A number of days passed uneventfully. Houston was occupied in getting
familiarized with the work at the office, having first created an
epoch in the history of that institution by having the windows
thoroughly cleaned.
One of the noted characters of the mining camp was a small boy who,
when he could scarcely walk, had, on account of his fearless spirit
and indomitable pluck, been dubbed with the name of "Bull-dog." The
name was so appropriate, and the little fellow himself so proud of it,
that as he grew older it was forgotten if he ever had any other; if he
had, no one knew what it was. He was now nearly twelve years of age,
as small as most boys of eight or nine, but he possessed the same
spirit as of old. Bull-dog was the oldest of five children; his
parents lived at the Y, a worthless, disreputable pair; he spent very
little time under the parental roof, and filial respect was entirely
left out of his composition, and no wonder! He was a favorite among
the miners, spending much of his time in the camp, and the shrewd
little fellow was very observant of what went on around him, and very
keen and worldly-wise in his judgment of human nature as he found it.
He speedily made the acquaintance of Houston, and when the latter came
down to the office on his second morning, he found the boy awaiting
him, and an idea occurred to him.
"Say, Bull-dog, can you wash windows?" he asked.
"Bet yer life," was the laconic reply, accompanied by a grin.
"What will you charge me for washing these four?"
The small individual surveyed the windows critically, then answered:
"Six bits."
"Go ahead," said Houston, "let's see how good a job you can do."
Two hours afterward the windows were shining, and Houston paid the
little fellow an equally shining dollar, instead of the six bits, thus
making of Bull-dog a friend for life, and one whose friendship
afterward proved of great value.
Nearly every afternoon found Lyle at Jack's cabin, diligently reading
or studying, guarded by Rex, the faithful collie, who would let no one
but Lyle enter the cabin while Jack and Mike were at their work. Two
or three evenings of each week she spent there, reviewing her lessons
with Jack, or listening, either to the stories which he and Mike told
of other countries, or to the music of Mike's violin, fierce and wild,
or sweet and pathetic, according to the mood of the musician. The
cabin, built of logs and plaster, and consisting of two rooms and a
small attic, resembled miners' cabins in general, with the exception
of the second and inner room. Here, the floor was nearly covered with
skins of animals, while on the walls were shelves and brackets,
hand-carved in delicate designs, and filled with books and choice
pictures, beautiful etchings and photographs of various works of art.
A few larger pictures hung on the walls, framed in some of the same
skillfully carved work. The pine table, covered with a brightly
colored spread, was strewn with finely bound volumes, and scattered
about the room were several comfortable folding chairs, which Jack had
bought in some of his trips to Silver City. A rude fireplace had been
built in one side of the room, over which were arranged artistically
two or three rifles, and the heads and horns of various animals, while
on the mantel was a fine collection of ores. Altogether, it was a
pleasant room, and gave more evidence of good taste, education and
refinement than could have been found for more than a score of miles
in that region. This was Jack's sanctum, and none but his two friends,
Lyle and Mike, were ever allowed within it.
In this room, a few evenings after the arrival of the two strangers,
Lyle was sitting with her friends. The weather was already much
cooler, and a bright fire was burning, before which Rex was
comfortably stretched, while he watched the faces of his two friends,
Jack and Lyle, who, having finished their usual reading, were silent
for a few moments, looking into the fire and listening to Mike as he
sat in his corner, his eyes closed, his head bent lovingly over his
violin, while he evoked some of the wild, plaintive airs of his native
country.
Jack was the first to speak, as he asked in a low tone, "You have met
the young men I spoke of the other evening?"
"Yes," replied Lyle, still gazing into the fire, "they are stopping at
the house."
"How long will they remain?"
"The younger one, the one you particularly admired, is to stop for a
few weeks only; the other will probably remain permanently, as he is
bookkeeper for the mining company."
Jack gave an almost imperceptible start, but slight as it was, Lyle
noticed it, and turning quickly, saw a peculiar expression of mingled
surprise, perplexity and annoyance on his usually immobile face.
"Bookkeeper for the mining company!" he exclaimed, "are you sure you
are correct?"
"I can only quote for my authority the Honorable J. O. Blaisdell," she
replied archly, "you surely wouldn't doubt his word under any
circumstances, would you? You look surprised; did you consider Mr.
Houston one of the 'lilies'?"
Jack looked at her inquiringly.
"One of the 'lilies' like Mr. Rutherford," she explained, "who 'toil
not neither do they spin,' I supposed him one at first, but I think
differently now; I believe he would always be a worker of some kind,
whether it were necessary or not; at the same time I don't believe it
is exactly necessary for him to be a bookkeeper."
"You seem to have made a study of him," remarked Jack, quietly.
"Of course," answered Lyle, "what else are my eyes and my small stock
of brains for, but to study everybody and everything that comes in my
way? Besides, it's rather interesting to find a person of some depth,
after such shallow people as Mr. Blaisdell and Haight, and that
class."
"Sometimes, Lyle," said Jack, slowly, "these deep people make a
dangerous study; they are likely to become too interesting."
"Never you fear for me, Jack," said the girl, with considerable
spirit, but kindly, "I know too well how the world would look upon old
Jim Maverick's daughter, to carry my heart on my sleeve."
Both were silent for a moment, Jack watching her face intently. Mike
had left the room. Lyle continued, in a gentler tone,
"Mr. Houston is a perfect gentleman; he would make a safe study for
me, even if I didn't realize my position. He reminds me of you, Jack,
in some ways."
"Of me!" said Jack sarcastically, "your Mr. Houston would doubtless
feel nattered at being compared to a weather-beaten miner."
"You were not always a miner," retorted Lyle quickly, "and you are a
gentleman, and always will be."
"In your opinion, child," said Jack pleasantly; then turning the
subject, he asked, "What do you think of the 'lily' as you styled him,
Mr. Rutherford, I think you called his name?"
"Oh, he is a gentlemanly fellow, not so ridiculous as he looks;
good-hearted, but not deep like the other,--not half so interesting to
study."
"Very well," replied Jack, "go on with your 'study,' but I wish you
would make a little more of a study of yourself and of your own life,"
and as he spoke, he carelessly took up a magazine and began turning
the pages.
"I don't know why," answered Lyle slowly, at the same time going over
to the table where she had caught sight of a photograph which had
evidently been concealed by the magazine, "my life before you became
my friend and teacher would not make an interesting study for any
one.--Oh, Jack, whose picture is this? and when did you get it?"
"That?" said Jack, answering indifferently, but watching her face
keenly, "Oh, that is a picture I've had a great while."
"But, Jack, I never saw it, did I?"
"No, Lyle, I haven't seen it myself for years, until to-night."
"Not for years? how strange!" said Lyle in a low tone; then looking
wistfully at the picture, she said, half to herself, "She must have
been some one you loved some time."
"She was very dear to me," he replied, so quietly that Lyle said
nothing, but remained looking long and earnestly at the photograph. It
was the picture of a young girl, a few years older than herself, but
much more matured, and wondrously beautiful. The features were almost
perfect, and the eyes, even there, seemed so radiant and tender. There
seemed a wealth of love and sympathy in those eyes that touched Lyle's
lonely heart, and her own eyes filled with tears, while she gazed as
if under a spell; then she asked in a sort of bewildered tone:
"Jack, I never saw her, did I?"
"Certainly not while you have been here," he replied, "I cannot say
whom you may have seen before that."
"Before I came here," repeated Lyle dreamily, laying down the picture
and preparing to go, "that is a sort of blank for the most part. It
seems as though this hateful life had obliterated everything before
it; the early years of my life seem buried out of sight."
"Try to resurrect them," said Jack, adding, "Keep your eyes and ears
open, and let me know results. Had I not better go home with you?"
"Oh, no, thank you," said Lyle, smiling brightly, "it isn't late."
"Then Rex must go," and Rex who was only waiting for the word bounded
to the door to signify his readiness.
After Lyle had gone, Jack took the picture, and after looking at it
sadly for a moment, replaced it in the little case in his trunk where
it had lain so long, and then sat down by the fire, muttering,
"Strange she did not see the resemblance! I hoped she would; there
could not be two faces more alike."
All the way home, Lyle was thinking of the beautiful face, wondering
where she had seen it, that it should seem so familiar, and after
dismissing Rex with a caress, she sat for some time in the low porch,
trying to solve the mystery.
"It is no use," she said to herself at length, "it is no face I have
ever seen, unless in some of those strange dreams I used to have."
Going into the house, she found her parents had retired. Rutherford
sat in his room reading, waiting for Houston, who was working late
that night, Mr. Blaisdell having gone back to the city for a day or
two. Miss Gladden was writing in her room, but Lyle would not disturb
her, and going quietly to her own little room, she was soon sleeping
peacefully, and the beautiful face was for a time forgotten.