch as she had been fondled by every one, and the
parson had had her longer than anyone else, he set her down on the
floor and she began running here and there, displaying a childish
curiosity to understand everything in sight. Going to the half-opened
door, communicating with the darkened apartment at the rear, she
peeped timidly in.
"Who lives in dere?" she asked, turning around and addressing the
whole group who were laughingly watching her.
"That's where I live," replied Ortigies.
"Do you live all alone?"
"Yes, my child."
"Haven't you got any little girl like me?"
"No; I'd give all I have in the world if I had."
"Wouldn't you like to have me for your little girl?"
"Indeed I would; will you be my little girl?"
The baby face became thoughtful. She thrust one finger in the corner
of her mouth and looked down at the floor.
"What would papa do and those other folks? I will be the little girl
for all of you."
This struck the party as the brightest and wittiest expression ever
made by a mortal. They laughed, clapped their hands and striking each
other on the shoulder wanted to know whether anything of the like had
ever before been heard. Certainly not. Without paying any heed to
them, Nellie was peering into the room again.
"It's dark and cold," she said in an awed voice, turning her face
around, the better to communicate the information; "but I ain't
afraid."
Before she could fairly enter the place, her father, who was
affectionately watching her, said:
"I guess you would better not go in there, Nellie; it's growing late
and is time you prepared for bed."
"I'll fix a place for her," said Ortigies; "we ain't much on style
here, but I can manage to make her comfortable."
"But will it not discommode you?"
"That little gal can't discommode any one in New Constantinople; if
she would prefer to have me go out and sleep in the snow, I'll be glad
to do it."
"I've just the place for her," interposed Wade Ruggles; "couldn't be
better if I had taken a week to get it ready."
"Can't begin with my quarters," Felix Brush hastened to say, and there
would have been a general wrangle for the privilege of accommodating
the little one, had not her father, seeing how matters were going,
smilingly raised his hand in protest.
"I cannot tell you, my friends, how much I thank you all for your
kindness. Ah, if my poor wife could have held out until she reached
here, but that was not to be. I shall be glad to stay with Mr.
Ortigies to-night, and with your permission shall remain for a few
days in your settlement. I have lost everything I owned in the world,
and will need some time to decide what is best to do. Our stay in New
Constantinople will give all a better chance to get acquainted with
Nellie. I'll surrender her to you until you get tired of her."
"Get tired of her!" repeated Vose Adams, voicing the sentiments of
all; "we're not the kind of galoots to git tired of an angel."
The father expressed his thanks with such winsome grace, that every
man instinctively felt that he was a born gentleman. There was not a
miner in the room who did not sympathize with him in his affliction,
and yet they envied him the possession of the child, whose innocence
and beauty impressed them as more wonderful than they had ever looked
upon before. When Felix Brush whispered to Budge Isham that
arrangements must be made in some way to keep the father with them,
for the sake of having the child, his friend nodded his head, and said
he had made up his mind to the same effect from the moment the parent
referred to the matter. And the sentiments of these two were those of
the rest.
"Come, Nellie, let me prepare you for bed; it's a long time since you
have had that privilege."
The little one obediently walked to her father and turned her back to
him that he might better remove her clothing.
"I suppose you have plenty of covering for her?" remarked the parent
inquiringly to the landlord.
"There's all she can need."
Lifting her on his knee, the father began removing the shoes and
stockings, the little one giving what aid she could, when it came to
the garments. One of the last acts of the affectionate mother had been
to place upon her child the gown she was accustomed to wear while
asleep. When at last she was ready, she looked up to her father and
asked in a half whisper:
"Where's mamma?"
"She will not be with us to-night."
"Then she will come in the morning?"
"Wait until then, my child; don't say anything more about mamma now."
She was satisfied, and signified that she was ready to have her father
carry her to her bed. Then she exclaimed with a laugh:
"Ain't that funny?"
"What's that?"
"I like to fordot to say my prayers."
And slipping from her father's knee, she knelt on the floor, with her
hands covering her face which, as it pressed his knee, was hidden by
the mass of golden ringlets clustering and falling about it. Not a man
stirred or spoke. All were so silent that the sifting of the snow
against the logs, the moaning of the gale and the soft rustle of the
embers that broke apart on the hearth were audible. But all these were
as the "voice of silence" itself, so that when the child began her
prayer in a low voice, every syllable was heard.
"Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
God bless papa, mamma and make Nellie a good girl; bless--"
Wheeling short round at the silent, awed group, she looked at the
landlord and asked:
"What is your name?"
"Or-ti-gies," he replied, pronouncing it carefully.
She made rather sorry work at first, but there could be no doubt that
the One to whom she was addressing the petition understood her wishes.
When she had satisfied herself and included the landlord in her
prayer, she ceased again, and this time looked up at her father whose
hand was resting on her head.
"I must pray for _all_ of them, musn't I?"
"Certainly, my child."
"But I don't know dere names."
"They will all tell them."
No act of worship in church or grand cathedral was more solemn and
reverential than that of the men, as each in turn stepped softly
forward with bowed head, and repeated his name to the tiny petitioner,
who immediately included it with those for whom she had already prayed
and it was wafted upward through space to Him who delights to hear and
answer such petitions.
She did not forget one. To make sure, she looked up while still on her
knees and asked:
"Did I fordot any of you?"
"No," replied the parent; "you have not missed any. That's a good
girl."
"And I know they will all be good, for I asked God to make 'em so."
The father now rose to his feet with her in his arms, and she
called a general good night, flinging a kiss to all. Landlord
Ortigies had lit an extra lamp and with it in hand, he led the way to
the rear room, where as he stated, comfortable quarters were
provided for the little one. Since the Heavenly Bower was the only
place in the mining settlement where the wanderer, who occasionally
made his way into that remote part of the world, could expect to
find sleeping accommodations, Ortigies was always prepared for
visitors. Thus he was able to furnish the father with a couch so
placed that he virtually shared the bed with his child.
Ten minutes later, when he stole back into the room with the landlord
to see whether everything was right with his child, she was found sunk
in the sweet, dreamless slumber of infancy. The picture was so winsome
as she lay with her cheek resting upon the rough pillow, that Ortigies
stepped softly to the door and beckoned to his friends. Everyone stole
forward, and stood looking down for several minutes upon the sleeper,
and, as he did so, new resolves sprang into his heart. Already it may
be said they were better men because of the blessed messenger that had
come among them.