cut out for any such work. I'm not forgetting what I owe Miss Jane.
She's been a good friend to us both. I was sorry to hear down in
Trinidad about your mortgaging your house that time, Miss Combs. Yes,
I'm downright ashamed to think I've let you pay me month by month for
Lola's services, when really you were out of pocket for her schooling
and all. But I didn't realize how things were, and now we'll level
things up."
"My services!" Lola sprang to her feet. Everything was clear enough
now. No need to summon charity for Jane's shortcomings! No need to
overlook, to palliate, to forgive! Jane's fault had been merely too
lavish a generosity, too large a love. There had been no question with
her of property. She had simply given everything she had to a forsaken,
ungrateful child--home, food, raiment, schooling.
These were the facts. The flood of unutterable feeling which swept over
Lola as the knowledge of it all flashed upon her was something deeper
than thought, something more moving than any mere matter of perception.
A passionate gratitude throbbed in her heart, confused with a
passionate self-reproach. She desired to speak, but somehow her lips
refused utterance. She trembled and turned white, and stood wringing
her hands.
"I was always a generous man," said Mr. Keene, lost to his daughter's
looks in pleasant introspection, "and I mean to do right by you, Miss
Combs. You'll find I'm not ungrateful. Lola'll always write to you,
too, wherever we are. I'm thinking some of Paris. How'd that suit you,
Lola? A person can pick up a mighty good time over there, they say. And
bonnets--how many bonnets can you manage, Lola? Why, she looks kind of
stunned, don't she, Miss Combs?"
Jane was gazing at the girl. She knew well with what force the blow so
long averted had fallen at last. In her own breast she seemed to feel
the pain with which Lola had received her father's revelations.
"Lola," she cried, leaning forward, "don't feel so, my lamb! I'm sorry
you had to know this. I tried hard to keep it from you. But it's all
out now, and you must try to bear it. Your father don't realize--he
hasn't meant to hurt you. He's fond of you, dearie. And he's going to
take you to foreign lands, and you can see all the great pictures and
statues, and have a chance to learn all the things you spoke
of--designing and such. Don't look so, my child!"
Mr. Keene began to feel highly uncomfortable. Evidently, in his own
phrase, he had "put his foot into it;" he had said too much. He had
disclosed fallacies in himself of which Lola, it seemed, knew nothing.
And now Lola, who had received him with such flattering warmth, was
turning her face away and looking strange and stern and stricken.
Nor did Miss Combs seem fairly to have grasped the liberality of his
intentions. She, too, had a curious air of not being exalted in any way
by so much good fortune. She appeared to be engaged solely in trying to
reconcile Lola to a situation which Mr. Keene considered dazzling.
Altogether it was very disturbing, especially to a man who did not
understand what he had done to bring about so unpleasant a turn. He
was about to ask some explanation, when Lola said slowly, "And you,
_tia_, you have done so much for me that you have nothing left? Is that
so?"
"I don't need much, Lola. I'll be all right. Don't you worry."
"You won't mind living here alone and poor?"
"She won't be poor, Lola," interpolated Mr. Keene. "Haven't I said so?
And you can come and see her, you know. Everything will come out all
right."
Lola turned a little toward him, and he was glad to see that her eyes
were soft and gentle and that the stern look had disappeared. "Yes,"
she said, "it will come out all right for tia, because I shall be here
to see that it does."
She caught her breath and added, "You couldn't think I should be
willing to go away and leave her like this? Even if I hadn't heard how
much more she has done for me than I dreamed? For I have been ignorant
till now of many things; but I shouldn't have forgotten that she loved
me and had reared me and cared for me when there was no one else. No,
father, no! And now that you have let me find out what I owe her, do
you think I sha'n't remember it always with every beat of my heart? Oh,
yes--although I can never repay her for all she has suffered in keeping
me from knowing things which would have hurt me too much when I was
little and--and could not make allowances--as I can now. My home is
here. My heart is here, father. You must let me stay!"
She had taken Jane's hand and was holding it closely--that happy hand
which for very blessedness and amazement trembled more than her own.
And so holding it, she cried, "_Tia_, you want me to stay, don't you?
Say yes! Tell him I may stay! It is my home where you are. And oh, how
different I will be!"
Jane, listening, could only press those slender, clinging fingers in
speechless comfort, and look up silently into the imploring eyes of her
child--eyes filled with tears and love. A moment of silence ensued.
Then, clearing his throat suddenly, Mr. Keene rose and walked to the
window.
"Lola," he said presently, turning to face the two others, "I don't
blame you one bit. Miss Jane's done a heap more for you than I had any
notion. 'Tisn't only that she's done all you say, but she's raised you
to be a girl I'm proud of--a right-minded, right-hearted girl. I never
thought how it would look for you to be willing to rush off at the
first word and leave behind you the person you owed most to in the
world! But I'm free to say I wouldn't have liked it when I come to
think of it. I wouldn't have felt proud of you like I do now. Knocking
around the foot-hills has shaken me up pretty well, but I know what's
right as well as any man. There's things in my life I'd like to forget;
but they say it's never too late to mend. And I have hopes of myself
when I see what a noble girl my daughter's turned out."
[Illustration: "'TIA, YOU ARE A LADY OF FORTUNE!'"]
He put his handkerchief away and came and stood before them, adding, "I
haven't had a chance to finish my other story. When Miss Jane gave me
that grub-stake she didn't know, I reckon, that half of anything I
might strike would belong to her--that in law, grub-stakes always means
halves! But I never had any intention of not dealing fair and square.
So when I said she wasn't going to be poor, I meant it! For half 'the
Little Lola' belongs to her. And if she's willing, I'll just run the
mine for the next year or so, and after that we can talk about
traveling."
Mr. Keene, during the past hour, had been made sensible of certain
deficiencies in himself. No one had accused him or reproached him, yet
he felt chagrined as he saw his own conduct forcibly contrasted with
the conduct of a different sort. But now, as his daughter sent a
beaming glance toward him, his spirits rose again, and he began once
more to regard himself hopefully, as a man who, despite some failings,
was honest in the main, and generous and well-meaning.
"Oh, how glad I am!" said Lola. "_Tia, tia_, do you hear? You are a
lady of fortune and must have a velvet gown! And, oh, _tia_, a tall,
silver comb in your hair!" She dropped a sudden kiss down upon the
smooth, brown bands, and added in a deeper tone, "But nothing, nothing,
can make you better or dearer!"
Jane smiled uncertainly as if she were in a dream. Could this
unlooked-for, bewildering satisfaction be indeed real, and not a
visionary thing which would presently fade? She looked about. There
was actuality in the scene. The cottonwoods rustled crisply, Alejandro
Vigil was calling to his dog, and the tinkle of his herd stole softly
upon her ear. The great hills rose majestic as of old upon the glorious
western sky; the plains stretched off in silvery, sea-like waves to the
very verge of the world. And hard by many a familiar thing spoke of a
past which she knew; pots of geraniums, muslin shades and open piano.
There, too, was Mr. Keene, sitting at ease in his chair; there was
Lola, bending over her in smiling reassurance. And finally, there was
Tesuque himself regarding her from his shelf in an Olympian calm which
no merely mortal emotion could touch or stir. Tesuque's little bowl was
still empty, but in his adobe glance Jane suddenly grew aware how truly
her own cup overflowed.
[THE END]
A PRAIRIE INFANTA
By EVA WILDEER BRODHEAD
A clever Western story that develops in a little Colorado mining town.
One is made to see the green, tall cottonwoods, the straggling
mud-houses and pungent goat-corrals of its people, among whom lived the
woman who took to her great heart the motherless Lola.
The tropical brilliancy of the girl, by reason of her red frock and the
red ribbons in her hair, excites the jealousy of the little Mexicans
and the paler children from the mining end of the town, and in their
disapproval they style her "Infanta." The story of the girl's life is
charmingly told, and eventually, her father, a man who, despite some
failings, is generous and well-meaning, reappears in the character of a
wealthy mine owner, and brings the story to an unlooked for and happy
termination.
Cloth, ornamental, illustrated, 50 cents
WITCHERY WAYS
By AMOS R. WELLS
PICTURES BY L. J. BRIDGMAN
Children may well be grateful to the forgotten people who, long ago,
first invented fairy tales. Mr. Wells confesses, in the preface to this
book, that he has a very tender regard for the "Little People," as
fairies used to be called in those days, and now he has given us, under
the title of "Witchery Ways," some fairy tales of his own which will
prove a never-ending delight to every reader.
Cloth, ornamental, illustrated, 50 cents
SONNY BOY
By SOPHIE SWETT
Sonny Boy was ten years old. His name was Peter, but his mother thought
that too large a name for a small boy.
Aunt Kate, one of the "right kind," is lonesome in her new house
without any young people, and borrows Sonny Boy for six months. The lad
has a happy visit and many pleasant experiences, learning the while
some helpful lessons. Delightedly one reads of Otto and the white mice;
Lena and the parrot, the wild man of the circus, and Sonny Boy's
ambition to command the Poppleton Guards, but Miss Swett tells the
story, and when that is said, nothing remains but to enjoy the book.
Cloth, ornamental, handsomely illustrated, 50 cents
HENRY ALTEMUS CO., PHILADELPHIA
A GOURD FIDDLE
By GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE
A little colored boy, the sole orphaned remainder of a long line of
masters of the violin, alone of the army of negroes who had borne the
family name, is left to wait upon the old mistress and Miss Patrice at
the "Great House."
Miss Patrice teaches Orphy to sing the chants and anthems in the
service of the little church where he was baptized, and with her voice
new airs for his violin. Plantation songs he knew and rendered with a
pleasing coloring.
After the death of his teacher Orphy falls upon hard times, but
eventually his talent is recognized by a professor of music who takes
him to Europe, and there, under peculiar circumstances, he plays on his
home-made gourd fiddle before no less a personage than Her Majesty,
Queen Victoria.
Cloth, ornamental, handsomely illustrated, 50 cents
BUMPER AND BABY JOHN
By ANNA CHAPIN RAY
PICTURES BY CURTIS WAGER-SMITH
An irresistibly humorous relation of the haps and mishaps of the
homeliest, yet most dependable dog in the world, and a delightful
red-haired and freckled child, whose united ages did not exceed seven
years.
But apart from the humor of the book, it is alive with human interest,
and there is pathos as well. And this is not to forget the artist in
praise of the author; the illustrations could not have been confided to
a better hand.
Cloth, ornamental, illustrated, 50 cents
A LITTLE ROUGH RIDER
By TUDOR JENKS
Author of "Galopoff, the Talking Pony," "Gypsy, the Talking Dog," etc.
PICTURES BY REGINALD B. BIRCH
Under the title of "A Little Rough Rider" the author tells the story of
a little girl, who, as Señorita Finette, the _equestrienne_, saved the
fortunes of a circus during the early years of the gold-fever in
California. Her charming feats on the back of her trained horse,
Blanco, win fame and fortune for herself as well, the latter being
augmented later by the discovery of gold on certain lands.
Cloth, ornamental, illustrated, 50 cents
HENRY ALTEMUS CO., PHILADELPHIA
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes
Page 43: Changed Sanish to Spanish:
(who knew Sanish best, being a bronco from the south).
End of Project Gutenberg's A Prairie Infanta, by Eva Wilder Brodhead