dispatch, and sent one, telling him that you were all right,and that he need not hurry here on your account. So you are satisfied,I hope." A few hours ago this would have been true, and Rose would haveprobably seen in the action of her hostess only a flattering motherlysupervision; there was, in fact, still a lingering trace of trust in hermind yet she was conscious that she would have preferred to answer thedispatch herself, and to have let her father come. To a girl broughtup with a belief in the right of individual independence of thought andaction, there was something in Mrs. Randolph's practical ignoring ofthat right which startled her in spite of her new conservatism, while,as the daughter of a business man, her instincts revolted against Mrs.Randolph's unbusiness-like action with the telegram, however vulgar andunrefined she may have begun to consider a life of business. Theresult was a certain constraint and embarrassment in her manner, which,however, had the laudable effect of limiting Emile's attention tosignificant glances, and was no doubt variously interpreted by theothers. But she satisfied her conscience by determining to make aconfidence of her sympathy to the major on the first opportunity.
This she presently found when the others were preoccupied; the majorgreeting her with a somewhat careworn face, but a voice whose habitualkindness was unchanged. When he had condoled with her on the terrifyingphenomenon that had marred her visit to the ranch,--and she could nothelp impatiently noticing that he too seemed to have accepted his wife'stheory that she had been half deliriously frightened,--he regretted thather father had not concluded to come down to the ranch, as his practicaladvice would have been invaluable in this emergency. She was about toeagerly explain why, when it occurred to her that Mrs. Randolph had onlygiven him a suppressed version of the telegram, and that she would bebetraying her, or again taking sides in this partisan divided home.With some hesitation she at last alluded to the accident to the artesianwell. The major did not ask her how she had heard of it; it was a badbusiness, he thought, but it might not be a total loss. The water mayhave been only diverted by the shock and might be found again at thelower level, or in some lateral fissure. He had sent hurriedly for TomBent--that clever young engineer at the wheat ranch, who was alwaysstudying up these things with his inventions--and that was his opinion.No, Tom was not a well-digger, but it was generally known that he had"located" one or two, and had long ago advised the tapping of that flowby a second boring, in case of just such an emergency. He was comingagain to-morrow. By the way, he had asked how the young lady visitorwas, and hoped she had not been alarmed by the earthquake!
Rose felt herself again blushing, and, what was more singular, with anunexpected and it seemed to her ridiculous pleasure, although outwardlyshe appeared to ignore the civility completely. And she had nointention of being so easily placated. If this young man thought by mereperfunctory civilities to her HOST to make up for his clownishness toHER, he was mistaken. She would let him see it when he called to-morrow.She quickly turned the subject by assuring the major of her sympathy andher intention of sending for her father. For the rest of the afternoonand during their al fresco dinner she solved the difficulty of herstrained relations with Mrs. Randolph and Emile by conversing chieflywith the major, tacitly avoiding, however, any allusion to this Mr.Bent. But Mrs. Randolph was less careful.
"You don't really mean to say, major," she began in her dryest,grittiest manner, "that instead of sending to San Francisco for someskilled master-mechanic, you are going to listen to the vagaries of aconceited, half-educated farm-laborer, and employ him? You might as wellcall in some of those wizards or water-witches at once." But the major,like many other well-managed husbands who are good-humoredly contentto suffer in the sunshine of prosperity, had no idea of doing so inadversity, and the prospect of being obliged to go back to youthfulstruggles had recalled some of the independence of that period. Helooked up quietly, and said:--
"If his conclusions are as clear and satisfactory to-morrow as they wereto-day, I shall certainly try to secure his services."
"Then I can only say I would prefer the water-witch. He at leastwould not represent a class of neighbors who have made themselvessystematically uncivil and disagreeable to us."
"I am afraid, Josephine, we have not tried to make ourselvesparticularly agreeable to THEM," said the major.
"If that can only be done by admitting their equality, I prefer theyshould remain uncivil. Only let it be understood, major, that if youchoose to take this Tom-the-ploughboy to mend your well, you will atleast keep him there while he is on the property."
With what retort the major would have kept up this conjugal discussion,already beginning to be awkward to the discreet visitor, is not known,as it was suddenly stopped by a bullet from the rosebud lips of theingenuous Adele.
"Why, he's very handsome when his face is clean, and his hands are smalland not at all hard. And he doesn't talk the least bit queer or common."
There was a dead silence. "And pray where did YOU see him, and what doyou know about his hands?" asked Mrs. Randolph, in her most desiccatedvoice. "Or has the major already presented you to him? I shouldn't besurprised."
"No, but"--hesitated the young girl, with a certain mouse-likeaudacity,--"when you sent me to look after Miss Mallory, I came up tohim just after he had spoken to her, and he stopped to ask me how we allwere, and if Miss Mallory was really frightened by the earthquake, andhe shook hands for good afternoon--that's all."
"And who taught you to converse with common strangers and shake handswith them?" continued Mrs. Randolph, with narrowing lips.
"Nobody, mamma; but I thought if Miss Mallory, who is a young lady,could speak to him, so could I, who am not out yet."
"We won't discuss this any further at present," said Mrs. Randolph,stiffly, as the major smiled grimly at Rose. "The earthquake seems tohave shaken down in this house more than the chimneys."
It certainly had shaken all power of sleep from the eyes of Rose whenthe household at last dispersed to lie down in their clothes onthe mattresses which had been arranged under the awnings. She wascontinually starting up from confused dreams of the ground shaking underher, or she seemed to be standing on the brink of some dreadful abysslike the great chasm on the grain-field, when it began to tremble andcrumble beneath her feet. It was near morning when, unable to endureit any longer, she managed without disturbing the sleeping Adele,who occupied the same curtained recess with her, to slip out fromthe awning. Wrapped in a thick shawl, she made her way through theencompassing trees and bushes of the garden that had seemed to imprisonand suffocate her, to the edge of the grain-field, where she couldbreathe the fresh air beneath an open, starlit sky. There was no moonand the darkness favored her; she had no fears that weighed against thehorror of seclusion with her own fancies. Besides, they were campingOUT of the house, and if she chose to sit up or walk about, no one couldthink it strange. She wished her father were here that she might havesome one of her own kin to talk to, yet she knew not what to say to himif he had come. She wanted somebody to sympathize with her feelings,--orrather, perhaps, some one to combat and even ridicule the uneasinessthat had lately come over her. She knew what her father would say,--"Doyou want to go, or do you want to stay here? Do you like these people,or do you not?" She remembered the one or two glowing and enthusiasticaccounts she had written him of her visit here, and felt herselfblushing again. What would he think of Mrs. Randolph's opening andanswering the telegram? Wouldn't he find out from the major if she hadgarbled the sense of his dispatch?
Away to the right, in the midst of the distant and invisiblewheat-field, there was the same intermittent star, which like a living,breathing thing seemed to dilate in glowing respiration, as she had seenit the first night of her visit. Mr. Bent's forge! It must be nearlydaylight now; the poor fellow had been up all night, or else wasstealing this early march on the day. She recalled Adele's suddeneulogium of him. The first natural smile that had come to her lips sincethe earthquake broke up her nervous restraint, and sent her back morelike her old self to her couch.
But she
had not proceeded far towards the tent, when she heard the soundof low voices approaching her. It was the major and his wife, who, likeherself, had evidently been unable to sleep, and were up betimes. A newinstinct of secretiveness, which she felt was partly the effect of herartificial surrounding, checked her first natural instinct to call tothem, and she drew back deeper in the shadow to let them pass. But toher great discomfiture the major in a conversational emphasis stoppeddirectly in front of her.
"You are wrong, I tell you, a thousand times wrong. The girl is simplyupset by this earthquake. It's a great pity her father didn't comeinstead of telegraphing. And by Jove, rather than hear any more ofthis, I'll send for him myself," said the major, in an energetic butsuppressed voice.
"And