GIRLS AND GIRLS
They rambled over the hills on Sunday, for Miss Holmes had given her
ankle a little wrench and was applying hot fomentations. Up there was
the Presidio, and over here the beautiful ocean, blue as the sky
to-day, except where the swells drove up on the rocks and, catching
the sun, made spray of all colors. The ground squirrels ran about,
scudding at the slightest sound of human beings, which they seemed to
distinguish from the rustling and whispering of the trees, or the
tinkle of a little stream over the stones. It ran under a crevice in
the rock that was splitting apart now by some of Nature's handiwork
and came out over west of their house where it dropped into a little
basin. Here was a blasted pine that had been struck by some freak of
rare lightning, then piles of sand over which cactus crept. And here
was a deer-trail, though civilization had pretty well scared them
away.
But the birds! Here was the jay with his scolding tongue, the swallows
darting to and fro in a swift dazzle, the martins in bluish purple,
the tanager in his brilliant red, the robin, thrush, meadowlark, the
oriole, and the mocking birds that filled the air with melody this May
Sunday. And nearly every foot of ground was covered with bloom. Now
and then the little girl hopped over a tuft that she might not crush
the beautiful things. Great clouds of syringas and clusters of white
lilies filled the air with a delicious fragrance. And the wild lilac
with its spikes of bloom nodding to the faintest breeze. Wild barley
and wild oats, and a curious kind of clover, and further down the
coarse salt grass with its spear-like blades.
They sat down on some stones and glanced over the ocean. There were
two vessels coming up the coast and some seamews were screaming. It
was all wild and strange, almost weird, and no little girl could have
dreamed that in a few years streets would be stretching out here. As
for trolleys going to and fro, even grown people would have laughed at
such a thing.
They talked of the great procession that was to be the next day. And
then Uncle Jason wondered how she would like going to school
regularly.
"I shall like girls," she said. "There are no boys where Olive goes.
She thinks boys are more fun."
"But you don't go to school for the mere fun."
"They make so much noise in the street. And some times they sing such
funny songs. But they were nice about sledding back home, only there's
no snow here."
"Are you ever homesick?"
"You know I was sick sometimes on the ship."
"But to go back, I mean."
"There wouldn't be any one--I've almost forgotten who were there.
Mother, you know----" with a pitiful sort of retrospection.
"Yes, yes," hurriedly.
"Would you want to go?"
"Oh, no, no!" with some vehemence.
She came and leaned against his knee, put her arms about his neck, and
her soft cheek against his weather-beaten one.
"I should never want to go anywhere without you," she replied, with
grave sweetness.
"You are all I have, my little darling."
"And I haven't any one else. Olive has such a lot of cousins. She goes
over to Oaklands to see them."
There was a long pause and the wind rushed by laden with perfumes.
They heard the lapping of the surf against the rocks. The strange
beauty penetrated both souls that were not so far apart after all.
"Uncle Jason, did you ever have a wife?" she asked, with a child's
innocence.
"No, dear." Sometime he would tell her the story of his love for her
mother.
"Then you won't want to marry any one?"
"Marry! I?" Had that Personette girl put some nonsense into her head
about Miss Holmes? He colored under the weather-browned skin.
"You see, Mr. Personette's wife had died, and I suppose he had to
marry some one again to look after the children."
"Would you like me to marry some one to look after you?" in a half
humorous tone.
"Why, Miss Holmes can do that," she returned, in surprise.
"She seems to do it very well." There was a lurking smile about the
corners of his mouth.
"I like her. No, I shouldn't like any one else coming in. Perhaps she
would not stay. No, Uncle Jason, I don't want you to marry any one,"
she said, simply. "And when I get old I shall not marry, though Carmen
means to. And we will live together always. Oh," with a bright little
laugh, "let's promise. Put your little finger--so." She hooked hers in
it. "Now, you must say: Honest and true, I love but you!"
He uttered it solemnly. He had said it to one other little girl when
he was a big boy.
Then she repeated it, looking out of clear, earnest eyes.
After that she gathered a great armful of flowers and they rambled off
home.
"Who do you think has been here?" inquired Miss Holmes, with a laugh
in her very voice.
"Who--Olive, perhaps. Or, maybe, Dick Folsom."
"No. Guess again."
She cudgelled her wits. "Not Snippy?"
"Yes, Snippy. He actually came into the house and looked so sharply at
me that I told him you would be home about noon. Then I gave him a bit
of cracker, and when he had eaten a little he scampered off with the
rest. I think he has been planning a house near us."
"Oh, wouldn't that be splendid! I'm just going to scatter a path of
cracker bits as Hop o' my Thumb did."
"But if he eats them up how much wiser will you be?"
Laverne looked nonplussed. "Well, he will have them at any rate," and
she nodded her head with satisfaction.
Pablo had built a stone fireplace and was roasting some ducks out of
doors. He was sure he couldn't do it any other way.
"I must go and view the camping process," and Uncle Jason laughed.
"How is your ankle?"
"Oh, quite on the mend," she answered.
Pablo had built a stone fireplace and was roasting the ducks over a
great bed of coals that he was burning at one side. It might be
wasteful, as when the Chinaman first roasted his pig, but it was
filling the air with a savory smell, and they were browned to a turn.
"They look just delicious," announced Laverne. She took the platter
out and Pablo carried them in with a proud air.
And delicious they certainly were. The little girl was hungry, and
Uncle Jason said he had not enjoyed anything so much in a long while.
She insisted she should wash up the dishes while Uncle Jason took his
usual nap. Then she went out and dropped some cracker crumbs and
strictly forbade Bruno to touch them.
"If you would like to go down to the Estenegas I will get one of the
horses," Uncle Jason said. His Sundays were always devoted to her.
So she went out and talked to Pelajo while Pablo harnessed him. He
said very plainly that she had quite neglected him of late and he did
not like it. He did not want to be thrown over for new friends.
All along the road the beauty of the May met them, and it stirred both
riders, making them respond to the joy of motion and the sweetness of
all blooming things, the merriment of the birds, the touch of the wind
in the trees as a voice playing on a flute. He thought it was all the
delight of owning the little girl who would always be his. How he
would care for her in old age, and he quite forgot that he would be
there decades and decades first. But he suddenly felt so young, with
all these signs of youth about him, the magnetism of the air in this
wondrous land.
Here was the old house. They were straightening the road, digging away
hills, filling up hollows, and a corner of it had tumbled down. There
seemed a damp, marshy smell of the newly turned earth, and two trees
had fallen and begun to wither up. The wood doves were calling
plaintively.
"Oh, I wouldn't come back for anything!" cried Laverne. "Did we have
nice times here, and did we really like it?"
"This is the hand of improvement. Sometime, when we are trotting over
a nice level road, with pretty houses and grounds, we shall admire it
again."
But it was lovely enough at the Estenegas, out of doors. The children
were wild with delight. It seemed as if Carmencita had suddenly shot
up into a tall girl. And in the autumn she was to go to Monterey, to
the old convent, where Doña Conceptione de Arguello had gone after her
Russian lover had been killed, and where she had finally become Mother
Superior and lived to old age, always praying for his soul.
"But I am going only for accomplishments. And it seems the distant
cousin of the Estenegas wishes a wife who will grace the great house
and carry on the honors. Mamacita is very proud that he made the
offer. And the children will go up to the Mission to stay all the week
at the Sisters' School."
"And they must visit me sometimes. The new home is so much pleasanter.
I am going to school also, and I have some new friends. It is splendid
to be in the heart of the city." Then she told them about the day at
Russ's garden, and that on to-morrow, Monday, she was going out to
walk with hundreds of children.
The Spanish girl's eyes grew larger and larger at all the wonders.
They walked up and down with their arms about each other and were full
of childish happiness. Then Señora Estenega summoned them to
refreshments on the balcony, now a wilderness of roses. Uncle Jason
did not care much for the Spanish sweetmeats and candied fruits, the
freshly ripened ones were more to his taste and he had been quite
spoiled again by New England living. But he knew how to be polite.
It was quite dusk when they reached home. Olive Personette had been
over. They would call for her to-morrow, and she was to be dressed in
white, sure. It would be a greater thing than the German Festival.
And great it surely was! There had never been such an event in San
Francisco. There were over a thousand children, and each one carried a
bouquet of flowers. Miss Holmes had found some white ribbon and
trimmed her gypsy hat, and the little girl with her fair hair looked
like a lily. There were crowds of people in the streets to see them,
proud mothers and aunts. Each school had a distinctive banner, and
there was a band of music. The Queen of May wore a wreath, and so did
her maids of honor.
When they had gone through the principal thoroughfares and been
cheered enthusiastically, they moved to the schoolhouse on Broadway,
where they had a little sort of play dialogue, and sang some beautiful
songs. A few brief addresses were made, and San Francisco declared
itself proud of its children that day, the children who were to be the
future men and women of the city.
Then there was quite a feast, which the young people enjoyed mightily.
How they laughed and talked and declared they would not have missed it
for anything.
Afterward they dispersed. The Personette carriage was waiting, with
instructions to take home all it would hold, so they crowded in. And
at the gate stood Uncle Jason.
"Oh," the little girl exclaimed, with a tired sigh, "it was just
splendid. If you had only been there!"
"Do you think I would have missed it? I came up to see the procession
and I picked you out, walking with Olive. Why, I was as proud of you
as if you had been the Queen."
"But the Queen was lovely. And the play! I couldn't hear all of it,
there was such a crowd, and I had to stand up to see. Wasn't it good
of Olive to ask me! And she wanted to take me home to dinner."
"I couldn't have eaten dinner without you." He kissed her over and
over again. He was so glad to see her happy. Not that she was ever a
sad little girl.
Miss Holmes was very much improved and regretted she could not have
gone out to see the procession. Snippy had called, and all the cracker
bits were gone, but she had seen the wood doves carrying off some of
the crumbs.
"I guess Snippy has moved for good," said Uncle Jason. "It's rather
funny, too. You must have charmed him."
She gave a pleased laugh.
Nearly midnight of that happy day the bells rang out with their
dreadful alarm. Uncle Jason sprang up, and before he was dressed he
saw the blaze. Citizens turned out _en masse_. The Rassete House on
Sansome Street was in a sheet of flame. A fine five-story hotel, full
of lodgers, who had to flee for their lives. The firemen were quite
well organized now and made great efforts to keep it from spreading,
remembering the former big fires. In this they were quite successful.
Other generous people were taking in the four hundred homeless ones,
and it was found the next day that no lives had been lost, which was a
source of thanksgiving.
A little later there were some imposing ceremonies near the Presidio,
just at the foot of the hill. This was the commencement of the
Mountain Lake Water Works, a much-needed project. There were various
artesian wells, and water was brought in tanks from Sausalito, but the
supply was inadequate in case of fires and the city was growing so
rapidly. The rather curious Mountain Lake was not large, but a short
distance from its northern margin a stream of water gushed through the
ground, which was a great spring or a subterranean river from the
opposite shores. It was begun with great rejoicing, but like all large
undertakings it had progressed slowly.
Indeed, San Francisco had so many things on its hands. There were
plans for the State Marine Hospital and other benevolent institutions.
Churches too were urging demands on a generous people who felt they
must make an effort to redeem the standing of the city. The toughs had
been somewhat restrained, but the continual influx of miners with
their pouches of gold, ready for any orgies after having been deprived
of the amenities of social life, and the emigration from nearly all
quarters of the globe constituted a class very difficult to govern,
who drank, gambled, frequented dance houses, quarrelled, and scrupled
not at murder.
But of this side the little girl was to hear nothing, though Uncle
Jason was often shocked in spite of all his experiences. He was having
a warehouse down on the bay, fitting out vessels, disposing of
cargoes, and keeping the peace with one of those imperturbable
temperaments, grown wise by training of various sorts, and the deep
settled endeavor to make a fortune for the Little Girl. It did not
matter so much now, but when she grew up she should be a lady and have
everything heart could desire.
In a short street that came to be called Pine afterward, and was at
the head of the streets that were to be named after trees, there stood
quite a substantial brick building with some fine grounds. Here a Mrs.
Goddart and her sister, Miss Bain, kept a school for young girls and
smaller children, and had a few boarding scholars. The Personette
girls had gone there because it was near by, and out of the range of
the noisier part of the city. Howard was at the San Francisco Academy,
kept by a Mr. Prevaux, in quite a different direction. There was a
plan for a new public school on Telegraph Hill, but these were more
largely filled with boys, as is often the case in the youth of towns.
So the little girl went to Mrs. Goddart's and quite surprised her
teachers by her acquirements and her love of study. Perhaps, if she
had not lived so much alone she would have been more interested in
play and childish gossip. And her walks with Uncle Jason had brought
her into companionship not only with trees and flowers, but with
different countries of the world, and their products. Uncle Jason had
grafted upon a boy's common education the intelligence that travel and
business give, and though a quiet man he had taken a keen interest not
only in the resources of countries, but their governments as well, and
these things were the little girl's fairy stories. She would find the
places on the map, the Orient, the northern coast of Africa, the
country of the Turks, Arabia, India. A trading vessel goes from port
to port.
She liked her school very much, though she was rather shy of the
girls. Some of them called her a little prig because she would not
talk and was correct in her deportment. She found in the course of a
few days that Olive "squirmed" out of some things and did not always
tell the truth. Back in Maine children had been soundly whipped for
telling falsehoods and it was considered shameful; Miss Holmes was a
very upright person, of the old Puritan strain.
She was not finding fault, but she did want to know if a prig was
something rather disgraceful.
"It is never disgraceful to be honest in word and deed, to obey
whatever rules are set before you, to study honestly and not shirk. I
think the prig would set himself above his neighbors for this, but you
see he would only be doing his duty, he would have no extra claim.
But when he set himself up to be better than his neighbors and
triumphed over them, he would be a prig."
Her delicately pencilled brows worked a little.
"Some of them are ever so much prettier than I am," she said
innocently, "and they say such funny things, and their clothes are
very nice. Well, I like them. We have such fun playing at recess."
He remembered about the clothes and spoke to Miss Holmes.
"I do not think it best to dress a child so much for school. What will
she have afterward? And it does fill their heads with vanity."
He had given her a pretty ring for a birthday, and she had her
grandmother's string of gold beads that had come over from London with
some great, great-grandmother.
Snippy had settled himself quite comfortably, just where they could
not tell, and he had evidently coaxed his wife to emigrate. She was
not quite as handsome as he. Dick Folsom, who ran up every now and
then, said he was what was called a hare squirrel, on account of his
splendid feathery tail, though why, he couldn't see, as hares had
scarcely any tail at all. Snippy was so tame now, or else he was so
glad to be near the little girl, that he was not much afraid of
strangers if they did not offer to touch him. He would run around
Uncle Jason, and nose in his pockets until he found nuts or crumbs.
But he didn't like tobacco a bit and scolded in his funny way when he
came across that.
Pelajo was not forgotten, though he sometimes complained a little.
Uncle Jason said Miss Holmes must learn to ride. The big dray horse
was not fit for a lady, and though the Mexican and Indian women rode
mules and were very expert, they were not considered quite the thing.
There was a stream coming out in a sort of split rock up above the
place, and it made a kind of pool just below. In the autumn rains it
ran along down the slope of the ground, tumbling over the stones that
were in its way. Pablo and the little girl had made quite a pretty
waterfall and a new pond where the ducks could swim about. The upper
one they covered over and had for family use. Springs were not very
plentiful, and Uncle Jason believed this a little underground spur of
the Mountain Lake, as it never quite dried up.
And one Saturday, when Laverne was working at her stream, meaning to
make it more extensive when the rainy season set in, a great white
something fell at her very feet and gave such a screech that she
started and ran. It lay on the ground and fluttered and cried, so she
knew it was some kind of a bird and came nearer. It looked up at her
out of frightened black eyes, rose on one foot, flapped one wing, and
fell over again. Was it really a gull?
She called Pablo.
"Yes, Señorita, it is a gull. I never could get nearby one unless it
was shot. They are the wildest things. This have a leg broke," and he
picked up the limp member.
"Oh, the poor thing," softly stroking it.
"And wing too, see? Better kill it."
"Oh, no, no! Poor thing," she cried, full of sympathy.
"What then? He must die. He starve."
"No, we can feed him."
"But he eat fish."
"So do we. There is plenty of fish. And you catch so many. Can't you
do anything for him?"
Pablo lifted the leg again, and examined it.
"No--shot!" he exclaimed, shaking his head.
"Why couldn't you do it up in splints?"
"Not worth it," and he shook his head decisively. "And the wing too.
Yes, that's shot."
Laverne patted the poor thing, who screeched and tried to rise. How
soft the feathers were and snowy white, except about the neck that had
the faintest shade of blue. Then, suddenly, she picked it up in her
skirt, though it struggled. How light it was for such a large thing.
She had taken off her shoes and stockings while she was paddling in
the stream, and she ran down to the house not minding the rough path.
"Oh, see this poor gull!" she cried. "It just dropped down--out of the
clouds, I guess. There were no others around."
She laid it down on the patch of grass Miss Holmes took great pains
with for a bleachery.
"Poor thing!" said the lady pityingly.
"Better end him," and Pablo took hold of his neck.
"No, no, no! You shall not kill him. Poor fellow!" she cried.
He was gasping now, and then he lay quite still, exhausted.
"You could splint up his leg," said Miss Holmes. "You did the duck,
you know."
"That good for something. He squak and squak."
"Yes, you must splint it up," Laverne said, with decision. "I can find
some cord, and--what will you have?"
Pablo shrugged his shoulders and said something just under his breath
in pure Mexican, not quite the thing for a little girl to hear.
"And when Uncle Jason comes home we will see about the wing. Won't
this old basket make splints?"
Pablo went about his job unwillingly. Laverne wrapped him up so that
he could not kick with the other leg, and presently they had the
wounded member bandaged. The gull lay quite still, but Laverne saw the
frightened heart beat through the feathers.
Pablo raised the wing and shook his head dubiously.
"Uncle Jason is coming home early with the horses, you know," she said
to Miss Holmes. "Oh, my shoes and stockings!" and off she ran to the
spot where they had been at work. "Pablo can go on clearing this out,"
she said to herself. "It will be all ready when the rainy season sets
in. Oh, the poor flowers! Sun, why do you scorch them up so! And in
Maine the summer is so delightful. But the winter, oh!" and she made a
half wry, half amused face.
She was all ready when Uncle Jason came up the street on one horse and
leading the other; and all eagerness, she was telling her story while
he dismounted and fastened them both.
"That's funny," he said. "Next a black bear will come knocking at your
door. Or you might snare a silver-gray fox and have a tippet made of
his skin."
"As if I could be so cruel!"
The gull had hardly moved. Now, it seemed frightened at the strange
face and struggled. Uncle Jason spoke softly, and lifted the wounded
wing which was considerably shattered.
"I suppose it _could_ be mended, but there are hundreds of gulls."
"This one came straight to me. Why, he fairly asked me to take pity on
him;" and she drew an eager breath.
She was a very sympathetic little girl, and he smiled.
Some shot had better be taken out. He opened the small blade of his
knife. It was not a really fresh wound, for the blood was dry. He
picked out the shot, scraped the pieces of bone a trifle, and studied
how they were to go together, Pablo holding the body tight. He pulled
out some of the downy feathers, pinched the skin together, wound it
with threads of soft silk and then bound it up with splints.
"Poor thing," he said.
"Don't you believe he will get over it? Oh, what if he never could fly
again."
"Then he will have to live with you."
"Oh, I should like that if he would only be content."
Then they put him in a tub so he could not flounder around much, and
laid some bits of meat near him. Pablo was to keep watch so that no
evil would happen.
Miss Holmes had hardly mounted a horse since girlhood. She did feel a
little timid.
"She's a lady's mount and very gentle. Old knowledge soon comes back
to one," Uncle Jason said, with an encouraging smile.
They took their way up on the cliff, where there was a pretence of a
road that long afterward was to be magnificent. From here the town
was a succession of terraces to the bay. The houses were in many
instances hidden, but here and there a high one, or a church, loomed
up.
On the ocean side it was simply magnificent. The wave-washed rocks
glinting in the brilliant sunlight, the seals diving, swimming about
as if they were at play, then coming up to sun themselves, the flocks
of gulls, the terns, the murres, and the fulmars, who expertly catch
fish from the gulls, the auks, diving and swimming about. To-day
almost every variety seemed out.
The air was like the wine of a new life and made the blood tingle in
the veins. The midday heat was over, the west wind bore the tang of
the broad ocean. Miss Holmes wondered if she had ever known before
this just what life was, and the joy of living.