CHAPTER VIII
THE MARCHES LEAVE GARLAND'S
It was on a Wednesday morning that Mr. March and Long Billy set outfor Rosita. The next week, on Thursday evening, just at sunset, Mrs.March heard the sound of wheels, and, looking up, saw a white-toppedwagon, drawn by two mules, coming up the road. In the next instant,she saw Rob and Nelly running, jumping, and clapping their hands,and trying to climb up into the wagon.
"Why, that must be Mr. March," she exclaimed, and ran out of thedoor.
"Why, that's queer," said the Deacon, following slowly; "he saidhe'd write the day before he was a-comin'; and we were to go down'n' meet him at the Springs."
"And if he hasn't brought that long-geared fellow back with him, Ideclare!" continued the Deacon, as he walked on: "I'd like to knowwhat's up now."
Mrs. March had already reached the wagon, and was welcoming herhusband. Long Billy interrupted her greetings.
"Well, mum," he said, "I s'pose you're surprised to see me backagain. But me 'n' him"--nodding to Mr. March--"'s struck up a kindo' 'liance, an' I'm to your service now: me 'n' my mules."
"I know what that means," thought Mrs. March: "we're going to movedown to that valley, post haste." But all she said was:--
"Very well, Billy; I'm glad to see you. Mr. March's friends arealways mine."
"What are you going to do with that Long Legs, Parson?" said DeaconPlummer, as soon as he found a chance to speak to Mr. March alone;"seems to me we haven't got work for another hand: have we?"
"Not on this farm: that's a clear case, Deacon," replied Mr. March;"but it's too long a story to enter on now. After supper I'll tellyou my plans."
The Deacon took out his red silk handkerchief, and rubbed hisforehead.
"Oh, Lord!" said he to himself; "what's that blessed man been anddone now? He ain't noways fit to go off by himself. I'll bet he'sbeen took in worse 'n ever."
After supper Mr. March told his story. He had bought a farm in theWet Mountain Valley, and he proposed that they should all move downthere immediately. The place had more than equalled all Long Billy'sdescriptions of it; and Mr. March's enthusiasm was unbounded. DeaconPlummer listened to all his statements with a perplexed andincredulous face.
"Did you see that medder grass's high's a man's knee?" he asked.
"Waded in it, Deacon," replied Mr. March; "but that isn't all: I'vegot a wisp of it in my pocket."
Long Billy chuckled, as Mr. March drew the crumpled green wisp outof his pocket, and handed it to the Deacon.
"'Twas I put him up to bringin' that," said Billy. "Sez I, 'thereain't nothin' so good for folks's seein' with their own eyes.' Ikind o' misgave that the old man wouldn't be for believin' it all."
The Deacon unfolded the grass; back and forth, back and forth, hebent it, and straightened it out across his knees. He looked at itin silence for a minute; then he said:--
"Well, that beats me! Acres like this, you say?"
"Miles, Deacon," said Mr. March.
"Miles 'n' miles," said Billy; "'s fur's you can see it wavin' inthe wind; 't looks like wheat, only puttier. P'raps you'd bettershow him the wheat now?"
Mr. March pulled out of his other pocket a similar wisp of wheat,and handed it to the Deacon. This he straightened out, as he had thegrass, across his knees, and looked at it in silence for a moment;then he tasted the kernel; then he rolled up both wheat and grasstogether, and handed them back to Mr. March, saying:
"I've got nothin' more to say. Seein' 's believin'."
Long Billy nodded his head triumphantly, and winked at Mr. March.
"But," continued the Deacon, "for all that I don't feel it clear inmy mind about our goin'. 'Twouldn't make any difference to ye,Parson, anyway, if Elizy 'n' I didn't go; would it?"
Mr. March was much surprised.
"Why, Deacon!" he said, "we should be very sorry to have youseparate from us. You surely can't stay on in this place!"
"Oh, no!" replied the Deacon; "we hain't the least idea o' that. Thefact is, I expect we ought to go home: Elizy's so poorly. We've beenthinkin' on't for some time. But we was so kind o' settled here, andall so home-like, we hated to stir. But if you're goin' to break up,and go to a new place, I expect we'd better take that time to gohome."
This was not wholly a surprise to Mr. and Mrs. March, for they hadthemselves felt that old Mrs. Plummer would after all be better offin her comfortable home in Mayfield. They saw that she was growingslowly more feeble: the climate did not suit her.
"I reckon we're kind o' old for this country," said the Deacon. "Itdon't seem to me's I feel quite so fust-rate's I did at home. Treesgets too old to transplant after a while."
"That's so! that's so!" exclaimed Billy. "I've never yet seen thefust time, old folks adoin' well here. The air's too bracin' for'em. They can't get used to it,--no offence to you, sir,"--lookingat Deacon Plummer.
"Oh, no offence,--no offence at all," replied the Deacon. "I don'tmake any bones about ownin' that I'm old. Me 'n' my wife's both seenour best days; 'n' I reckon we're best off at home. I think we'dbetter go, Parson. We're mighty sorry to leave you; but when youmove south, we'll start the other way towards home. Ain't that so,Elizy?" Mrs. Plummer had been rocking violently for the last fewminutes, with her face buried in her handkerchief.
"Yes," she sobbed, "I expect so. It's just providential, the hullon't."
"Dear Mrs. Plummer, do not cry so!" exclaimed Mrs. March. "We havehad a very pleasant time. It is only a few months; and when you gethome, it will only seem as if you had taken a six months' journey. Ireally think you will be better in Mayfield than here."
"Oh, I've no doubt on't," said Mrs. Plummer, still crying in herhandkerchief; "but I thought we was a goin' to live with you all therest o' our lives. It's a awful disappointment to me. But it's allprovidential. It's a comfort to know that."
When Zeb heard the news that the family would break up in a fewdays,--the Marches to move to Wet Mountain Valley, and the Plummersto go back to Massachusetts,--he was very sorry. He turned on hisheel without saying a word, and went into the barn.
"Just your luck, Abe Mack!" he said, under his breath; "you don't nosooner get used to a place 'n' to folks, 'n' feel real contented,than somethin' happens to tip ye out. Ye're born onlucky; I reckonthere's no use fightin'. They're so took up with this long-leggedspindle of a mule-driver I expect they won't want me; 'n' I don'twant to go down into no minin' country, nuther,--'taint safe. I'llsee if the old man won't take me back to the States. I've got enoughto pay my way, if he'll give me work after I get there, and I reckonI'd be safe from any o' them Georgetown fellers in Massachusetts."
The Deacon was very glad to take Zeb back with him. He had learnedto like the man, and he needed such a hand on his farm.
And so it was all settled, and everybody went to work as hard aspossible to get ready for the move. Nelly and Rob hardly knewwhether to be glad or sorry. They loved the hills so much, they wereafraid they would not love the valley so well. Yet their heads werenearly turned by Long Billy's stories of the wonderful mines inRosita; of the machinery in the stamp-mill where they crushed theore and got the silver out; of the delicious wild grapes on GrapeCreek; and the trout, and the flowers on the hills.
"Yer hain't ever seen any flowers yet," said Billy, when Nelly triedto tell him how many flowers grew in the Pass; "ye jest wait till Itake ye up on Pine's ranch, some Sunday. I'll show ye flowers then:sixty odd kinds in one field,--yes, sure! I counted 'em; and oldPine he counted em too. And he sent 'em off by express once, some ofeach kind, to the folks at Washington. You'll see!"
Just three weeks from the day Long Billy first drove into the shadowof the old saw-mill to camp, the March and Plummer family set outon their journeys: Fox and Pumpkinseed drawing one big white-toppedwagon, in which were Mrs. March, Deacon and Mrs. Plummer, Nelly andRob. Billy's two mules drew the other big wagon, which was loadeddown very heavily with the furniture Mr. March had bought. Mr. Marchdrove this; and Billy, mounted on a new horse which he had bought,was dr
iving all the cattle before him. Zeb sat by Mr. March's sidein the mule wagon. He and Deacon and Mrs. Plummer were to take thecars at Colorado Springs, and go to Denver. Mr. and Mrs. March hadbegged them to come down with them into Wet Mountain Valley, andmake a visit. But the Deacon said "No."
"The fact is," he said, "I may's well own it: now that we're reallystarted for home, we're dreadful homesick. I didn't know's I hadfelt it so much. Can't transplant old trees, Parson, no use! It's agood country for young folks,--a good country; I shall tell the boysabout it. But give me old Massachusetts. I just hanker after a sighto' the old buryin'-ground, 'n' that black elder-bush in the corneron't."
When they parted at the little railroad station in Colorado Springs,Mrs. Plummer broke down and cried. Nelly cried a little too, fromsympathy; and even Watch whined, seeing that something unusual anduncomfortable was going on. Luckily, however, good-bys at railwaystations always are cut short. The engine-bell rings, and the carsmove off, and that puts an end to the last words. Mr. and Mrs. Marchwere sorry to part from these good old people; and yet, if the wholetruth were told, it must be owned that they felt a sense of reliefwhen they were gone. They had felt, all the while, a responsibilityfor their comfort, and a fear lest they should be taken ill, whichhad been burdensome.
"We shall miss them: shan't we?" said Mrs. March, as the train movedoff.
"Yes," said Nelly; "I'm real sorry they're gone. I like Zeb too."
"We'll miss the crullers," said Rob. "Say, mamma, didn't she showyou how to make 'em?"
"Rob," said his father, "you ought to be a Chinese."
"Why?" asked Rob.
"Because they think the seat of all life is in the stomach; and theygive great honor to people with very big stomachs," answered hisfather.
Rob did not know whether his father were laughing at him or not. Hesuspected he might be.
"I don't know what you mean, papa," he said: "you like crullers,anyhow."
"Fair hit, Rob!" said Mrs. March. "Fair hit, papa!"
The journey to Rosita took six days: they had to go very slowly onaccount of the cattle. The weather was perfect; and every night theyslept on the ground, in a tent which Mr. March had bought inColorado Springs. Rob rode on Pumpkinseed's back a good part of theway, like a little postilion. Before the end of the journey, theywere all so burnt by the sun that they looked, Mrs. March said, "agreat deal more like Indians than like white people." They droveinto Rosita just at sunset. I wish I could tell you how beautifulthe whole place looked to them. You go down a steep hill, just asyou come into the town of Rosita. On the top of this hill, Mr. Marchcalled out to his wife to stop. She was driving Fox and Pumpkinseed;and he was following behind with the mules. He jumped out, and cameup to the side of her wagon.
"There, Sarah!" he said, "did you ever see any thing in your life sobeautiful as this?"
Mrs. March did not speak; both she and Nelly and even Rob werestruck dumb by the beauty of the picture. They looked right downinto the little village. It was cuddled in the ravine as if it hadgone to sleep there. The sides of the hills were dotted withpine-trees; and most of the little houses were built of brightyellow pine boards: they shone in the sun. Just beyond the villagethey could see a bit of a most beautiful green valley; and, beyondthat, great high mountains, half covered with snow.
"That is the valley," said Mr. March; "that bit of bright green, waydown there to the west."
Nelly was the first to speak.
"Papa," said she, "it looks just like a beautiful green bottom to adeep well: doesn't it?"
"Yes, this little bit that you see of it from here, does," said Mr.March: "but, after you get into it, it doesn't look so. It is thirtymiles long; and so level you would think you were on the plains. Andoh, Nell! you can see your dear Pike's Peak grandly there! It lookstwice as high here as it does from any place I have seen it."
"Oh, I'm so glad!" said Nelly.
Still Mrs. March did not speak. Her husband turned to her at last,anxiously, and said:--
"Don't you like it, Sarah?"
"Oh, Robert!" she said, "it is so beautiful it doesn't look to melike a real place. It looks like a painted picture!"
"That'll do! that'll do!" laughed Mr. March; "I'm satisfied. Nowwe'll go down the hill."
Rob nudged Nelly. They were on the back seat of the wagon.
"Nell," he whispered, "did you ever see any thing like it? I seelots of silver mines all round on the hills. Billy told me how theylooked. Those piles of stones are all on top of mines; that's wherethey throw out the stones. I'll bet we'll find a mine."
"Oh," said Nelly, "wouldn't that be splendid! Let's go out the firstthing to-morrow morning."
Mr. March had planned to stay in Rosita a couple of days, beforegoing down to his farm in the valley. He wished to become acquaintedwith some of the Rosita tradesmen, and to find out all about thebest ways of doing things in this new life. Long Billy proved a goodhelper now. Everybody in Rosita knew Long Billy and liked him; and,when he said to his friends, confidentially:
"This is a first-rate feller I've hired with: he does the squarething by everybody, I tell you. There's nothin' narrer about him;he's the least like a parson of any parson ye ever see,"--theyaccepted Billy's word for it all, and met Mr. March with afriendliness which would not usually have been shown to a newcomer.
The next morning after they reached Rosita, Long Billy proposed totake Mr. March out and introduce him to some of the people he knew.When Mr. March came downstairs, he was dressed in a good suit ofblack, and wore a white collar; on the journey, he had worn hisrough working-clothes, and a flannel shirt. Long Billy looked him upand down, from head to foot, with an expression of greatdissatisfaction; but did not say anything. Then he walked out on thepiazza of the hotel, and stood still for some minutes, in deepthought. Then he said to himself:--
"Hang it all! I'll have to speak to him. What'd he want to go 'n'spruce hisself all up like that for? 'T'll jest ruin him in thistown, oncet for all! I'll have to speak to him. I'd rather bescotch-wolloped."
What scotch-wolloped means I do not know: but it was a favoriteexpression of Long Billy's. So he walked back into the hotel, andbeckoned Mr. March out on the piazza.
"Look here, Parson," he said, speaking very fast, and looking verymuch embarrassed,--which was an odd thing for Billy,--"look here,Parson, you ain't goin' to preach to-day, be yer?"
"Why, no, Billy," said Mr. March; "why did you ask?"
"Ain't these yer preachin' clo'es?" replied Billy, pointing to theblack coat.
Mr. March laughed.
"Why, yes, I have preached in them, Billy; but I do not expect everto again. I must wear them out, though."
"Not in these parts, Parson," said Billy, solemnly, shaking hishead. "Yer don't know minin' towns so well's I do. Ef I was to takeyou down town in that rig, there wouldn't one o' the fellers openhis head to yer. They'd shet up jest like snappin' turtles. Ye jestgo upstairs 'n' put on the clo'es ye allers wears won't ye?" saidBilly, almost pleadingly.
"Why, certainly, Billy, if you really think it would make anydifference about my making friends with the people. I don't want tooffend anybody. These are pretty old clothes, though, Billy, if theyonly knew it. It was to save my others that I put them on. But I'llchange them, if you say so." And Mr. March ran upstairs much amused.When he came down in his rough suit and his blue flannel shirt,Billy smiled with pleasure.
"There," he said, "you look like a man in them clo'es, Parson.Excuse my bein' so free; but I allers did think that the parsons'clo'es had a good deal to do with fellers despisin' 'em's they do.They allers call 'em 'Tender-feet.'"
"Tender-feet!" exclaimed Mr. March; "what does that mean, Billy?"
Billy did not answer immediately. He was puzzled to think of anydefinition of "Tender-feet."
"Well," he said at last, "don'no' as I can say exactly what it doesmean; but 'tain't because I don't know. Any feller that'sover-particular about his clo'es, 'n' his way o' livin', 'n' can'trough it like the generality o' folks
in Colorado, gets called a'Tender-foot'! Lord, I'd rather be called a thief, any day!"
Mr. March laughed heartily.
"I see! I see!" he said. "Well now, Billy, you don't think there'dbe any danger of my ever being called a 'Tender-foot' do you?"
"Not a bit of it, Parson," said Billy, emphatically, "when a fellercame to live with yer; but to see yer jest a walkin' round in themblack clo'es o' yourn, you'd get took for one. Yer would: that's afact. I should take yer for one myself. Yer may's well give thatsuit up, oncet for all, Parson, for this country, I tell ye," addedBilly, thinking he would make sure that the danger did not occuragain. "Thet is," he continued, "except Sundays. I don't suppose'twould do ye any harm to be seen in it Sundays, or to a dance."
"I don't go to dances, Billy," said Mr. March; "perhaps I'll givethe suit away: that'll save all trouble."
As they left the hotel, they saw Rob and Nelly walking hand in handup the steep road down which they had come the night before,entering the village.
"Where can the children be going?" said Mr. March. "Rob! Nelly!" hecalled. They both turned and said:
"What, papa?" but did not come towards him.
"Where are you going?" he said.
"Oh, only a little way up this road," replied Rob.
"Don't you want to come with me?" said Mr. March. The childrenhesitated.
"Do you want us, papa?" said Nelly.
"Why, no, certainly not," replied Mr. March, "unless you want tocome. I thought you would like to see the town: that's all."
"We'd rather go up on the hill, papa," said Rob. "Mamma said wemight, if we wouldn't go out of sight of the hotel. Good-by!"
"Good-by, papa!" called Nelly. And they both trudged off with a mostbusiness-like air.
Long Billy laughed.
"Them youngsters got silver on the brain," he said. "Thet's what'sthe matter with them. I've seen plenty o' grown folks jest the sameway in this country: a walkin', walkin' by the month to a time, apokin' into every hole, 'n' a hammerin' every stone,--jest wildafter gold 'n' silver. There's plenty on 'em's jest wasted timeenough on't to ha' made a considerable money, if they'd stuck tosome kind o' regular work. That little chap o' yourn, he's a driver;he hain't never let go the idee of findin' a silver mine, sence theday they hauled all them mica stuns down, back there'n the Pass.They're a rare couple, he 'n' Nelly: they are."
"Yes, they are good children," said Mr. March: "good children; but Idon't want them to get possessed with this desire for money." And helooked anxiously up the hill, where he could see Rob and Nellystriking off from the road, and picking their way across the roughground towards a great pile of gray ore, which had been thrown outof one of the mines.
Long Billy also looked up at them.
"The little sarpents!" he said. "They're a makin' for the Pocahontasmine, straight. Rob, he was askin' me all about the piles o' ore 'n'the engines in the mines, yesterday."
"Is there any danger of their being hurt?" said Mr. March.
"Oh, no! I reckon not. That Nelly, she's jest the same's a grownwoman. I allers notice her a holdin' the little feller back. Shewon't go into any resky places no more'n her ma would. She's got aheap o' sense, that little gal has."
While Mr. March and the children were away, Mrs. March sat at thewest window of her room, looking off into the beautiful valley. Iwish I could make you see just how it looked from her window;however, no picture can show it, and I suppose no words can tell it;but if you really want to try to imagine how it looked just asksomebody who is with you while you are reading this page, to explainto you how high a thousand feet would seem to you. If you can seethe spire of the church, and can know just how high that is, thatwill help you get an idea of a thousand feet. Then you can imaginethat you are looking off between two high hills, right down into abit of green valley one thousand feet lower down than you are. Thentry to imagine that this bit of green valley looked very small; andthat, beyond it, there were grand high mountains, half covered withsnow. The lower half of the mountains looked blue: on a sunny day,mountains always look blue in the distance; and the upper half wasdazzling white. This is the best I can do towards making you see thepicture which Mrs. March saw as she sat at her western window. Afterall, I think Nelly's sentence was worth more than all mine, when shesaid, "Oh, papa, it looks like a beautiful green bottom to a deepwell." The picture was so beautiful that Mrs. March did not want todo anything but sit and look at it, and when her husband returnedfrom his walk in the village, she was really astonished to find thatshe had sat at the window two whole hours without moving. Thechildren did not come home until noon. Their faces were red andtheir eyes shone with excitement: they had had a fine time; they hadrambled on from one mine to another on the hill; wherever they saw apile of the gray ore, and a yellow pine building near it, they hadgone into the building and looked into the shaft down which theminers went into the ground. They had found kind men everywhere whohad answered all their questions; and Rob had both his pockets fullof pieces of stone with beautiful colors, like a peacock's neck. Robhad forgotten the name of the stone: so had Nelly.
"It sounded something like prophets," said Nelly, "but it couldn'thave been that"; she handed a bit of the stone to Long Billy.
"Oh," said he, glancing at it carelessly, "that's nothing butpyrites; that's no account; they'll give you all you want of that."
"I don't care:" said Rob, "it's splendid. I'm going to make amuseum, and I shall have the shelves full of it. But, mamma," hesaid sadly, "there isn't any use in our looking for a mine. When Itold one of the men that we were going to see if we couldn't find amine, he just laughed, and he said that every inch of the ground allround here belonged to people that thought they'd got mines. Allthose little bits of piles of stones, with just a stick stuck up bythem, every one of those means that a man's been digging there tofind silver; and they're just as thick! why, you can't go ten stepswithout coming on one! They call them 'claims.'"
"That's so," said Long Billy; "and I'll tell ye what I call 'em. Icall 'em gravestones, them little sticks stuck up on stone heaps:that's what most on 'em are, graves where some poor feller's burieda lot o' hope and some money."
Nelly turned her great dark eyes full on Long Billy when he saidthis. Her face grew very sad: she understood exactly what he meant.Rob did not understand. He looked only puzzled.
"Graves!" exclaimed he. "Why, what do you call them graves for,Billy? There isn't any thing buried in them."
Billy looked a little ashamed of his speech; he did not oftenindulge in anything so much like a flight of fancy as this.
"Oh, nothin'!" he said. "That's only a silly way o' puttin' it."
"I don't think so, Billy," said Nelly. "I think it's real true.Don't you know, Rob, how awfully you and I felt when we thought we'dfound that mine up in the Pass, and it turned out nothing but mica?We felt just as if we'd lost something."
"I didn't," said Rob; "I just felt mad; and it makes me feel mad nowto think of it: how we lugged those heavy old stones all that way. Iwish I'd saved some for my museum though. All the boys here havemuseums, a man told me, and perhaps I won't find any of that kind ofstone here."
After dinner, they all drove down into the valley to look at theirnew home. The road wound down in a zigzag way among a great many lowhills. Sometimes for quite a distance among these hills, you cannotsee the valley at all; and then all of a sudden you look right outinto it. As they went lower, they saw more and more of it, until atlast they reached it and came out on the level ground, where theycould look up and down the whole length of the valley. Long Billywas driving them: when they reached the spot where the whole valleylay in full view, he stopped the horses and, turning round to Mrs.March, said:--
"Well, mum, did I tell the truth or not?"
"No, Billy, you did not," replied Mrs. March, very gravely.
Billy looked surprised, and was just about to speak when Mrs. Marchcontinued:--
"You did not tell half how beautiful it is."
"Ah!" said Billy. "Wel
l, that kind o' lie I don't mind bein' chargedwith."
"Oh, papa! let me get out!" cried Nelly. "I want to walk in thisgrass. Is this our grass?"
The road was winding along between two fields of high grass, whichwaved in the wind. As it waved, Nelly saw bright red and blueflowers among it; some tall, and some low down close to the groundas if they were hiding.
"Yes, this is where our land begins," said her father; "this is ourown grass: but I don't want you to run in it; we must mow it nextweek."
"Oh, let us, papa; just a little bit--close to the fence. You canspare a little bit of hay," pleaded Nelly; "we'll step light."
"Do let them, Robert," said Mrs. March. "I should like to do itmyself."
"Very well: keep close to the fence, then," said Mr. March, andreined up the horses. Rob and Nelly jumped out, and had clamberedover the fence in a second, and waded into the grass. It was nearlyup to their shoulders, and they looked very pretty moving about init, picking the flowers. As Mrs. March was watching them, shesuddenly saw a brown bird with yellow breast fly out of the grass,and perch on one of the fence-posts.
"Oh, don't stir, children! don't stir!" she cried: "see that bird!"
Rob and Nelly stood perfectly still. And what do you think that birddid?--opened his mouth and sang the most exquisite song you everheard. The canary bird's song is not half so sweet. The bird wasnot ten steps away from the carriage or from the children: there hesat, looking first at one and then at the other, like a tame bird.In a few seconds he sang again: then he spread his wings and flew alittle way into the field, and alighted on a tall, slender grassstalk, and there he sat, swinging to and fro on the grass, and sangagain; then he flew away. Nobody drew a long breath till he hadgone.
"That's a lark," said Billy; "this country's full on 'em; they'rethe tamest birds for a wild bird I ever see. They'll sing to yeright under your feet."
"Well, he's a glorious chorister," said Mr. March.
"If he's a chorister, I'd like to go where he keeps his choir," saidRob. "I mean to catch one, and have him to sing in my museum."
"Oh, no, Rob," said Nelly; "don't!"
"They won't never sing in cages," said Billy. "I've seen it triedmany a time. They jest walk, walk, walk up and down, up and down inthe cage the hull time, and beat their wings. They can't stand bein'shut up, for all they're so tame actin' while they're free."
The children climbed back into the wagon now, with their hands fullof flowers; and Billy whipped up the horses.
"Git up, Pumpkinseed! git up, Fox!" he said: "there's a crib o' cornahead for you."
Very soon the new home came in sight. It looked, when they first sawit, as if it were half buried in green grass; but, as they camenearer, they saw that the enclosure in which the house and barnsstood was entirely bare of grass. This gave it a naked and barrenlook which was not pleasing, and disappointed Mrs. March very much.However, she said nothing; only thought to herself "I'll have greengrass up to that very doorstep, before another year's out."
The house was very much like the one they had lived in, in the UtePass, except that it was larger; there were three log-cabin barns,two of which were very large; and a queer-shaped log-house, biggerat the top than at the bottom, standing up quite a distance from theground, on posts. This was for wheat. Then there were twodog-houses, and a great place built round with palings, to keep hensin; and one or two large open sheds where wagons and carts stood.Billy looked round on all these buildings with great pride.
"I declare," said he, "there ain't such a ranch's this in all thevalley. What a dumb fool that Wilson was to go 'n' leave it. He'sput all he's worth, except this farm, into a mine up in Central; 'n'now he'll go 'n' put the money for this in too, and's like's nothe'll never see a dollar on't again's long's he lives'. This minin'jest crazes folks."
"Did ye ever see a puttier farm'n this, mum?" he asked, turning toMrs. March.
Mrs. March could not say that she had not. To her eye, accustomed toMassachusetts green yards, shaded by elms and maples, this littlegroup of rough houses and sheds, standing up quite a distance fromthe ground, on posts, few tufts of coarse grass, and weeds growingaround it, was very unsightly. But she did not want to say this; soshe said:--
"It is much the nicest place I have seen in Colorado, Billy; andthis valley is perfectly beautiful. But where is the creek?"
"Right there, mum, just a few rods beyond that fence to thewest,--where you see that line of bushes."
"I don't see any water," said Nelly.
"No, you can't till yer come right on it," said Billy; "'tain't verywide here, 'n' it jest slips along in the bushes 's if it was tryingto hide itself."
"Papa," whispered Nelly, "doesn't Billy say queer things aboutthings, just as if every thing was alive, and had feelings as we do?I like it."
Mr. March smiled, and took Nelly's hand in his.
"Girlie," he said, "Billy's a little of a poet, in his rough way."
"He doesn't make verses: does he?" asked Nelly, reverentially. Tomake verses had always been the height of Nelly's ambition, as manya little roll of scribbled paper in her desk would show. But therewas one great trouble with Nelly's verses thus far: she never couldfind any words that rhymed; and now to hear Billy called a poetseemed very strange to her.
"I never should have thought he could make verses," she continued.
"Oh! making verses is the smallest part of being a poet, Nellie,"said Mr. March. "You can't understand that yet; but you will someday."
Then they all went into the house, and looked at room after room,thinking what they would do with each. The rooms were sunny andbright, but were so dirty that Mrs. March groaned.
"Oh, how shall we ever get this place clean?"
"I'll tell you," said Billy. "If ye don't mind the expense o'stayin' at the hotel a week, an' if ye'll buy me a little paint,I'll have this hull place so ye won't know it, in a week's time.There's nothin' I can't turn my hand to; an' I'd like to fix thingsup here for you, first rate. I saw up 't the other place about howyou like things."
Billy had a quick eye for everything that was pretty. He had neverseen any house in Colorado which was so cosey and pretty as theMarches' house in the Ute Pass; and he was thinking now in his hearthow he would like to make this new one as pretty as that.
"Mebbe you couldn't trust me," he said, seeing that Mrs. Marchhesitated.
"Oh, yes, I could, Billy," she replied; "I have no doubt you couldput it all in beautiful order. I was thinking whether we ought tostay"--she was going to say, "stay a whole week at the hotel"--but,just at that minute, there came piercing shrieks in Rob's voice:
"Papa! papa! Billy; come! come!"
The shrieks came from the direction of the creek.
"Oh, my God! he's fallen into the creek!" cried Mrs. March, as shetried to run towards the spot. Long Billy dashed past her, with hisgreat strides, and said, as he passed:--
"Don't be skeered, mum; in the mud, most likely."
The cries came feebler and feebler, and stopped altogether,--then aloud burst of laughter from Billy, which brought the life back toMrs. March. She was clinging to the fence, nearly senseless withterror; Nelly stood close by, her face white, and tears rolling downher cheeks: when they heard Billy's laugh, they looked at each otherin amazement and relief.
"He can't be in the creek, mamma," said Nelly: "Billy wouldn'tlaugh."
Then they heard Mr. March laugh, and say:--
"Hold on, Rob: don't be frightened; we'll get a rail."
Then Billy came striding back out of the bushes, still laughing.When he saw Mrs. March's and Nelly's agonized faces, his own soberedinstantly.
"'Twas too bad, mum," he exclaimed, "to give ye such a skeer. He'sin the slough, thet's all; he's putty well in, too; he'll be a sightto see when we get him fished out. He's in putty well nigh up to hisarms."
Mrs. March could not help laughing; but Nelly only cried the more.
"Poor dear Rob!" she said: "how he will feel!" And she began toclimb the fence.
> "Oh, Lor'! don't any more on ye come over here," cried Billy: "it'sall we can do to get round. The creek's overflowed: 'n' it's allquakin' tussocks here; that's the way he went in, a jumpin' from oneto another."
While Billy was speaking he was tearing off two of the top railsfrom the fence. He seemed to be as strong as a giant. In a very fewminutes, he had two rails over his shoulder, and had plunged backamong the bushes. In a few minutes more, out they all came; Robbeing led between Mr. March and Billy. He was indeed, as Billy hadsaid he would be, "a sight to behold." Up to his very arms he wasplastered with black, slimy mud.
"Oh, mamma, it smells horrid," was his first remark. "I wouldn'tmind if it didn't smell so."
Nelly ran up as close to him as she dared.
"Oh, Rob," she said, "how could you go in such a place! Why didn'tyou stay with us?"
"I wanted to see if there were any grapes yet," said Rob; "and youcouldn't have told yourself, Nell, that it wouldn't bear. Ugh!What'll I do, mamma?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Rob," said Mrs. March: she was at her wits'end. She looked helplessly at Billy: Billy was rubbing his leftcheek with his right forefinger,--his invariable gesture when he wasperplexed. Mr. March also stood looking at Rob with a despairingface.
"I wish you wouldn't all look so at me," cried Rob, half crying:"it's horrid to be stared at. What'll I do, mamma?"
It was indeed a dilemma. Rob's trousers and jacket were drippingwet, and coated thick with the muddy slime; his shoes were full ofit; as he walked about it made a gurgling noise, and spurted up;his face was spattered with it; his hands were black; even his hairhad not escaped.
"There's lots o' hay in the barn," said Billy; "we might rub a gooddeal off on him with that. Me 'n' you'd better take him," saidBilly, nodding to Mr. March. "No, mum, ye stay where ye be; we'llmanage better without ye, this time," continued Billy, waving Mrs.March back, as she set out to follow them.
Poor Rob looked back, as Billy led him off towards the barn; thetears ran down in the mud on his cheeks, and made little whitetracks all the way.
"I think you're real mean to laugh, mamma," he said.
Mrs. March was sorry to hurt his feelings, but she could not helplaughing. Nelly did not laugh, however: she looked almost aswretched as Rob did. It seemed an age before any one came back fromthe barn. Then Mr. March and Billy came out alone: Mr. March carriedRob's trousers on a stick, and Billy carried the jacket andstockings and shoes.
"Why, what have you done with the child!" exclaimed Mrs. March: "hewill take cold, without any clothes on."
Mr. March's eyes twinkled.
"Well, he has some clothes on, such as they are," he said. "Billyraised a contribution for him: my under-drawers and vest, andBilly's coat; he's all rolled up in the hay, and you'd better go andsit by him now."
Mrs. March and Nelly hurried in. There lay Rob, all buried up inhay: only his face to be seen. He looked very jolly now, and said hefelt perfectly comfortable.
"Now tell me a story, mamma! tell me a story. You've got to tell mestories as long as I stay here."
So Mrs. March sat down on one side, and Nelly on the other, and Mrs.March told them the story of the Master Thief, out of the BrothersGrimm's "Fairy Stories of All Lands"; and, just as she got to wherethe Master Thief was planning to steal the bottom sheet from off theking's bed, she looked up and saw that Rob was fast asleep.
"Oh, that's good," she said; "that's the best thing that could havehappened to him. Now we'll go out and look at the house again."
"But, mamma," said Nelly, "I think I'll stay here. If he should wakeup, he would feel so lonely here; and he can't get out of the hay."
"Thank you, dear: that is very kind of you," replied Mrs. March.And, as she went out of the barn, she said to herself, "What a kind,thoughtful child Nelly is. She really is like a little woman."
Mrs. March could not find her husband and Billy anywhere; so she satdown on the door-step of the house to wait for them. She looked upand down the beautiful valley: it seemed a great deal more thanthirty miles long. The mountains at the south end of it looked blueand hazy; the great Sangre di Christo Mountains, which made thewestern wall, looked very near; the snow on them shone so brightlyit dazzled Mrs. March's eyes to look at it. After a time, she got upfrom the door-step and walked round to the north side of the house.
"Oh, there is Nelly's mountain!" she said. There stood Pike's Peak,in full sight, to the northeast. It looked so grand and so high atfirst, Mrs. March did not know it. This, too, had a great deal ofsnow on it, and there were white clouds floating round the top; itwas the grandest sight in the whole view. There were no other housesnear; she could see only a few in the valley; and she could not seeRosita at all. The road down which they had come seemed to end verysoon among the hills.
"We shall not have much more to do with neighbors here than in thePass," thought Mrs. March. "But I do not care for that. One couldnever be lonely with these mountains to look at."
"Well, mum, here's the little feller's clo'es," said Billy, comingup at this moment, with Rob's clothes hanging in a limp wet bundleover his arm. "Now I'll jest make a rousin' fire back here, 'n'you'll be astonished to see how quick they'll dry. I've washed 'emin about five hundred waters,--that medder mud's the meanest stuffto stick ye ever see,--but they'll be dry in no time now."
"Mamma!" called Nelly, from the barn; "Rob's awake. He wants to getup: he says he won't lie here another minute."
"I'll show him his clo'es," said Billy. "I guess that'll convincehim," and Billy carried the wet bundle into the barn. Shouts oflaughter followed, and in a minute more Billy came out again,shaking all over with laughter. "I jest offered 'em to him," saidhe, "'n' told him he could get up 'n' put 'em on ef he wanted to;but I rayther thought he'd better let 'em dry some fust."
"What did he say?" asked Mrs. March.
"He wanted to know how long it would take 'em to dry 'n' I told himthe best part of an hour; 'twill be some longer'n that, but Icouldn't pretend to be exact to a minnit, 'n' he laid back on thehay 'n' sez he: 'You tell my mamma to come right here 'n' finishthat story she was a tellin'.'"
When Mrs. March went back into the barn, she shouted aloud as soonas she saw Rob. He had crawled out of his hay bed. It was too warm:there he sat bolt upright, with his legs straight out in front ofhim. Nelly had drawn the white drawer legs out to their full length,and set Rob's shoes, toes up, in the hay at the end of them, so itlooked as if his legs were all that length; then Mr. March's graywaistcoat came down nearly to his knees, and Billy's old brown coathung on his shoulders as loosely as a blanket. He looked up at hismother with a perfectly grave face, and did not speak. Nelly waslaughing hard. "Isn't he too funny, mamma?" said she.
"You can laugh now if you want to, mamma," said Rob politely. "Idon't mind your laughing at papa's drawers and waistcoat and Billy'sold coat. That's quite different from laughing at me."
"Thank you, dear," said Mrs. March: "you're very kind; but I can getalong very comfortably without laughing at you now. You're not halfso funny as you were when you were covered with the mud."
It took so long to dry Rob's clothes, that it was nearly dark whenthey got back to Rosita.
"Well, I reckoned you liked your house so well you weren't comingback to us at all," said the landlord, as they drove up.
"Oh, no, sir," cried Rob, "that wasn't it. I fell into the mud bythe creek: I always fall into the water each new place we go to. Idid it the first thing up in the Pass."
The landlord looked closely at him. "What! you been into the creekin them clothes?"
"Billy washed them," said Nelly; "they were all black as mud."
"Oh!" said the landlord. "Well, there ain't any thing under Heaventhat Long Billy can't do: that's certain."
Mr. and Mrs. March thought so too, when one week later they drovedown to take possession of their home. Billy had pleaded soearnestly to be allowed to do all the work himself that Mr. Marchhad consented; and had even promised him that they would not comenear the house until
he invited them. Then Billy set to work in goodearnest, and Miss Lucinda Harkiss set to work with him. This was theyoung woman to whom Billy was engaged. She was coming to be Mrs.March's servant. A very good time Lucinda and Billy had all thatweek. It was almost like going to housekeeping together forthemselves. The first day Lucinda swept and scrubbed the floors, andwashed the windows till they shone; then Billy stained all thefloors dark brown, and painted the window-sashes and the door-framesbrown; and this brown color was so pretty with the yellow of thepine, that it made the rough boarded rooms look almost handsome.While the paint was drying, Lucinda and Billy drove over to Pine'sranch at the foot of one of the Sangre di Christo mountains. Theyknew old Mr. Pine very well; and he was very glad to have them makehim a visit. All one day Billy worked hard digging up youngpine-trees, and Lucinda gathered a great quantity of kinnikinnickvines. Billy had told her how Mrs. March had had them nailed up onthe walls in the other house. The next day they drove home early inthe morning, and in the afternoon Billy set out a row of the littlepine-trees all round the house. "Even if they don't grow, they'lllook green for a spell," he said to Lucinda; "an' ye never see awoman hanker arter green stuff's Miss March does. There wan't alivin' thing growin' in the Ute Pass, but what she had it in apitcher or a tumbler or a tin can, a settin' round in her house. Andas for that Nelly, she'd bring in her arms full o' flowers every dayo' her life. You'll like 'em all, Lucinda, see if you don't. Theyain't like most o' the folks out here."
Lucinda had a good many fears about coming to live with Mrs. March.She had never been a servant; but she wanted to be married to Billyas much as he wanted to be married to her, and she thought if shecould earn good wages and lay all the money up, they could bemarried sooner.
"I shall like them well enough, I dare say," said Lucinda; "but Idon't know how I'll stand being ordered round."
"Ordered round!" said Billy, in a scornful tone. "I tell you theyain't the orderin' round kind; they're the reel genuwine fust-classfolks; an' genuwine fust-class folks don't never order nobody to donothing: I tell you I shouldn't stand no orderin' any more'n youwould. Mr. March he always sez to me, 'We'd better do so and so,' ifthere's anything he wants done; 'n' he works 's hard as I do, anyday, 'n' Miss March she's jest like him. You'll see how 'twill be. Iain't a mite afeared."
After the paint was dry, they nailed up the vines; and Billy addedto them some pine boughs with great clusters of green cones on themwhich were beautiful. Then they unpacked the boxes of furniture; andBilly showed Lucinda how to put up the chintz curtains in thesitting-room, and the white ones in the bedrooms, and, when it wasall done, it looked so pretty that Billy could not help saying:--
"Don't you wish it was our house, Luce?" He always called her Lucefor short. "Can't take time for no three-storied names 'n thiscountry," said Billy; "two's too many."
Lucinda blushed a little, and said:--
"We can make ours just as pretty some day, Billy."
"That's so, Luce," said Billy: "you'll get lots o' idees out o' MissMarch. She's what I call a reel home-y woman. I hain't never seennobody I've took to so since I left hum."
When everything was ready, the house and the barns and sheds all inorder, and the whole enclosure raked over and made as tidy aspossible, Billy said:--
"Now, we'll jest keep 'em waitn' one more day. You make up a lot o'your best bread, and churn some butter; 'n' I'll go over to Pine'sand pick two or three gallons o' raspberries. They're just ripe topick now, 'n' this is the last chance I'll get. Then you 'n' MissMarch can preserve 'em. I know she wants some. I heard her say sowhen we was a comin' up Hardscrabble Canyon."
Something besides raspberries Billy brought back from Pine's ranchthat night,--something that he never dreamed of getting, somethingwhich pleased him so greatly he fairly snapped his fingers withdelight,--it was a little pet fawn. "Old-man Pine" had had it forseveral months; it had strayed down out of the woods, when it wastoo young to find its way back; he had found it early one morninglapping milk out of the milk-pan he kept outside his cabin-door forhis dog Spotty. He had caught it without difficulty, and tamed it,so that it followed him about like a puppy. Sometimes it woulddisappear for a few days, but always came back again. It was alovely little creature, almost white under its belly, and on theunder side of its legs; but all the rest of a beautiful bright red.When Billy told old Mr. Pine about the March family, and about thetwin brother and sister, who were such nice children, the old mansaid:--
"Don't you think they'd like to have the fawn? It's a pesky littlething, for all it's so pretty, an' I'm tired on't. There was a manoffered me seven dollars for it, a while ago, but I thought I didn'twant to let it go; but ye may have it for them children if ye wantit. Ye can tell 'em I sent it to 'em; an' I'm the oldest settler inthis valley, tell 'em. Yer must bring 'em over to see me some time."
Billy promised to do so.
"They'll go clean out o' their heads when they see the critter," headded. "They've been a talkin' about deer ever since they come: deeran' silver are the two things they're full of. They've pretty nearwalked their little feet off by this time, I expect, lookin' fur amine. They took the idee's soon's they see the wagon-load o' ore Iwas haulin' through the Ute Pass: that's when I fust knew 'em; an' Ideclare to you, the youngsters hain't never let go on't, 'n' Idunno's they ever will."
"Mebbe, then, they'll find a mine yet," said old Pine. "There's oneo' the best mines in all Californy was found by a little feller notmore'n ten years old. He jest hauled up a bush with solid gold astickin' in the roots.
"You don't say so!" said Billy. "Well, there ain't no such freegold's that in this country; but I wouldn't like any thing muchbetter, next to findin' a mine myself, than to have Mr. March'sfolks find one. They're the sort o' folks ought to have money."
Billy worked very late that night fencing a little bit of the greenmeadow nearest the house, to keep the fawn in. The little creatureseemed shy and frightened; and, when Billy drove away in the morningto bring the family down, he charged Lucinda to go out often andspeak to it and feed it with sugar.
"I'd like to have it get over its scare before Nelly sees it," hesaid; "for, if it don't seem to be happy, she's just the gal to goon the sly and let the critter out, so it could go where it wantsto."
Billy was much disappointed, when he reached the hotel, to learnthat Mr. and Mrs. March and the children were out. They had gone toone of the mines, and would not be back till dinner-time; for theywere going down into the mine.
"I never see any thing in all my life like that little chap," saidthe landlord. "He don't rest a minute. I believe he 'n' his sisterhave walked over every foot o' ground within five miles o' thishouse; 'n' there ain't a workin' mine in all these gulches that hedon't know by name; 'n' he'll tell you who's the foreman 'n' howmany workmen are on; 'n' he's got about a wheelbarrow full o'specimens o' one sort 'n' another, for his museum, 's he calls it.The little girl she seems a kind o' nurse to him, she's so steady;but they say they're twins: you wouldn't ever think it."
"No, that you wouldn't," replied Billy; "but they are. I like thegal best myself. She don't say much; but there ain't nothin' escapesher, 'n' she's just the sweetest-tempered little thing that was everborn. She's too good: that's the worst on't. I don't like to seeyoungsters always doin' right; 't don't look healthy."
Poor Lucinda's nice dinner was almost spoiled,--it had to wait solong before the family came. Billy had not once thought of thepossibility of his not finding them at home, and had called out toLucinda, as he drove off:--
"Now, mind, Luce, you have all ready at one, sharp. We'll be herebefore that time."
So, when Billy drove into the yard, at half-past two o'clock, hefelt quite crestfallen, and half afraid to see Lucinda's face in thedoorway. But she smiled pleasantly, and only said:--
"How punctual you are, to be sure! Dinner won't be very good."
"Never mind, Lucinda," said Mrs. March. "We were not at home. Itwasn't Billy's fault. He has been worrying about you for an hour. Itwill taste very
good to us all, for we are hungry."
Mrs. March praised every thing in the house, till Billy's face andLucinda's grew red with pleasure; and Mr. March also praisedeverything out of doors.
"Didn't I tell you, Luce," said Billy, at the first chance he foundto whisper in her ear, "didn't I tell you they was nice folks towork for? They don't let you slave yourself to death for 'em likesome folks, 'n' never say so much 's a thank you."
The delight of Rob and Nelly in the fawn was greater than could betold in words. They ran round and round the enclosure, to see itupon all sides; they fed it, till it would not eat another mouthful;they stood still, gazing at it with almost unbelief in their faces.
"Oh, is it really our own? Will it always stay?" they cried. "It istoo good to be true."
I don't believe there was in all Colorado a happier family than wentto sleep under Mr. March's roof that night. Everybody was entirelysatisfied with the home and with everybody in it. Even Watch andTrotter sat in the low-arched doors of their new houses, and heldtheir heads up, and looked around them with an air of contentmentand pride. They had never had houses of their own before. They hadslept on the great pile of sawdust by the old mill; but they walkedstraight into these little houses and took possession of them asnaturally as possible. They almost made you think of people who,when they come into possession of things much finer than they havebeen accustomed to, try very hard to act as if they had had them alltheir lives.