A First Family of Tasajara

by Bret Harte

  CHAPER V.

  Prosperity had settled upon the plains of Tasajara. Not only had theembarcadero emerged from the tules of Tasajara Creek as a thriving townof steamboat wharves, warehouses, and outlying mills and factories, butin five years the transforming railroad had penetrated the great plainitself and revealed its undeveloped fertility. The low-lying lands thathad been yearly overflowed by the creek, now drained and cultivated,yielded treasures of wheat and barley that were apparentlyinexhaustible. Even the helpless indolence of Sidon had been surprisedinto activity and change. There was nothing left of the stragglingsettlement to recall its former aspect. The site of Harkutt's old storeand dwelling was lost and forgotten in the new mill and granary thatrose along the banks of the creek. Decay leaves ruin and traces for thememory to linger over; prosperity is unrelenting in its complete andsmiling obliteration of the past.

  But Tasajara City, as the embarcadero was now called, had no previousrecord, and even the former existence of an actual settler like theforgotten Elijah Curtis was unknown to the present inhabitants. It wasDaniel Harkutt's idea carried out in Daniel Harkutt's land, with DanielHarkutt's capital and energy. But Daniel Harkutt had become DanielHarcourt, and Harcourt Avenue, Harcourt Square, and Harcourt House,ostentatiously proclaimed the new spelling of his patronymic. When thechange was made and for what reason, who suggested it and under whatauthority, were not easy to determine, as the sign on his former storehad borne nothing but the legend, Goods and Provisions, and his name didnot appear on written record until after the occupation of Tasajara;but it is presumed that it was at the instigation of his daughters, andthere was no one to oppose it. Harcourt was a pretty name for a street,a square, or a hotel; even the few in Sidon who had called it Harkuttadmitted that it was an improvement quite consistent with the changefrom the fever-haunted tules and sedges of the creek to the broad,level, and handsome squares of Tasajara City.

  This might have been the opinion of a visitor at the Harcourt House, whoarrived one summer afternoon from the Stockton boat, but whose shrewd,half-critical, half-professional eyes and quiet questionings betrayedsome previous knowledge of the locality. Seated on the broad verandaof the Harcourt House, and gazing out on the well-kept green and youngeucalyptus trees of the Harcourt Square or Plaza, he had elicited acounter question from a prosperous-looking citizen who had been loungingat his side.

  "I reckon you look ez if you might have been here before, stranger."

  "Yes," said the stranger quietly, "I have been. But it was when thetules grew in the square opposite, and the tide of the creek washedthem."

  "Well," said the Tasajaran, looking curiously at the stranger, "I callmyself a pioneer of Tasajara. My name's Peters,--of Peters and Co.,--andthose warehouses along the wharf, where you landed just now, are mine;but I was the first settler on Harcourt's land, and built the next cabinafter him. I helped to clear out them tules and dredged the channelsyonder. I took the contract with Harcourt to build the last fifteenmiles o' railroad, and put up that depot for the company. Perhaps youwere here before that?"

  "I was," returned the stranger quietly.

  "I say," said Peters, hitching his chair a little nearer to hiscompanion, "you never knew a kind of broken-down feller, calledCurtis--'Lige Curtis--who once squatted here and sold his right toHarkutt? He disappeared; it was allowed he killed hisself, but theynever found his body, and, between you and me, I never took stock inthat story. You know Harcourt holds under him, and all Tasajara rests onthat title."

  "I've heard so," assented the stranger carelessly, "but I never knew theoriginal settler. Then Harcourt has been lucky?"

  "You bet. He's got three millions right about HERE, or within thisquarter section, to say nothing of his outside speculations."

  "And lives here?"

  "Not for two years. That's his old house across the plaza, but hiswomen-folks live mostly in 'Frisco and New York, where he's got housestoo. They say they sorter got sick of Tasajara after his youngestdaughter ran off with a feller."

  "Hallo!" said the stranger with undisguised interest. "I never heard ofthat! You don't mean that she eloped"--he hesitated.

  "Oh, it was a square enough marriage. I reckon too square to suit somefolks; but the fellow hadn't nothin', and wasn't worth shucks,--a sortof land surveyor, doin' odd jobs, you know; and the old man and oldwoman were agin it, and the tother daughter worse of all. It was allowedhere--you know how women-folks talk!--that the surveyor had been sweeton Clementina, but had got tired of being played by her, and took upwith Phemie out o' spite. Anyhow they got married, and Harcourt gavethem to understand they couldn't expect anything from him. P'raps that'swhy it didn't last long, for only about two months ago she got a divorcefrom Rice and came back to her family again."

  "Rice?" queried the stranger. "Was that her husband's name, StephenRice?"

  "I reckon! You knew him?"

  "Yes,--when the tide came up to the tules, yonder," answered thestranger musingly. "And the other daughter,--I suppose she has made agood match, being a beauty and the sole heiress?"

  The Tasajaran made a grimace. "Not much! I reckon she's waitin' for theAngel Gabriel,--there ain't another good enough to suit her here. Theysay she's had most of the big men in California waitin' in a line withtheir offers, like that cue the fellows used to make at the 'Friscopost-office steamer days--and she with nary a letter or answer for anyof them."

  "Then Harcourt doesn't seem to have been as fortunate in his familyaffairs as in his speculations?"

  Peters uttered a grim laugh. "Well, I reckon you know all about hisson's stampeding with that girl last spring?"

  "His son?" interrupted the stranger. "Do you mean the boy they calledJohn Milton? Why, he was a mere child!"

  "He was old enough to run away with a young woman that helped in hismother's house, and marry her afore a justice of the peace. The old manjust snorted with rage, and swore he'd have the marriage put aside, forthe boy was under age. He said it was a put-up job of the girl's; thatshe was older by two years, and only wanted to get what money might becomin' some day, but that they'd never see a red cent of it. Then, theysay, John Milton up and sassed the old man to his face, and allowed thathe wouldn't take his dirty money if he starved first, and that if theold man broke the marriage he'd marry her again next year; that truelove and honorable poverty were better nor riches, and a lot more o'that stuff he picked out o' them ten-cent novels he was allus reading.My women-folks say that he actually liked the girl, because she was theonly one in the house that was ever kind to him; they say the girls werejust ragin' mad at the idea o' havin' a hired gal who had waited on 'emas a sister-in-law, and they even got old Mammy Harcourt's back up bysayin' that John's wife would want to rule the house, and run her outof her own kitchen. Some say he shook THEM, talked back to 'em mightysharp, and held his head a heap higher nor them. Anyhow, he's livin'with his wife somewhere in 'Frisco, in a shanty on a sand lot, andworkin' odd jobs for the newspapers. No! takin' it by and large--itdon't look as if Harcourt had run his family to the same advantage thathe has his land."

  "Perhaps he doesn't understand them as well," said the stranger smiling.

  "Mor'n likely the material ain't thar, or ain't as vallyble for a newcountry," said Peters grimly. "I reckon the trouble is that he lets themtwo daughters run him, and the man who lets any woman or women do that,lets himself in for all their meannesses, and all he gets in return is awoman's result,--show!"

  Here the stranger, who was slowly rising from his chair with the politesuggestion of reluctantly tearing himself from the speaker's spell,said: "And Harcourt spends most of his time in San Francisco, Isuppose?"

  "Yes! but to-day he's here to attend a directors' meeting and theopening of the Free Library and Tasajara Hall. I saw the windows open,and the blinds up in his house across the plaza as I passed just now."

  The stranger had by this time quite effected his courteous withdrawal."Good-afternoon, Mr. Peters," he said, smilingly lifting his hat, andturned away.

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p; Peters, who was obliged to take his legs off the chair, and half riseto the stranger's politeness, here reflected that he did not know hisinterlocutor's name and business, and that he had really got nothingin return for his information. This must be remedied. As the strangerpassed through the hall into the street, followed by the unwontedcivilities of the spruce hotel clerk and the obsequious attentions ofthe negro porter, Peters stepped to the window of the office. "Who wasthat man who just passed out?" he asked.

  The clerk stared in undisguised astonishment. "You don't mean to say youdidn't know WHO he was--all the while you were talking to him?"

  "No," returned Peters, impatiently.

  "Why, that was Professor Lawrence Grant!--THE Lawrence Grant--don't youknow?--the biggest scientific man and recognized expert on the Pacificslope. Why, that's the man whose single word is enough to make or breakthe biggest mine or claim going! That man!--why, that's the man whoseopinion's worth thousands, for it carries millions with it--and can't bebought. That's him who knocked the bottom outer El Dorado last year, andnext day sent Eureka up booming! Ye remember that, sure?"

  "Of course--but"--stammered Peters.

  "And to think you didn't know him!" repeated the hotel clerkwonderingly. "And here I was reckoning you were getting points from himall the time! Why, some men would have given a thousand dollars for yourchance of talking to him--yes!--of even being SEEN talking to him.Why, old Wingate once got a tip on his Prairie Flower lead worth fivethousand dollars while just changing seats with him in the cars andpassing the time of day, sociable like. Why, what DID you talk about?"

  Peters, with a miserable conviction that he had thrown away a valuableopportunity in mere idle gossip, nevertheless endeavored to lookmysterious as he replied, "Oh, business gin'rally." Then in the fainthope of yet retrieving his blunder he inquired, "How long will he behere?"

  "Don't know. I reckon he and Harcourt's got something on hand. He justasked if he was likely to be at home or at his office. I told him Ireckoned at the house, for some of the family--I didn't get to see whothey were--drove up in a carriage from the 3.40 train while you weresitting there."

  Meanwhile the subject of this discussion, quite unconscious of thesensation he had created, or perhaps like most heroes philosophicallycareless of it, was sauntering indifferently towards Harcourt's house.But he had no business with his former host, his only object was to passan idle hour before his train left. He was, of course, not unaware thathe himself was largely responsible for Harcourt's success; that it wasHIS hint which had induced the petty trader of Sidon to venture his allin Tasajara; HIS knowledge of the topography and geology of theplain that had stimulated Harcourt's agricultural speculations; HIShydrographic survey of the creek that had made Harcourt's plan ofwidening the channel to commerce practicable and profitable. This hecould not help but know. But that it was chiefly owing to his own clear,cool, far-seeing, but never visionary, scientific observation,--hisown accurate analysis, unprejudiced by even a savant's enthusiasm, anduninfluenced by any personal desire or greed of gain,--that TasajaraCity had risen from the stagnant tules, was a speculation that had neveroccurred to him. There was a much more uneasy consciousness of what hehad done in Mr. Harcourt's face a few moments later, when his visitor'sname was announced, and it is to be feared that if that name had beenless widely honored and respected than it was, no merely gratefulrecollection of it would have procured Grant an audience. As it was,it was with a frown and a touch of his old impatient asperity that hestepped to the threshold of an adjoining room and called, "Clemmy!"

  Clementina appeared at the door.

  "There's that man Grant in the parlor. What brings HIM here, I wonder?Who does he come to see?"

  "Who did he ask for?"

  "Me,--but that don't mean anything."

  "Perhaps he wants to see you on some business."

  "No. That isn't his high-toned style. He makes other people go to himfor that," he said bitterly. "Anyhow--don't you think it's mighty queerhis coming here after his friend--for it was he who introduced Riceto us--had behaved so to your sister, and caused all this divorce andscandal?"

  "Perhaps he may know nothing about it; he and Rice separated long ago,even before Grant became so famous. We never saw much of him, you know,after we came here. Suppose you leave him to ME. I'll see him."

  Mr. Harcourt reflected. "Didn't he used to be rather attentive toPhemie?"

  Clementina shrugged her shoulders carelessly. "I dare say--but I don'tthink that NOW"--

  "Who said anything about NOW?" retorted her father, with a return of hisold abruptness. After a pause he said: "I'll go down and see him first,and then send for you. You can keep him for the opening and dinner, ifyou like."

  Meantime Lawrence Grant, serenely unsuspicious of these domesticconfidences, had been shown into the parlor--a large room furnished inthe same style as the drawing-room of the hotel he had just quitted.He had ample time to note that it was that wonderful Second Empirefurniture which he remembered that the early San Francisco pioneers inthe first flush of their wealth had imported directly from France, andwhich for years after gave an unexpected foreign flavor to the westerndomesticity and a tawdry gilt equality to saloons and drawing-rooms,public and private. But he was observant of a corresponding change inHarcourt, when a moment later he entered the room. That individualitywhich had kept the former shopkeeper of Sidon distinct from, althoughperhaps not superior to, his customers--was strongly marked. He wasperhaps now more nervously alert than then; he was certainly moreimpatient than before,--but that was pardonable in a man oflarge affairs and action. Grant could not deny that he seemedimproved,--rather perhaps that the setting of fine clothes, cleanliness,and the absence of petty worries, made his characteristics respectable.That which is ill breeding in homespun, is apt to become mereeccentricity in purple and fine linen; Grant felt that Harcourtjarred on him less than he did before, and was grateful withoutsuperciliousness. Harcourt, relieved to find that Grant was neithercritical nor aggressively reminiscent, and above all not inclined toclaim the credit of creating him and Tasajara, became more confident,more at his ease, and, I fear, in proportion more unpleasant. It is therepose and not the struggle of the parvenu that confounds us.

  "And YOU, Grant,--you have made yourself famous, and, I hear, have gotpretty much your own prices for your opinions ever since it was knownthat you--you--er--were connected with the growth of Tasajara."

  Grant smiled; he was not quite prepared for this; but it was amusingand would pass the time. He murmured a sentence of half ironicaldeprecation, and Mr. Harcourt continued:--

  "I haven't got my San Francisco house here to receive you in, but I hopesome day, sir, to see you there. We are only here for the day and night,but if you care to attend the opening ceremonies at the new hall, wecan manage to give you dinner afterwards. You can escort my daughterClementina,--she's here with me."

  The smile of apologetic declination which had begun to form on Grant'slips was suddenly arrested. "Then your daughter is here?" he asked, withunaffected interest.

  "Yes,--she is in fact a patroness of the library and sewing-circle, andtakes the greatest interest in it. The Reverend Doctor Pilsbury reliesupon her for everything. She runs the society, even to the training ofthe young ladies, sir. You shall see their exercises."

  This was certainly a new phase of Clementina's character. Yet why shouldshe not assume the role of Lady Bountiful with the other functions ofher new condition. "I should have thought Miss Harcourt would have foundthis rather difficult with her other social duties," he said, "and wouldhave left it to her married sister." He thought it better not to appearas if avoiding reference to Euphemia, although quietly ignoring her lateexperiences. Mr. Harcourt was less easy in his response.

  "Now that Euphemia is again with her own family," he said ponderously,with an affectation of social discrimination that was in weak contrastto his usual direct business astuteness, "I suppose she may take herpart in these things, but just now she requires rest. You may have
heardsome rumor that she is going abroad for a time? The fact is she hasn'tthe least intention of doing so, nor do we consider there is theslightest reason for her going." He paused as if to give great emphasisto a statement that seemed otherwise unimportant. "But here's Clementinacoming, and I must get you to excuse ME. I've to meet the trustees ofthe church in ten minutes, but I hope she'll persuade you to stay, andI'll see you later at the hall."

  As Clementina entered the room her father vanished and, I fear,as completely dropped out of Mr. Grant's mind. For the daughter'simprovement was greater than her father's, yet so much more refined asto be at first only delicately perceptible. Grant had been prepared forthe vulgar enhancement of fine clothes and personal adornment, for thespecious setting of luxurious circumstances and surroundings, for theaplomb that came from flattery and conscious power. But he found none ofthese; her calm individuality was intensified rather than subdued; shewas dressed simply, with an economy of ornament, rich material, andjewelry, but an accuracy of taste that was always dominant. Her plaingray merino dress, beautifully fitting her figure, suggested, withits pale blue facings, some uniform, as of the charitable society shepatronized. She came towards him with a graceful movement of greeting,yet her face showed no consciousness of the interval that had elapsedsince they met; he almost fancied himself transported back to thesitting-room at Sidon with the monotonous patter of the leaves outside,and the cool moist breath of the bay and alder coming in at the window.

  "Father says that you are only passing through Tasajara to-day, as youdid through Sidon five years ago," she said with a smiling earnestnessthat he fancied however was the one new phase of her character. "ButI won't believe it! At least we will not accept another visit quite asaccidental as that, even though you brought us twice the good fortuneyou did then. You see, we have not forgotten it if you have, Mr. Grant.And unless you want us to believe that your fairy gifts will turn someday to leaves and ashes, you will promise to stay with us tonight, andlet me show you some of the good we have done with them. Perhapsyou don't know, or don't want to know, that it was I who got up this'Library and Home Circle of the Sisters of Tasajara' which we areto open to-day. And can you imagine why? You remember--or have youforgotten--that you once affected to be concerned at the socialcondition of the young ladies on the plains of Sidon? Well, Mr. Grant,this is gotten up in order that the future Mr. Grants who wander mayfind future Miss Billingses who are worthy to converse with them andentertain them, and who no longer wear men's hats and live on the publicroad."

  It was such a long speech for one so taciturn as he rememberedClementina to have been; so unexpected in tone considering her father'sattitude towards him, and so unlooked for in its reference to a slightincident of the past, that Grant's critical contemplation of her gaveway to a quiet and grateful glance of admiration. How could he havebeen so mistaken in her character? He had always preferred the outspokenEuphemia, and yet why should he not have been equally mistaken inher? Without having any personal knowledge of Rice's matrimonialtroubles--for their intimate companionship had not continued after thesurvey--he had been inclined to blame him; now he seemed to find excusesfor him. He wondered if she really had liked him as Peters had hinted;he wondered if she knew that he, Grant, was no longer intimate with himand knew nothing of her affairs. All this while he was accepting herproffered hospitality and sending to the hotel for his luggage. Thenhe drifted into a conversation, which he had expected would be brief,pointless, and confined to a stupid resume of their mutual and socialprogress since they had left Sidon. But here he was again mistaken; shewas talking familiarly of present social topics, of things that she knewclearly and well, without effort or attitude. She had been to NewYork and Boston for two winters; she had spent the previous summer atNewport; it might have been her whole youth for the fluency, accuracy,and familiarity of her detail, and the absence of provincial enthusiasm.She was going abroad, probably in the spring. She had thought of goingto winter in Italy, but she would wait now until her sister was ready togo with her. Mr. Grant of course knew that Euphemia was separated fromMr. Rice--no--not until her father told him? Well--the marriage had beena wild and foolish thing for both. But Euphemia was back again with themin the San Francisco house; she had talked of coming to Tasajara to-day,perhaps she might be there tonight. And, good heavens! it was actuallythree o'clock already, and they must start at once for the Hall. Shewould go and get her hat and return instantly.

  It was true; he had been talking with her an hour--pleasantly,intelligently, and yet with a consciousness of an indefinitesatisfaction beyond all this. It must have been surprise at hertransformation, or his previous misconception of her character. He hadbeen watching her features and wondering why he had ever thought themexpressionless. There was also the pleasant suggestion--common tohumanity in such instances--that he himself was in some way responsiblefor the change; that it was some awakened sympathy to his own naturethat had breathed into this cold and faultless statue the warmth oflife. In an odd flash of recollection he remembered how, five years ago,when Rice had suggested to her that she was "hard to please," she hadreplied that she "didn't know, but that she was waiting to see." It didnot occur to him to wonder why she had not awakened then, or if thisawakening had anything to do with her own volition. It was not probablethat they would meet again after to-day, or if they did, that she wouldnot relapse into her former self and fail to impress him as she had now.But--here she was--a paragon of feminine promptitude--already standingin the doorway, accurately gloved and booted, and wearing a demure grayhat that modestly crowned her decorously elegant figure.

  They crossed the plaza side by side, in the still garish sunlight thatseemed to mock the scant shade of the youthful eucalyptus trees, andpresently fell in with the stream of people going in their direction.The former daughters of Sidon, the Billingses, the Peterses, andWingates, were there bourgeoning and expanding in the glare of their newprosperity, with silk and gold; there were newer faces still, and prettyones,--for Tasajara as a "Cow County" had attracted settlers with largefamilies,--and there were already the contrasting types of East andWest. Many turned to look after the tall figure of the daughter of theFounder of Tasajara,--a spectacle lately rare to the town; a few glancedat her companion, equally noticeable as a stranger. Thanks, however, tosome judicious preliminary advertising from the hotel clerk, Peters, andDaniel Harcourt himself, by the time Grant and Miss Harcourt had reachedthe Hall his name and fame were already known, and speculation hadalready begun whether this new stroke of Harcourt's shrewdness might notunite Clementina to a renowned and profitable partner.

  The Hall was in one of the further and newly opened suburbs, and itsside and rear windows gave immediately upon the outlying and illimitableplain of Tasajara. It was a tasteful and fair-seeming structure of wood,surprisingly and surpassingly new. In fact that was its one dominantfeature; nowhere else had youth and freshness ever shown itselfas unconquerable and all-conquering. The spice of virgin woods andtrackless forests still rose from its pine floors, and breathed from itsouter shell of cedar that still oozed its sap, and redwood that stilldropped its life-blood. Nowhere else were the plastered walls andceilings as white and dazzling in their unstained purity, or as redolentof the outlying quarry in their clear cool breath of lime and stone.Even the turpentine of fresh and spotless paint added to this senseof wholesome germination, and as the clear and brilliant Californiansunshine swept through the open windows west and east, suffusing thewhole palpitating structure with its searching and resistless radiance,the very air seemed filled with the aroma of creation.

  The fresh colors of the young Republic, the bright blazonry of thenewest State, the coat-of-arms of the infant County of Tasajara--(avignette of sunset-tules cloven by the steam of an advancingtrain)--hanging from the walls, were all a part of this invinciblejuvenescence. Even the newest silks, ribbons and prints of the latestholiday fashions made their first virgin appearance in the new buildingas if to consecrate it, until it was stirred by the rustle of youth, aswit
h the sound and movement of budding spring.

  A strain from the new organ--whose heart, however, had prematurelylearned its own bitterness--and a thin, clear, but somewhat shrillchanting from a choir of young ladies were followed by a prayer from theReverend Mr. Pilsbury. Then there was a pause of expectancy, and Grant'sfair companion, who up to that moment had been quietly acting as guideand cicerone to her father's guest, excused herself with a littlegrimace of mock concern and was led away by one of the committee.Grant's usually keen eyes were wandering somewhat abstractedly over theagitated and rustling field of ribbons, flowers and feathers before him,past the blazonry of banner on the walls, and through the open windowsto the long sunlit levels beyond, when he noticed a stir upon the raiseddais or platform at the end of the room, where the notables of Tasajarawere formally assembled. The mass of black coats suddenly parted anddrew back against the wall to allow the coming forward of a singlegraceful figure. A thrill of nervousness as unexpected as unaccountablepassed over him as he recognized Clementina. In the midst of a suddensilence she read the report of the committee from a paper in her hand,in a clear, untroubled voice--the old voice of Sidon--and formallydeclared the building opened. The sunlight, nearly level, streamedthrough the western window across the front of the platform where shestood and transfigured her slight but noble figure. The hush that hadfallen upon the Hall was as much the effect of that tranquil, idealpresence as of the message with which it was charged. And yet thatapparition was as inconsistent with the clear, searching lightwhich helped to set it off, as it was with the broad new blazonry ofdecoration, the yet unsullied record of the white walls, or even thefrank, animated and pretty faces that looked upon it. Perhaps it wassome such instinct that caused the applause which hesitatingly andtardily followed her from the platform to appear polite and halfrestrained rather than spontaneous.

  Nevertheless Grant was honestly and sincerely profuse in hiscongratulations. "You were far cooler and far more self-contained than Ishould have been in your place," he said, "than in fact I actually WAS,only as your auditor. But I suppose you have done it before?"

  She turned her beautiful eyes on his wonderingly. "No,--this is thefirst time I ever appeared in public,--not even at school, for eventhere I was always a private pupil."

  "You astonish me," said Grant; "you seemed like an old hand at it."

  "Perhaps I did, or rather as if I didn't think anything of itmyself,--and that no doubt is why the audience didn't think anything ofit either."

  So she HAD noticed her cold reception, and yet there was not theslightest trace of disappointment, regret, or wounded vanity in hertone or manner. "You must take me to the refreshment room now," shesaid pleasantly, "and help me to look after the young ladies who are myguests. I'm afraid there are still more speeches to come, and father andMr. Pilsbury are looking as if they confidently expected something morewould be 'expected' of them."

  Grant at once threw himself into the task assigned to him, with hisnatural gallantry and a certain captivating playfulness which he stillretained. Perhaps he was the more anxious to please in order that hiscompanion might share some of his popularity, for it was undeniable thatMiss Harcourt still seemed to excite only a constrained politenessamong those with whom she courteously mingled. And this was still moredistinctly marked by the contrast of a later incident.

  For some moments the sound of laughter and greeting had risen near thedoor of the refreshment room that opened upon the central hall, andthere was a perceptible movement of the crowd--particularly of youthfulmale Tasajara--in that direction. It was evident that it announced theunexpected arrival of some popular resident. Attracted like the others,Grant turned and saw the company making way for the smiling, easy,half-saucy, half-complacent entry of a handsomely dressed young girl. Asshe turned from time to time to recognize with rallying familiarity orcharming impertinence some of her admirers, there was that in hertone and gesture which instantly recalled to him the past. It wasunmistakably Euphemia! His eyes instinctively sought Clementina's. Shewas gazing at him with such a grave, penetrating look,--half doubting,half wistful,--a look so unlike her usual unruffled calm that he feltstrangely stirred. But the next moment, when she rejoined him, the lookhad entirely gone. "You have not seen my sister since you were at Sidon,I believe?" she said quietly. "She would be sorry to miss you." ButEuphemia and her train were already passing them on the opposite side ofthe long table. She had evidently recognized Grant, yet the two sisterswere looking intently into each other's eyes when he raised his own.Then Euphemia met his bow with a momentary accession of color, acoquettish wave of her hand across the table, a slight exaggeration ofher usual fascinating recklessness, and smilingly moved away. He turnedto Clementina, but here an ominous tapping at the farther end of thelong table revealed the fact that Mr. Harcourt was standing on a chairwith oratorical possibilities in his face and attitude. There wasanother forward movement in the crowd and--silence. In that solid,black-broadclothed, respectable figure, that massive watchchain, thatwhite waistcoat, that diamond pin glistening in the satin cravat,Euphemia might have seen the realization of her prophetic vision atSidon five years before.

  He spoke for ten minutes with a fluency and comprehensive business-likedirectness that surprised Grant. He was not there, he said, to glorifywhat had been done by himself, his family, or his friends in Tasajara.Others who were to follow him might do that, or at least might be betterable to explain and expatiate upon the advantages of the institutionthey had just opened, and its social, moral, and religious effect uponthe community. He was there as a business man to demonstrate tothem--as he had always done and always hoped to do--the money valueof improvement; the profit--if they might choose to call it--ofwell-regulated and properly calculated speculation. The plot of landupon which they stood, of which the building occupied only one eighth,was bought two years before for ten thousand dollars. When the plansof the building were completed a month afterwards, the value of theremaining seven eighths had risen enough to defray the cost of theentire construction. He was in a position to tell them that only thatmorning the adjacent property, subdivided and laid out in streets andbuilding-plots, had been admitted into the corporate limits of the city;and that on the next anniversary of the building they would approachit through an avenue of finished dwellings! An outburst of applausefollowed the speaker's practical climax; the fresh young faces of hisauditors glowed with invincible enthusiasm; the afternoon trade-winds,freshening over the limitless plain beyond, tossed the bright bannersat the windows as with sympathetic rejoicing, and a few odorous pineshavings, overlooked in a corner in the hurry of preparation, touchedby an eddying zephyr, crept out and rolled in yellow ringlets across thefloor.

  The Reverend Doctor Pilsbury arose in a more decorous silence. He hadlistened approvingly, admiringly, he might say even reverently, to thepreceding speaker. But although his distinguished friend had, with hisusual modesty, made light of his own services and those of his charmingfamily, he, the speaker, had not risen to sing his praises. No; itwas not in this Hall, projected by his foresight and raised by hisliberality; in this town, called into existence by his energy andstamped by his attributes; in this county, developed by his genius andsustained by his capital; ay, in this very State whose grandeur was madepossible by such giants as he,--it was not in any of these places thatit was necessary to praise Daniel Harcourt, or that a panegyric of himwould be more than idle repetition. Nor would he, as that distinguishedman had suggested, enlarge upon the social, moral, and religiousbenefits of the improvement they were now celebrating. It was writtenon the happy, innocent faces, in the festive garb, in the decorousdemeanor, in the intelligent eyes that sparkled around him, in thepresence of those of his parishioners whom he could meet as freely hereto-day as in his own church on Sunday. What then could he say? What thenwas there to say? Perhaps he should say nothing if it were not forthe presence of the young before him.--He stopped and fixed his eyespaternally on the youthful Johnny Billings, who with a half dozenother Sunday-school
scholars had been marshaled before the reverendspeaker.--And what was to be the lesson THEY were to learn from it? Theyhad heard what had been achieved by labor, enterprise, and diligence.Perhaps they would believe, and naturally too, that what labor,enterprise, and diligence had done could be done again. But was thatall? Was there nothing behind these qualities--which, after all, werewithin the reach of every one here? Had they ever thought that backof every pioneer, every explorer, every pathfinder, every founder andcreator, there was still another? There was no terra incognita so rareas to be unknown to one; no wilderness so remote as to be beyond agreater ken than theirs; no waste so trackless but that one had alreadypassed that way! Did they ever reflect that when the dull sea ebbed andflowed in the tules over the very spot where they were now standing, whoit was that also foresaw, conceived, and ordained the mighty change thatwould take place; who even guided and directed the feeble means employedto work it; whose spirit moved, as in still older days of which they hadread, over the face of the stagnant waters? Perhaps they had. Who thenwas the real pioneer of Tasajara,--back of the Harcourts, the Peterses,the Billingses, and Wingates? The reverend gentleman gently paused fora reply. It was given in the clear but startled accents of the halffrightened, half-fascinated Johnny Billings, in three words:--

  "'Lige Curtis, sir!"