WE MOVE INTO OUR HOME.
It was delightful to feel that we would soon be once more in
comfortable quarters, with room for order and cleanliness. The
Californian dust is perfectly impossible to deal with in such
conditions as the barn afforded, or as would be involved in camping.
While we were still living in our little house in San Miguel, I had
seen one or two camping parties returning after an absence of ten days
or a fortnight in the mountains, and had wondered, with dismay, what
could have happened to the women and men of the party, that they should
look as though their persons and clothes had been rolled, and soaked,
and stewed in the grey dust. Now I understood only too well. Soon, all
the plastering was finished, and we were looking for the painters, who
arrived, unfortunately, in the midst of another desert wind.
The head painter was a Norwegian, and though a very good workman,
he was absolutely dense about colour. All day, in the midst of that
howling hot wind, we struggled with him to get the tones we wanted, he
becoming more and more depressed and obstinate, and we more feverish
and anxious. The carpenters looked on with amused interest, expecting,
so they said afterwards, “that someone would have to be pulled off
somebody!” However, before the twilight came down on us, we had evolved
some delicate shades that would pass, and were thankful to creep into
the barn and rest if we could, knowing that we must be up betimes
to-morrow, to see that the Norwegian did not make any mistake.
On Sundays, when the men were free, they generally went off hunting for
honey. They were very clever at finding the nests of the wild bees,
and were very much in earnest on these expeditions, having fashioned
for themselves extraordinary headgear and gauntlets, like armour in a
comic opera, as a protection against stings. They made, too, quite an
ingenious contrivance for running the clear honey out of the comb, and
sold this and the wax for a nice little sum. Liza used to look after
them with longing, envious eyes; they were so much more successful than
she in their hunting. But then they used dynamite when the nest was
behind some great rock, and she with all her savage strength could not
remove the stones unaided. But though they were kind, friendly fellows,
and almost all men in this wild West are particularly nice to women,
they never asked her to join them.
The architect who came out regularly from town, during the building of
the house, and closely superintended every detail, was a more welcome
comrade to them. He joined them in their expeditions, and lent us too
a helping hand.
Our ranchman was absent on some business connected with his land, and
we were very much puzzled as to who was to milk the cow; we ourselves
had not yet learned, and none of the carpenters could help us, though
they would have been very willing. When our friend the architect heard
of our difficulty, he at once exclaimed that he would milk the cow. And
so he did in the most business-like and thorough manner.
The carpenters were very like boys when working hours were over, and
I remember one evening, when the building of the house was almost
finished, and they were to return to town in a few days, we were all
startled by hearing a terrific report, somewhere quite close at hand.
Everyone rushed out into the beautiful starlight to know what disaster
had happened, and then we found Mr. Scott gravely remonstrating with
the men, who were looking very sheepish. It seems that finding they had
quite a store of dynamite over from their bee-hunting, they determined
to set it all off together for their own amusement. They had not
expected quite so much noise, and were apologetic. Mr. Scott turned to
my husband and said with a disgusted air, “Some of them carpenters has
more powder than brains!”
The day had come at last, when we were to move into our house. I sent
my darkey back to town, and was delighted to see the last of her, even
though I had failed to find anyone to replace her. I had, however, the
help of a young Englishman, who had left a clerkship in the Corporation
offices at Liverpool, and come out to rough it in California, glad
of the open air life, and glad too of the change of work, though it
happened, as at present, to include such jobs as digging out a rain
water cistern, and acting as temporary scullery maid.
However inexperienced he was at this last work, he was willing and
pleasant, which was a delightful change from the “gorilla.”
The carpenters helped us to move in the heaviest pieces of furniture,
and I think I shall never forget the luxury of that first night when we
slept in the house—it was so airy, and fresh, and cool.
We were very busy for many days after, putting all in order, but it
was delightful work to us, however tiring, for the house was lovely
and comfortable beyond all our expectations, and now that all the
old furniture was standing about us, dusted and polished, and almost
smiling, it felt so homelike and friendly that we seemed no longer like
strangers in a strange land.
Now occurs an opportunity to tell some of our “domestic help”
experiences. We feared that our place would be too lonely for a
Chinaman; the nearest Celestial within reach was at a ranch some five
miles away, and though there was quite an active centre of Chinese life
and light at the laundry gentleman’s shanty at the village of El Barco,
still that was six miles away, and Chinamen are bad walkers, and few
of them can drive. Also, their wages are very high, thirty dollars to
thirty-five dollars a month being the lowest; some of them get as much
as fifty dollars and sixty dollars a month. So we thought we would
try our luck with a woman servant; we could talk our own language to
her and lend her books, which would overcome, to some extent, the
loneliness of the life for her, and we would only have to pay her
twenty to twenty-five dollars a month.
Our first was an American girl; her manners were new to us, but not
refreshing. We did not keep her long, for she proved to have something
wrong with her heart, and could neither stoop nor carry any slight
weight without turning blue in the face. The boys did not take to her.
She would saunter into the dining-room when it was time to lay the
cloth, and if I were not there, she would take up one of the papers on
the table, and either stand very much at her ease reading it, or sit
down to it, often at the same time using a toothpick. Or she would slap
my sons on the shoulder, saying, “Now then, boys, clear out!”
I was not able to go into town this time, so I telegraphed to my friend
at the agency office, a nice helpful Irishman, who always did his best
for me.
Though the little village of El Barco has but a scattered population
of about two hundred, they have had a telephone into San Miguel for
many a year. So I sent a message asking for a servant of some kind at
twenty-five dollars a month. In answer, my Irish friend asked, would
I be willing to try a nigger, adding that he was not very black! He
knew my feelings about the “gorilla.” When I heard further that he
was a willing, pleasant-spoken fellow, with a very good character for
honesty, I agreed to try him. So he was sent out by the evening train.
We became quite fond of him, and though he knew very little about
cooking, he was exceedingly quick at learning, and was very capable in
other ways, and so obliging that much could be forgiven him. He had
great pride in all he learnt, and liked to know the proper orthodox
names of the different dishes, though he could never conquer the word
rissole, but always called it “free soul!” He had left his wife and
family in Tennessee, where he had formerly kept a dairy farm, but his
health had failed, and he was threatened with lung trouble; so he came
to this sunny climate, and hoped to be able to send for them to join
him before very long.
As he could not read or write, I was his secretary, and had often great
difficulty in keeping a grave face when reading his home letters. They
were a jumble of revival meetings, the arrival of families of young
pigs, names of different neighbours who had “got religion,” and advice
as to how he was to make the bread for us, finishing up with “howdies”
from everyone. It often took me quite a long time to puzzle them out.
However we soon began to teach him to write and read, and he was so
quick in learning that before he left us he was quite independent of my
help in his correspondence. His worst drawback was the colour of his
hands, which being a kind of neutral grey brown, never let him know
clearly whether they were dirty or clean, and I soon found his finger
marks on many treasures. However, such things are trifles in this life,
and I should have kept him till this day, I believe, but that, in an
evil moment, we again made the experiment of getting a woman servant
from the old country.
The woman we had heard of was willing to pay her own passage out, for
the sake of the £70 wage which she could never hope to get at home; so
we engaged her and let our little nigger go.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration]
SPRING SONG.
Oh, come let us wander
Where the wide meadow lies
Hid in the dreamy dell;
By woodlands to ponder,
Where fickle butterflies
Flirt with the flower bell!
One song will I sing you,
Sweeter than ever fell
Music from waterfall;
One heart will I bring you,
While warbleth Philomel
In liquid madrigal.
Oh, come where the wood-dove
Bids thy compassion move
While youth to thee belongs;
For there shall my true love
All my confession prove
In sighs and tender songs!
E. M. W.
THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.
BY ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object
in Life,” etc.