them only the last of his marvelous adventures, omitting the secret of
the divining-rod entirely.
When he had finished, he asked them what luck they had had.
Nothing very good, they replied. Some placer diggings of a little
promise, but their fortunes were not yet made.
Ching Chong went out with them, and entered again upon the hard life of
prospecting. Many months passed on in the same old way, and again Ching
Chong began to feel very much disheartened. Four years and a half had
gone, and still he was poor, no nearer the realization of his dreams
than ever.
The intense longing for home was ever gnawing in his heart. He thought
sadly of the old merchant who awaited his return, and sighed often as
he dreamed of the beautiful Ah Zore.
Again he resolved to follow the guiding of the divining-rod, hoping for
greater success than in his former expedition.
Again he started at nightfall, without saying any thing to his
companions.
He had provided himself with a sack of food, which he carried, with his
pick and shovel, upon his shoulders.
He was young, healthy, and accustomed to the hardships of a mountain
life.
For hours he walked on as the divining-rod guided him, until near
morning, when, overcome with fatigue, he threw himself upon the ground
among the thick sage brush, and soon fell asleep.
A thousand golden imaginings mingled with his dreams, and, when he
awoke with the sunshine pouring its flood of warmth and light upon him,
he rose full of bright hopes, ate his scanty breakfast, and started
upon his way with a happy heart.
Thus he wandered on for several days, carefully examining every ledge
of rocks that he passed over.
His stock of food was nearly exhausted. The divining-rod and his
hopeful nature urged him on, but his dread of a lonely death in the
mountains warned him to return.
One night he struck a fire in a lonely place, and sat down to eat his
supper, just as the twilight gave place to the stars of night.
He was getting quite disheartened. "I must start for the camp in the
morning," he said to himself, "'Tis no use of trying any longer."
He fell into a sad train of musing, from which he was aroused by the
soft tinkling of a silver bell, and looking up he saw before him the
dwarf Chinaman.
He wore the round hat, blue blouse, big pants, and pointed shoes of the
Celestials, and his words fell upon Ching Chong's ear in the language
of his native tongue. His face was wrinkled and sad-looking, yet there
was a kindliness in its expression, and Ching Chong's heart warmed as
he pleasantly asked, "Why so sorrowful to-night, my boy?"
Then Ching Chong told his story.
When he had finished the dwarf said: "Be thankful that you did not
attempt to carry away any of the treasure."
"If you had taken but one ounce of gold the wand would have lost its
power in your hand, and you would have been the slave of the giant as
long as you lived, and after death your bones would have whitened the
floor of the mountain cavern, instead of reposing in the dear native
land."
"Your industry and perseverance shall now be rewarded. Lie down and
sleep to-night upon this soft turf. In the morning rise and follow the
direction of the divining-rod, and where it points downward strike your
pick."
"Now good-night, my boy. In the days of your prosperity, sometimes
think kindly of the poor dwarf of the mountains."
Before Ching Chong could reply, he found himself alone, and though he
looked round carefully, he could not discover where, or how the dwarf
had disappeared. So he lay down, and was soon sleeping soundly.
In the morning he rose early, and following the direction of his wand,
stopped where it pointed downward, and striking a blow with his pick,
turned up a beautiful pure nugget of gold.
He marked the spot, and collecting a few specimens, returned to the
camp.
Again his companions surrounded him to hear his story.
No one but the poor, toiling miner can understand the excitement and
delight of the weary prospectors, as they listened to him, and examined
his specimens.
"Now, boys," said Ching Chong, "you have been the sharers of my bad
luck, and you shall share my good fortune."
"There is gold enough for all."
Then the happy miners all shook hands with Ching Chong, saying a hearty
"God bless you, boy," while the tears glistened in their eyes, as they
thought of the dear ones in distant lands.
That night they all dreamed golden dreams, full of love and happiness.
In the morning they all went together to the newly discovered treasure,
which proved to be a large tract of the richest placer-diggings ever
known.
In six months they were all rich men, and left the mountains for their
different homes, blessing forever Ching Chong Chinaman.
About that time a good ship sailed for China, and on the deck sat the
happy Ching Chong, and all his great wealth was on board.
After a prosperous voyage, he reached his dear, native land, and
was able to give his friend the merchant, an account of himself, so
satisfactory that he rewarded him with the hand of his daughter, the
beautiful Ah Zore, and in all Hong Kong there could not be found a
happier man than Ching Chong Chinaman.
ZALETTA.
Once upon a time there lived in a little cane hut on the borders of a
hacienda, a poor old Mexican woman and her grandchild.
The parents of the little one were both dead, and the old woman
maintained herself and the child by spinning, sewing, and washing for
the rich Spaniards, to whom all the fine houses and cultivated lands of
the country belonged.
The mother of the child had been a beautiful señorita of good family.
She foolishly loved and married the poor but light-hearted Mexican, who
would have given his life for her, but could not shield her from the
misfortunes which poverty and sickness brought upon them.
After the birth of her little daughter, she died, and very soon the
father was lost in a fearful storm at sea; so the child was left
alone in the world, with none to care for her but the silver-haired
grandmother, and no home but the little cane hut.
For some years every thing went pleasantly with the child; she had
never known luxury, her necessities were supplied, she returned the
fond devotion of the old grandmother, with the ardor of her Southern
nature; and, all day long, her innocent voice, full of childish
happiness, woke cheerful echoes around the little hut.
One night, when she was about ten years old, the old woman fell sick.
She felt the dim shadows creeping over her spirit, and her strength
growing less; and calling the child to her side, she said, feebly: "I
have nothing but a well-worn distaff and the poor hut to give you.
The Holy Virgin pity and protect you; you have been a good child to
your old grandmother." Then she kissed her, and blessing her, bade her
good-night, adding: "Never forget to say your prayers before you go to
sleep. God bless you, my poor, poor child."
The grandmother turned her face to the wall, and folded her thin hands
as if in prayer, and Zaletta crept softly into bed beside her, feeling
very sad; but soon her innocent heart was happy, roaming through the
pleasant land of dreams. In the morning, Zaletta slept till the sun
rose above the hills, and cast its glowing warmth down into the shaded
valleys, then woke full of life and joyousness.
There lay the grandmother just as she had last seen her the night
before. "She sleeps long this morning, the dear old grandmother,"
said she to herself, as she moved round quietly, preparing the scanty
breakfast.
When it was all ready, she became impatient, and laid her little warm
hand upon the old woman's arm. Cold, very cold, the poor child found
her, and motionless. She would never move again.
Zaletta called her, sobbing and weeping, but there was no reply. The
heart so ready to sympathize with all her childish sorrows was at rest.
The old grandmother had died, praying for the little lonely child, who
had been dearer than all the world to her.
The next day the people from the hacienda came and buried the old
woman. After the last sod was cast upon the grave, the innkeeper's wife
took the child by the hand, saying: "Poor little thing, she can not
stay here alone, I will take her home with me;" and she smoothed the
tangled hair of the helpless orphan with her hand, and in her harder
heart she thought, "By and by this girl may be made of great service to
me, and even now I'll see that she earns all that she eats and wears."
She was very careful to take to the inn with her, all the poor little
hut contained. "'Tis but little," she said, "but I'll take it for the
child." All the neighbors said it was kind in the innkeeper's wife, and
the rich señor, to whom the whole hacienda belonged, gave her a shining
gold-piece, saying: "'Tis for your charity."
The cold-hearted woman went home, leading by the hand a little weeping
child, very desolate and sorrowful.
The innkeeper was naturally a kind man, but he had become too indolent
and corpulent to resist the strong will of his termagant wife. "When he
saw the sad-eyed little one that she had brought home, he brushed away
a tear with his big brown hand, and determined to save the unfortunate
from all trouble, as much as he could; but when he thought of his
wife's cruel disposition, he earnestly wished her in other hands.
"Poor little thing! poor little thing!" he said, pityingly, and calling
his own little boy and girl to him, he placed her trembling hands in
theirs, adding: "Here is a sister for you, be kind to her, my children."
The daughter drew her hand away, and curled her lip in scorn. She was
like her mother, proud and cold in her nature, and, looking at the
coarse clothes of the child, she said: "Ah, no, papa, she is only fit
for a servant. Sister, indeed!" and she shook the skirts of her pretty
muslin dress, and ran away.
The boy felt the manhood dawning in his heart, as he saw the tears
glistening in the pretty dark eyes of the silent child, and the little
red lips quivered with suppressed emotion.
"She shall be my sister, papa," said he, softly, as he took her by the
hand, and led her out in the clear sunshine. Children understand each
other best, thought the old man, as he sat watching them, while they
walked up and down the garden together, talking pleasantly.
Soon the mother's sharp eye detected them, and with a harsh voice she
bade the little girl haste to the kitchen, and see if she could not
help the cook prepare the supper.
Then she called the young Guilerme to her, saying: "I hope to make a
rich señor of you, my son, though your father is only an innkeeper. We
are making money, and every year increases our gains. There is good
blood in my veins, and I am determined to raise my children above my
present condition. For this I save every thing. Every thing! For we
must have money; but remember, my son, I would not have you notice that
miserable girl I have brought here for a servant; by and by she may do
for your sister's maid; now she is the kitchen scullion."
Thus began the days of servitude and sorrow for the young Zaletta.
The inn was a spacious adobe house, with an open court in the center,
and surrounded on all sides by a broad piazza. The kitchen and
store-rooms were upon one side, while the receiving and sleeping rooms
were on the other sides of the square.
The hacienda was in the southern part of California, where though
the warmth of the days produces many kinds of tropical fruits, the
evenings are often quite chilly, and the excessive heat of the noon-day
renders all very susceptible to cold. In the large receiving-room (with
the bar at one side), on such nights, a cheerful fire always burned,
and there all the guests of the house assembled, and talked over the
news of the day. Sometimes 'twas of the discovery of a rich gold mine,
but often 'twas of a fearful robbery in the wood.
After all the work was done in the kitchen, Zaletta would steal
silently into the receiving-room, listening to the conversation, and
warming her chilled feet and hands before going to her miserable bed in
the out-house.
This did not please the señora. It did not look respectable to have the
miserable child about, she would say; but in this the innkeeper was
resolute. "The little one should warm herself before going to bed." So
Zaletta came in at evenings, but very quietly.
Guilerme was always kind to her; indeed never a day passed but
something nice found its way to the hiding-place in the out-house, so
that the child was never hungry.
He brought her the ripest bananas, and the sweetest oranges, and when
she would look up to him, with her soft eyes dewy with love and thanks,
he would kiss her brown cheek, and say: "Never mind, little one, you
shall be _señora_ one of these days." Then they would laugh and be
happy, till the mother's sharp voice would ring through the house,
calling the unfortunate to some new task.
The sister was changeful in her treatment to Zaletta. Sometimes she
would call her pleasantly to come and play with her, but very soon
she would become angry and strike her, calling her "only a pitiful
servant." Then the mother would whip Zaletta for making her little
mistress angry. The father and Guilerme always took her part, making
the mother more displeased than ever.
One day, when Guilerme was about fourteen years old, and the girls
were twelve, the mother called the boy to her, telling him in two
weeks a vessel would sail from the nearest sea-port for the Atlantic
States, and that, he must be ready to take passage in her, for she
had determined to send him to New York to school. "Your father is now
rich," she said, "and you must be educated like other rich men's sons."
Poor little Zaletta! What a blow it was to her. Her best friend going
away so far over the waters. When he told her the morning before he
sailed what his mother had said, her pretty dark eyes filled with
tears, and she sobbed bitterly.
"Listen to me," said the boy, soothingly; "I have something to tell
you, and must be quick, or mamma will call me before I can finish. You
know I am going away to be educated like a gentleman, and shall want
a lady for my wife; so you must study hard to become one, for I am
determined to marry you as soon as I come back. I have taught you to
read, and you will find all my books in the hiding-place, where I have
left them for you, and you must study hard and see how beautiful you
can grow while I am gone, for I shall make you the greatest lady in
the hacienda;" and he took the little eager face between his hands and
kissed it with much affection. Just then the mother called, "Guilerme!
Guilerme!" so he kissed her again, and said, "remember, my little
wife," and was off in a moment.
That night Zaletta wept herself to sleep, and many succeeding nights;
but she did not forget to study very hard, and though she labored under
great difficulties, her progress was wonderful. She was working for the
approval of the only one that loved her since the dear silver-haired
grandmother died. After Guilerme went away the señora took Zaletta into
the house as maid for her young daughter, who every day was growing
more proud and selfish.
For some years the innkeeper had been greatly prospered. The family had
used economy in all things until they had amassed considerable wealth.
"Now," said the señora, "the children are growing up, and we must not
spare the money—they must have position." She engaged a governess to
teach her daughter, and a master to give her lessons on the harp and
guitar.
Zaletta always sat in the room with the young señorita, and listened
eagerly to every word the teachers uttered, though her hands were busy
with her needle.
Every day she grew in knowledge and beauty. Her dark eyes were soft as
a fawn's, and her pure olive cheek glowed with a clear rose-tint, while
her form and features were cast in beauty's most exquisite mold. Both
mother and daughter were often cruelly unkind to her, more especially
when they saw that her beauty, and innocent sweetness of manner,
attracted more attention than all the young señorita's fine clothes
and accomplishments. The señorita was pretty and full of airs and
graces, but Zaletta, in her coarse dress, was far more lovely. Every
day increased the envy of the mother and daughter, and new and harder
tasks were invented for the weary little hands to perform.
One sultry afternoon all three sat upon the piazza of the inner court.
A ship had arrived from New York, with letters from Guilerme, and a
large box, filled with beautiful fabrics for dresses, shawls, and
ornaments, for the mother and daughter; but Zaletta received nothing,
not even a word of kind remembrance.
All the long night before she had wept. Guilerme, the gentleman, had
forgotten the poor maid; but she, alas! remembered him too well.
The mother and daughter sat looking over their treasures with great
delight, and for the time she was unnoticed. Stitching away upon a
beautiful organdie muslin, at last overcome by fatigue, loss of sleep,
and the excessive heat, she fell asleep, and in her dreams she called
out in a piteous tone, "Guilerme! Guilerme!" and the tears ran down her
pale cheeks.
"What is she saying?" said the mother. She rose and looked at her, and
again she called, "Guilerme! Guilerme!"
"Hear her, mamma," exclaimed the enraged daughter, "I'll give her a
lesson for her impertinence," and she raised her hand to strike the
sleeping girl.
"Stop, daughter," said the mother, softly, with a malicious smile, "we
can do better. The foolish Guilerme has sent her a letter and presents
of books. The letter I have burned. The books you can do as you like
with, but I have a present for la señorita, she will not like, perhaps."
She shook the young girl roughly by the arm, saying, "What, sleeping
over your work. Wake, and hear what Guilerme says. He sends you this!"
The señora held out to the young girl a coarse apron, such as the lower
servants wore. "He hopes his sister will train you to be a good servant
for you must know he is in love with a rich and beautiful señorita,
and though they are both young now, it is thought best for them to be
married before his return, which will be in about two years."
"Mamma, what is the matter with her? How pale she looks!" cried the
affrighted daughter, as Zaletta with closed eyes sank fainting upon the
floor.
"She has fainted, the miserable beggar. To try to creep into my family,
and to think that foolish boy should talk of love to her. I'll fix them
both," and in her anger the señora and her daughter left Zaletta lying
cold and pale upon the floor.
Evening came on, with the calm, silver light of the stars, before
Zaletta recovered. At first she could not remember what had happened,
and then it all rushed upon her, a mighty flood of sorrow.
"Guilerme has forgotten me! I remember now: this apron for the servant
of his bride. Ah! Guilerme! Guilerme!" Wrapping the apron about her
neck, she rushed out into the night. "I cannot stay in this house
another night. It will kill me!" she said, and she hurried on as though
she could fly from her great sorrow.
At last she came to a deep wood, and, after wandering about till
her wearied limbs refused to carry her any further, she saw a light
glimmering through the trees, and pressing on she came to a little
cottage.
Looking in at the window she saw an old woman at her distaff spinning.
The faggots upon the hearth burned brightly, and lighted up the little
room, but especially the face of the old woman shone with the glow
of a kind heart. Timidly she knocked at the door, but there was no
reply. Then she knocked again louder, and the old woman called out in a
cracked voice: "Who knocks at my door so late in the night!"
"Only a poor maiden, who has no home, no friend on earth. I pray you,
good woman, let me in. The night is cold, and the starlight chills me.
I am so tired! so tired! Good mother, let me in!"
The old woman opened the door and led her in. She sat down in the
corner, gazing silently into the fire and wondering why the good Lord
in pity did not let her die; and big tears ran down her pale cheeks.
The old woman baked a fresh tortilla and gave it to her with a cup of
milk.
"Eat, child," she said gently, "you are hungry," and she laid her hand
on the bowed head, saying again: "There! there! eat, child! and sleep
away the sorrow of youth which is fleeting as the dew of morning."
Then she turned away and commenced spinning and singing in a low,
monotonous tone, which was strangely soothing, while Zaletta ate
her supper, and soon the sad, weary maiden fell asleep by the warm,
pleasant fireside.
For some time the old woman went on spinning and singing, till another
knock came at the door, and again she said: "Who knocks at my door so
late in the night?" "'Tis I, mother," replied a thick, rough voice.
She opened the door to a most curious looking dwarf. He was round
shouldered and thick set, with heavy, black hair covering his forehead,
and shaggy brows meeting over his eyes.
"How fared thee, to-day, son?"
"I haven't struck the lode yet, mother," said the dwarf, cheerfully,
"but I am sure the mine is rich. See what I have picked up among the
loose rocks!"
He handed her a small nugget of gold, almost pure, and turned to the
corner to put down his pick and shovel. "But who have we here? A young
girl, and very pretty," he added, looking admiringly upon the sleeping
maiden.
"Only a poor friendless child, who came to the door a little while ago,
weeping and asking shelter," answered the woman.
"Treat her kindly, mother; she will be company for you, and by-and-by I
may marry her, but I have no time to think of women now."
The dwarf sat down to the hot supper the mother had prepared for him,
and ate heartily, for he was very hungry. Then he drew his chair near
the fire, and sat for sometime looking dreamily into its glowing
embers.
"I must strike the lode soon," he mused. "Oh, my rich gold mine; it
must come at last." Then he rose, saying, kindly, "Good night, mother,"
and climbed up into the little loft, where in a few minutes he was
sleeping soundly.
The old woman woke Zaletta, and they retired for the night, sleeping in
the same bed.
In the morning Zaletta was awakened by a kind voice calling, "Get up
now, daughter, and help me to prepare my son's breakfast, he has been
at work for an hour, and will soon come in very hungry."
Zaletta rose quickly and helped to prepare a breakfast of fresh
tortillas nicely browned, fried plantain, and venison, which, with
plenty of ripe fruit and goat's milk, made a repast fit for a prince.
Soon the dwarf came in, so smiling and cheerful, that though Zaletta
thought him the ugliest looking person she ever saw, she felt sure
his heart was in the right place. "You are welcome, my pretty girl,"
he said, "but don't mind me; I've no time to compliment women, though
by-and-by, when I strike a rich lode, I may marry you."
Zaletta's face flushed a deep crimson, and she looked as though that
would be any thing but desirable; but she made no reply, and in a
moment the dwarf seemed to have forgotten her presence, and she became
more comfortable.
Two years passed by and Zaletta remained at the cottage, helping the
old mother, who was very fond of her, and reading books with which the
dwarf kept her constantly supplied. All this time he was working hard
in his mine, but could not "strike the rich lode." Sometimes he grew
quite disheartened, then he would be joyous and hopeful, and would say
to Zaletta: "Though I have no time to think of women now, by-and-by,
when I am rich, I will marry you." She soon got used to this, and only
laughed, for he was always very kind to her, and she learned to look
upon him as a brother.
One dark night in the rainy season she and the mother sat by the fire
waiting for the dwarf to come in to his supper. The old woman was
spinning, and Zaletta reading a pleasant book of travels.
"My poor boy," sighed the old mother. "How it rains; he will be wet
through. Oh, dear! I fear he will never be able to strike the rich
lode." Just then a loud knock came at the door. "Who knocks at my door
so late in the night," said the old woman.
A voice, young, strong, and pure, answered, sending all the warm blood
from Zaletta's heart to her face: "A stranger, belated and lost in the
wood, begs for shelter from the storm."
The old woman opened the door, and Guilerme—dear, handsome Guilerme,
dripping with rain, and very cold, entered.