Bunch Grass: A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch

by Horace Annesley Vachell

  IV

  GLORIANA

  For three weeks we had advertised for a cook--in vain! And ranch life,in consequence, began to lose colour and coherence. Even the animalssuffered: the dogs, the chickens, and in particular the tame piglet,who hung disconsolate about the kitchen door watching, and perchancepraying, for the hired girl that was not.

  "This," said Ajax, "spells demoralisation."

  He alluded to the plates which lay face downward upon the dining-roomtable. We had agreed to wash up every other meal, saving time at theexpense of decency. One plate did double duty, for we used the top forbreakfast and the bottom for dinner. Before supper we scrubbed itthoroughly and began again.

  "And this bread of yours," I retorted warmly--the plate labour-savingscheme was a happy thought of my own--"spells dyspepsia."

  "True," he admitted forlornly. "I can make, but not bake bread. In adomestic crisis like this many things must be left underdone. We mustfind a cook. I propose that we ride to the village, and rope some agedvirgin."

  We discussed the propriety of such a raid with spirit. I contendedthat we might have reason to regret, at the end of another rope, sohigh-handed a proceeding.

  "You are right," said Ajax. "That is the worst of this confoundedranch. Here, we enjoy neither the amenities of civilisation nor thefreedom of the desert. However, it's always darkest before dawn, andI've a feeling in my bones that the present state of affairs cannotlast. Something will turn up."

  That afternoon Gloriana turned up.

  We were sitting upon the verandah oppressed with the weight of beans,bacon, and soggy biscuit. As we smoked in silence our eyes restedgloomily upon the landscape--our domain. Before us lay an amber-coloured, sun-scorched plain; beyond were the foot-hills, bristlingwith chaparral, scrub-oaks, pines and cedars; beyond these again rosethe grey peaks of the Santa Lucia range, pricking the eastern horizon.Over all hung the palpitating skies, eternally and exasperatinglyblue, a-quiver with light and heat.

  "Somebody's coming," said Ajax.

  The country road, white with alkaline dust, crossed the ranch at rightangles. Far away, to the left, was a faint blur upon the pink hills.

  "It's no wagon," said Ajax idly, "and a _vaquero_ would neverride in the dust. It must be a buggy."

  Five minutes later we could distinguish a quaint figure sittingupright in an ancient buckboard whose wheels wobbled and creaked withalmost human infirmity. A mule furnished the motive power.

  "Is it a man or a woman?" said Ajax.

  "Possibly," I replied, "a cook."

  "She is about to pay us a visit. Yes, it's a woman, a bundle of bones,dust and alpaca crowned with a sombrero. A book-agent, I swear. Go andtell her we have never learned to read."

  I demurred. Finally we spun a dollar to decide upon which of us laythe brutal duty of turning away the stranger within our gates. Fortunefrowned on me, and I rose reluctantly from my chair.

  "Air you the hired man?" said the woman in the buggy, as I lookedaskance into her face.

  "I work here," I replied, "for my board--which is not of the best."

  "Ye seem kinder thin. Say--air the lords to home?"

  "The lords?"

  "Yes, the lords. They tole me back ther," she jerked her head in thedirection of the village, "that two English lords owned a big cattle-ranch right here; an' I thought, mebbee, that they'd like ter see--me."

  A pathetic accent of doubt quavered upon the personal pronoun.

  "Ye kin tell 'em," she continued, "that I'm here. Yes, sir, I'm abook-agent, an' my book will interest them--sure."

  Her eyes, soft blue eyes, bespoke hope; her lips quivered with tell-tale anxiety. Something inharmonious about the little woman, a queerlack of adjustment between voice and mouth, struck me as singular, butnot unpleasing.

  "It's called," she pleaded, in the tenderest tones, "_A Golden Wordfrom Mother_. I sell it bound in cloth, sheep, or moroccy. It'sperfectly lovely--in moroccy."

  "One of the--er--lords," said I gravely, "is here. I'll call him. Ithink he can read."

  This, according to our fraternal code, was rank treachery, yet I feltno traitor. Ajax obeyed my summons, and, sauntering across the sun-baked yard, lifted his hat to the visitor. She bowed politely, andblinked, with short-sighted eyes, at my brother's overalls andtattered canvas shirt. I have seen Ajax, in Piccadilly, glorious in afrock-coat and varnished boots. I have seen him, as Gloriana saw himfor the first time, in rags that might provoke the scorn of Lazarus.With the thermometer at a hundred in the shade, custom curtseys toconvenience. Ajax boasted with reason that the loosening of a singlesafety-pin left him in condition for a plunge into the pool at thefoot of the corral.

  "I hope you're well, lord," said the little woman; "an' if ye ain't,why--what I've got here'll do ye more good than a doctor. I reckon yehev a mother, an' naterally she thinks the world of ye. Well, sir, Ibring ye a golden word from her very lips. Jest listen to this. Iain't much on the elocute, but I'm goin' ter do my best."

  We listened patiently as she declaimed half a page of wretched prose.Her voice rose and fell in a sing-song cadence, but certainmodulations of tone lent charm to the absurd words. When she finishedher eyes were full of tears.

  "That is very nice indeed," said Ajax softly. "I should like to buyyour book."

  Her hands trembled.

  "I sell it in cloth at--one dollar; in sheep at--one, six bits; inreel moroccy, with gold toolin' at--two an' a half."

  "We must certainly secure a copy in gold and morocco."

  Her eyes sparkled with pleasure.

  "Two copies," I suggested rashly: "one for you, Ajax; one for me."

  "Ye kin take yer copy in cloth," said the little woman,compassionately, "sein' as ye're only workin' for yer board."

  "In gold and morocco," I replied firmly. "The hand that rocks thecradle is the hand that rules the world. A golden word from mothercannot be fittingly bound in fustian."

  "Ye must hev had awful nice mothers, both of ye," she said simply. "DoI sell many books? No, sir. Farmer-folks in Californy ain't got themoney ter spend in readin' matter. They're in big luck these times ifthey kin pay the interest on their mortgages. With wheat at eightycents a cental, an' barley not wuth the haulin', it seems most animpertinence to ask grangers ter buy books."

  "Do you make twenty dollars a month at the business?"

  She shook her head sorrowfully.

  "This is September," said Ajax, "and within six weeks the rains willbegin. What will you do then?"

  She regarded him wistfully, but made no reply.

  "Your mule," continued Ajax, "is about played out--poor beast. Willyou stay here this winter, and keep house for us? I daresay you cookvery nicely; and next spring, if you feel like it, you can start outbookselling again."

  "My cookin' is sech as white folks kin eat, but----"

  "We will pay you twenty dollars a month."

  "The wages air more'n enough, but----"

  "And the work will be light."

  "I ain't scar't o' work," she retorted valiantly, "but----"

  "It's settled, then," said Ajax, in his masterful way. "If you'll getdown, I'll unhitch the mule and put him in the barn. My brother willshow you the house."

  She descended, protesting, but we could not catch the words that fellfrom her lips.

  "You must tell us your name," said Ajax

  "It's Gloriana," she faltered.

  "Gloriana? Gloriana--what?"

  "Jes--Gloriana."

  * * * * *

  "She is a type," said Ajax, a few days later.

  "A type of what?"

  "Of the women who suffer and are not strong There are many such inthis Western country. I'd like to hear her story. Is she married orsingle? old or young? crazy or sane?"

  "Gloriana," I answered, "satisfies our appetites but not ourcuriosity."

  As time passed, her reticence upon all personal matters becameexasperating. At the end of the first month she demanded and receivedher salary. Mor
eover, refusing our escort, she tramped three dustymiles to the village post-office, and returned penniless but jubilant.At supper Ajax said--"It's more blessed to give than to receive--eh,Gloriana?"

  She compressed her lips, but her eyes were sparkling. After supperAjax commented upon her improved appearance in her presence. Heconfessed himself at a loss to account for this singularrejuvenescence.

  Expecting company, Gloriana?"

  "Mebbee-an' mebbee not."

  "You brought home a large parcel," said Ajax. "A precious parcel. Why,you held it as a woman holds her first baby."

  She smiled, and bade us good-night.

  "I've no call ter stan' aroun' gassin'," she assured us. "I've workter do--a plenty of it, too."

  During the month of October she spent all her leisure hours locked upin her own room; and, waiting upon us at meals, quoted freely thatfamous book--_A Golden Word from Mother_. We often heard hersinging softly to herself, keeping time to the click of her needle.When pay-day came she demanded leave of absence. The village, she toldus, was sadly behind the times, and with our permission she proposedto drive her mule and buckboard to the county seat--San Lorenzo.

  "I've business of importance," she said proudly, "ter transack."

  She returned the following evening with a larger parcel than thefirst.

  "I've bought a bonnet," she confessed shyly, "an' trimmins."

  We prevailed upon her to show us these purchases: white satin ribbon,jet, and a feather that might have graced the hat of the Master ofRavenswood. The "locating" of this splendid plume was no easy task.

  "Maxims," sighed Gloriana, "is mostly rubbish. Now, fine feathers--an'ther ain't a finer feather than this in San Lorenzy county--don't makefine birds. A sparrer is always a sparrer, an' can't look like anostridge noway. But, good land! feathers is my weakness."

  She burned much oil that night, and on the morrow the phoenix thatsprang from the flames was proudly displayed.

  "I bought more'n a bonnet yesterday," she said, with her head on oneside, and a slyly complacent smile upon her lips. "Yes, sir, stuff termake a dress--a party dress, the finest kind o' goods."

  Ajax stared helplessly at me. The mystery that encompassed this womanwas positively indecent.

  "An' shoes," she concluded. "I bought me a pair, hand sewn, withFrench tips--very dressy."

  Later, inspired by tobacco, we agreed that the problem was solved. Ourhead _vaquero_, Uncle Jake, gaunt as a coyote at Christmas, andquite as hungry, had fallen a victim to Gloriana's flesh-pots. Helived in an old _adobe_ near the big corral, boarded himself anda couple of Mexicans upon _tortillas_, _frijoles_ and bacon,and was famous throughout the countryside as a confirmed bachelor andwoman hater. We entertained a high regard for this veteran, because heseldom got drunk, and always drove cattle _slowly_. To him thesly Gloriana served Anglo-Saxon viands: pies, "jell'" (compoundedaccording to a famous Wisconsin recipe), and hot biscuit, light as thelaughter of children! What misogynist can withstand such arts? Iremembered that at the fall calf-branding Uncle Jake had expressed hisapproval of our _cordon bleu_ in no measured terms.

  "You've noted," he said, "that a greaser jest naterally hates terhandle mares. He rides a horse, an' he's right. The best o' mares willkick. Now, Glory Anne can't help bein' a woman, but I swear she's binmighty well broke. She works right up into the collar--quiet an'steady, an' keeps her tongue, whar it belongs, shet up in her mouth.I've seen a sight o' wimmen I thot less of than Glory Anne."

  I repeated these words to Ajax. He admitted their significance, inconnection with bonnets and furbelows, and we both went to bed with asound of marriage-bells in our ears. We slept soundly, convinced thatneither Gloriana nor Uncle Jake would leave our service, and atbreakfast the next morning discoursed at length upon the subject ofwedding presents.

  "What would you suggest, Gloriana," said Ajax, "as suitable for amiddle-aged bridegroom?"

  She considered the question thoughtfully, a delightful smile upon herlips.

  "Ther's nothin' more interestin' than marryin', excep' mebbee thecourtin'," she replied softly, "an' a gift is, so ter speak, a messageo' love an' tenderness from one human heart t' another. With poorfolks, who ain't experts in the use o' words, a gift means more 'ntongue kin tell. I'm sot myself on makin' things. Every stitch I putinto a piece o' fancy work fer--a friend makes me feel the happier.Sech sewin' is a reel labour o' love, an' I kinder hate ter hurry overit, because, as I was sayin', it means so much that I'd like ter say,but bein' ignorant don't know how. A present fer a middle-agedbridegroom? Well, now, if 'twas me, I'd make him a nice comfortablebed-spread, with the best an' prettiest o' stitchin."

  We both laughed. Uncle Jake under a gorgeous counterpane would make agraven image smile. Gloriana laughed with us.

  "It'd be most too dainty fer some," she said, with a surprising senseof humour, "but I was thinkin' ye wanted a gift fer one o' yer high-toned relations in the old country. No? Well, take yer time: a giftain't lightly chosen."

  "I shall tackle Uncle Jake," said Ajax, as he rode over the ranch."Gloriana is too discreet, but she bought that bonnet for her ownwedding."

  Uncle Jake, however, was cunning of fence.

  "I don't feel lonesome," he declared. "Ye see I'm a cattle man, an' Ilike the travelled trails. I ain't huntin' no quicksands. Many afeller has mired down tryin' a new crossin'. No, sir, I calkilate terremain single."

  "He's very foxy," commented Ajax, "but he means business. It reallybothers me that they won't confide in us."

  The November rains were unusually heavy that year, and confined us tothe house. Gloriana had borrowed a sewing-machine from a neighbour,and worked harder than ever, inflaming her eyes and our curiosity. Wespeculated daily upon her past, present and future, having little elseto distract us in a life that was duller than a Chinese comedy. Wewaxed fat in idleness, but the cook grew lean.

  "You're are losing flesh, Gloriana," said I, noting her sunken cheeksand glittering eyes.

  "In a good cause," she replied fervently. "Anyways, ther ain't ahappier woman than me in the state of Californy! Well, I'm most thro'with my sewing, an' I'd like ter show ye both what I've done, but----"

  "We've have been waiting for this, Gloriana," said Ajax, tartly. "As amember of the family you have not treated my brother and myselffairly. This mysterious work of yours is not only wearing you to skinand bone, it is consuming us with curiosity."

  "Ye're jokin', Mr. Ajax."

  "This is no joking matter, Gloriana."

  She blushed, and glanced indecisively at two solemn faces.

  "Ye've bin more 'n good ter me," she said slowly, "but a secret is asecret till it's told. I hate ter tell my secret, an'--an' yer bothyoung unmarried men. It's really embarrassin'."

  "Your secret is no secret," said my brutal brother. "Somebody,Gloriana, is about to get married--eh?"

  "Good land! How did ye come ter guess that?"

  "Uncle Jake has not said a word."

  "Well--why should he?"

  "He's as close as a clam--the old sinner. So we can congratulate you,Gloriana?"

  "Ye kin indeed."

  We shook hands, and she led the way to her own room. There, spreadupon her bed, lay some dainty garments, exquisitely fashioned,--aregular trousseau! Even to our inexperienced eyes the beauty of theworkmanship was amazing.

  "A woman," she murmured, "likes ter look at sech things. An' I dothink these air good enough."

  "Good enough!" we repeated. "They're fit for a queen."

  "An' a queen is goin' ter wear 'em," said Gloriana proudly--"a queeno' beauty."

  We stared blankly at each other. Had Cupid robbed his victim of herwits?

  "They air fer Miss Miriam Standish, who was queen o' beauty at the SanLorenzy carnival. Miss Standish is the granddaughter of DoctorStandish. Ye've heard o' him--of course?"

  She glanced keenly at Ajax, who rose to the occasion with an alacritythat I trust the recording angel appreciated.

  "Of course," he said hastily. "Doctor S
tandish is a man of mark; as aphysician, he----"

  "He ain't a physician," said Gloriana. "He's a doctor o' divinity--alearned, godly man."

  "And his granddaughter is about to marry----"

  "Mr. Hubert Leadbetter. I should say _Professor_ Leadbetter, whokeeps the biggest drug-store in town."

  We had bought drugs from the Professor, and were happily able totestify to his personal charms. Gloriana beamed.

  "Ther ain't a finer young man in the land, Mr. Ajax: he's jest as goodas his own sarsaparilla."

  "You are going to attend the wedding?" said I, thinking of thewonderful bonnet.

  "If you please," said Gloriana. "I jest couldn't stay away. Why, I'vemade things fer Miriam Standish ever since she was born. That is how Ilearned ter sew as few women kin sew."

  Ajax touched one of the garments lightly, as became a bachelor.

  "This work will bring you many shekels, Gloriana. I had no idea youwere such a needlewoman."

  "What!" she cried, her face crimson. "Do you think I'd take money fromMiriam Standish? Why----"

  She stopped short in confusion, and covered her poor face withtrembling hands.

  "I beg your pardon," said Ajax gravely, "I wouldn't hurt yourfeelings, Gloriana, for the world."

  She looked up, irresolutely.

  "I reckon I've said too much or too little," she said slowly. "Ye'reboth gen'lemen, an' ye've bin awful kind ter me. I kin trust ye withmy secret, an' I'm goin' ter do it. The Standishes, are New Englandfolk--high-toned an' mighty particler. It's as easy fer them ter bevirtuous as ter eat punkin pie fer breakfast. I come from Wisconsin,where we think more of our bodies than our souls; an' 'twas inWisconsin that I first met Dr. Standish. He had a call to the town,wher I lived with--with my sister. She, my sister, was a real prettygirl then, but of a prettiness that soon fades. An' she hired out ascook ter the Doctor. He was a good man, an' a kind one, but she paidback his kindness by runnin' off with his only son."

  "Surely," said Ajax gently, "the son was also to blame?"

  "No, sir, my sister was ter blame, an' she knew it. We was commonfolk, Mr. Ajax, what they would call in the South--white trash, an'the Standishes was real quality. My sister knew that, an' refused tomarry the young man, tho' he asked her on his bended knees. Then hedied, an'--an' my sister died, an' nothin' was left but the sorrow an'the shame, an'--Miriam."

  The name fell softly on a silence that we respected. Presently shecontinued--

  "Doctor Standish offered to take the child, an' I dared not keep her.His terms were awful hard, but just: the scandal'd broke up his home,an' his heart. He tole me he'd take Miriam ter Californy, an' that shemust never know the story of her mother's sin. That was right, Mr.Ajax--eh?"

  "I don't know, Gloriana. Go on."

  "I promised him never ter speak to the child, an' I've kept my word;but he let me make her things. That was kind of him--very kind."

  "Very kind, indeed," said Ajax.

  "I followed 'em ter Californy, an' worked out, an' sold books an'peddled fruit, but I've kep' track o' little Miriam."

  "You have never spoken to her, you say?"

  "Never. Doctor Standish kin trust me. He's posted me, too. He tole meo' the wedding. I got word the night I first went ter the village, an'that's why--" she smiled through her tears--"that's why I wore myteeth. They cost me twenty dollars, an' I keep 'em fer high days an'holidays."

  Ajax began to pace up and down the room. I heard him swearing tohimself, and his fists were clenched. I felt certain that he was aboutto interfere in matters that did not concern us.

  "Miss Standish should be told the truth," said he at last.

  "No, no," she exclaimed. "I'm a wicked woman to wish ter kiss her. Idone wrong in telling the secret, but yer sympathy jest twisted itouter me. Promise me, Mr. Ajax, that ye'll never give me away."

  We pledged our word, and left her.

  * * * * *

  "Gloriana's dun days must soon come to an end," said Ajax to me uponthe eve of the wedding.

  "Why shouldn't she marry Uncle Jake? The old chap wants her. Heinformed me this afternoon that a double team travelled farther than asingle horse. And he hangs about the kitchen door all the time, anddivides Gloriana's favours with the pig."

  "Tell him to propose."

  "I'll have to do it for him," replied my brother. "Uncle Jake has notthe gift of tongues."

  We accompanied Gloriana to San Lorenzo; as we feared to trust ourfriend--for so we had come to regard her--with the mule, a mischievousbeast, spoiled by prosperity. Ajax drove a skittish pair of colts.Gloriana and I occupied the back seat of our big spring wagon.

  "My brother is not Uncle Jake," said Ajax, as soon as the colts hadsettled down to business, "but he'll tell you all the pretty thingsthe old man says about you."

  "Uncle Jake is puffectly rediclous," replied Gloriana gaily. "His loveis cupboard love."

  "He has mired down at last."

  "Nonsense! Mr. Ajax."

  "He is set on matrimony. You are the one woman in the world for him.Take him, Gloriana; and then we'll all live together for ever andever."

  "Mr. Ajax, you'd sooner joke than eat."

  "I'm not joking now. Uncle Jake is an honest man, with money laid by.He would make you comfortable for life, and such a marriage might pavethe way to--to a better understanding with Doctor Standish."

  Her face flushed at these last words, and fire flooded her eyes.Looking at her, I realised that long ago this worn woman must havebeen a beautiful girl.

  "No," she answered steadily. "I wouldn't say Yes to the Angel Gabriel.Uncle Jake and I would make a baulky team. He's obstinate as my oldmule, an' so am I. An' there's another thing: I'm most petered out,an' need a rest. Mattermony ain't rest."

  My brother had tact enough to change the subject.

  Descending the San Lorenzo grade, a sharp incline, Gloriana called ourattention to a view panoramic and matchless beneath the glamour ofsunset. Below us lay the mission town, its crude buildings aglow withrosy light; to the left was the canon, a frowning wilderness ofmanzanita, cactus and chaparral; to the right towered the triune peakof the Bishop, purple against an amber sky; in the distance were theshimmering waters of the Pacific. Upon the face of the landscapebrooded infinite peace, and the soft shadows of evening.

  "In Californy," said our passenger, "the glorious works o' the Lordair revealed. There's the Bishop: he looks fine to-night. Ye kin seethe peak, but the sea fog's crawlin' in, an' shets off the main bodyo' the mountain. That's wher the fogs air always thickest. An' that'swher I lost my way, Mr. Ajax. Yes, sir, my feet stumbled on the darkmountain, as the prophet says, but I clumb the stony places, an' now,on the top, its clear."

  "Gloriana," said Ajax, after a pause, "will you allow my brother, whois a grave and learned signor, to plead your cause with DoctorStandish? I know what lies nearest your heart."

  In this impudent fashion he laid a grievous burden on me; for I haveno stomach for other folk's pastry, yet the hope that glistened uponGloriana's face whetted a strange appetite.

  "I'll speak to him--if you wish it," said I.

  "No," she returned, her eyes giving the lie to her lips. "It wouldn'tbe right."

  But a woman's brain is a sorry advocate against her heart. Ajax, as Iexpected, put her scruples to rout. It was agreed that I should carry,as credentials, Gloriana's present--the parcel she hugged to herbosom, weighty with love and linen; that the interview should takeplace after dinner; that the recognition of Gloriana as Miriam'sblood-relation should be not demanded but suggested with all deferencedue to a doctor of divinity. The Standishes boarded at the Hotel BuenaVista, where we always stayed; Gloriana was set down at a modest two-bit house, some three-quarters of a mile distant.

  As the hour of meeting the Doctor approached, my courage oozed fromevery pore, distilling a malignant dew of mistrust that not even theoptimism of Ajax could evaporate. As we sat at meat I noted withapprehension the stern features of Standish, who occupied an adjoin
ingtable. He ate sparingly, as became an old man, and drank no wine. Hisgranddaughter, a charming girl, with eyes that reminded me ofGloriana, chattered gaily to him, but he replied in monosyllables.Doubtless he was thinking of the parting on the morrow.

  Half-an-hour later he received me in his room, and asked courteouslyin what way he could serve me.

  I laid my credentials upon the table. They were flanked, I remarked,by a Bible, and a well-worn book of prayer.

  "This," I began lamely, "is a present from our housekeeper, Gloriana,to your granddaughter. She asked me to deliver it into your hands."

  "I thank you, sir," he replied stiffly. "You say this--er--woman isyour housekeeper?"

  "Our housekeeper--and our friend."

  "Indeed. Well, sir, I am obliged to you. Good-night."

  "A present," said I, "demands an acknowledgment."

  "An acknowledgment? You look at me very strangely, young man."

  Upon this I spoke; explaining, in halting sentences, my mission. Helistened attentively, a frown upon his somewhat narrow forehead.

  "How dare you interfere in such matters!" he asked, in a voice thatquavered with suppressed rage. "What right have you to come between meand a woman, an ignorant, immoral creature, whose very presence iscontamination?"

  "Ignorant, illiterate--yes; but a braver, truer, more loving spiritnever breathed. I count it a privilege to know her. Surely she hassuffered enough for a sister's sin!"

  "My life has been poisoned," he muttered. "I was robbed at once of myson and of my profession, for I dared not preach what I could notpractise--forgiveness. Leave me, sir."

  "I beg your pardon," said I bitterly. "If you turn a deaf ear to this"(I touched his Bible), "and these" (I tore open the parcel, and spreadGloriana's handiwork upon the table), "how can I expect you to listento me?"

  "You are in possession of all the facts, sir. Don't presume to judgeme. Go--and take these things with you. It has been the object of mylife to keep my granddaughter and this woman apart. I allowed her towork for the child, but the clothes she has been sending I have givento--others. Already, despite my efforts, she suspects that there issome unhappy mystery about her birth."

  * * * * *

  Ajax met me on the threshold of our cheerless hotel parlour, andlistened confounded to my story. As we sat smoking and talking thebell-boy ushered in Gloriana. When she caught sight of her preciousparcel she gasped with satisfaction.

  "I'm most choked," she panted, "in trying ter get here in time. Ireckon I run most o' the way. Ever since ye set me down I've bintryin' studyin' an' worryin'. I don't want ye," she turned an anxiousface to mine, "ter speak ter Doctor Standish to-night, fer it mightonsettle Miriam. Good land o' Peter, how short my breath is! Ye seether couldn't be room in the child's heart jest now fer me an' the_Pro_fessor. An' when that ther idee took aholt it seemed as if Icouldn't rest till I saw ye. I'm mighty glad I was in time."

  The words fell from her lips in sobs and gasps.

  "It's all right," said Ajax. "Sit down, Gloriana. You deserve ascolding."

  As he spoke she sank upon the couch, and tugged convulsively at thewhite linen band around her throat.

  "She is ill," whispered Ajax. "Run for assistance--quick!"

  I chanced to meet the bell-boy, and dispatched him in search of aphysician. Unable to discriminate between doctors of medicine anddivinity, the youth summoned in hot haste Doctor Standish. Hisgranddaughter, learning that a woman was in sore distress, accompaniedhim. They entered the room together. The Doctor motioned the girlback, but she hastened forward, and, looking with infinite compassioninto the poor twisted face, took Gloriana's hands in hers. Some oneadministered brandy and spirits of ammonia.

  "How did this happen?" said the Doctor aside to me.

  I spared him nothing in the recital, and his stern features softenedas I emphasised Gloriana's anxiety to save Miriam from worry. As Ifinished, the faithful creature opened her eyes, which restednaturally upon the face of Miriam.

  "Why--it's my little girl," she said faintly. Doctor Standish bentforward.

  "If she mistakes you for one of her own kin, don't undeceive her. Playthe part."

  Miriam nodded, and kissed the frail hands that fluttered round herhead.

  "Gimme my parcel," she said presently, in a stronger voice. "Mercysakes! I'm awful weak; but I'd like ter show my little girl the thingsI made for her."

  The parcel was brought and untied. Gloriana touched the garmentstenderly.

  "Nothin'," she murmured, "kin come closer to ye than these prettythings, excep' the love I stitched into 'em. When you wear 'em you'llthink o' me, Miss Standish."

  At the sound of her name the girl started, and looked askance at hergrandfather, who turned his head aside.

  "Who is this woman!" she asked in a low voice.

  The answer came from Gloriana, slowly and distinctly.

  "I'm--nothin'--to--ye; but ye've bin the world an' all ter me. Well--Isaid I'd never go ter my little girl, because I wasn't fit, but Ialways thought that the Lord in His mercy would bring her ter me. Yewore the clothes I sent, an' mebbee ye wondered who made 'em. 'Twasthe happiness o' my life sewing on 'em, an' ter think you was wearin'them. I've worked awful hard, but I kin take it easy--now. I feel reelsleepy, too. Good-night, my pretty, good-night!"

  We were quite unprepared for what happened, believing that our poorfriend was merely over-wrought and weary. But as the words "good-night" fell softly upon our ears Gloriana sighed peacefully--and died.

  "Who is this woman?" said Miriam for the second time, thinking thatGloriana had fallen asleep.

  The Doctor was not so deceived. He pressed forward, and laid histrembling fingers upon the wrist of the dead, and then bent his headtill it rested upon the breast of her he had counted a scandaloussinner. When he confronted us the tears were rolling down his face.

  "May God forgive me!" he cried, falling upon his knees. "This woman,Miriam, was your mother."