Mliss
CHAPTER IJust where the Sierra Nevada begins to subside in gentlerundulations, and the rivers grow less rapid and yellow, on the sideof a great red mountain, stands "Smith's Pocket." Seen from thered road at sunset, in the red light and the red dust, its whitehouses look like the outcroppings of quartz on the mountainside.The red stage topped with red-shirted passengers is lost to viewhalf a dozen times in the tortuous descent, turning up unexpectedlyin out-of-the-way places, and vanishing altogether within a hundredyards of the town. It is probably owing to this sudden twist inthe road that the advent of a stranger at Smith's Pocket is usuallyattended with a peculiar circumstance. Dismounting from thevehicle at the stage office, the too-confident traveler is apt towalk straight out of town under the impression that it lies inquite another direction. It is related that one of the tunnel men,two miles from town, met one of these self-reliant passengers witha carpetbag, umbrella, Harper's Magazine, and other evidences of"Civilization and Refinement," plodding along over the road he hadjust ridden, vainly endeavoring to find the settlement of Smith'sPocket.An observant traveler might have found some compensation for hisdisappointment in the weird aspect of that vicinity. There werehuge fissures on the hillside, and displacements of the red soil,resembling more the chaos of some primary elemental upheaval thanthe work of man; while halfway down, a long flume straddled itsnarrow body and disproportionate legs over the chasm, like anenormous fossil of some forgotten antediluvian. At every stepsmaller ditches crossed the road, hiding in their sallow depthsunlovely streams that crept away to a clandestine union with thegreat yellow torrent below, and here and there were the ruins ofsome cabin with the chimney alone left intact and the hearthstoneopen to the skies.The settlement of Smith's Pocket owed its origin to the finding ofa "pocket" on its site by a veritable Smith. Five thousand dollarswere taken out of it in one half-hour by Smith. Three thousanddollars were expended by Smith and others in erecting a flume andin tunneling. And then Smith's Pocket was found to be only apocket, and subject like other pockets to depletion. AlthoughSmith pierced the bowels of the great red mountain, that fivethousand dollars was the first and last return of his labor. Themountain grew reticent of its golden secrets, and the flumesteadily ebbed away the remainder of Smith's fortune. Then Smithwent into quartz-mining; then into quartz-milling; then intohydraulics and ditching, and then by easy degrees intosaloonkeeping. Presently it was whispered that Smith was drinkinga great deal; then it was known that Smith was a habitual drunkard,and then people began to think, as they are apt to, that he hadnever been anything else. But the settlement of Smith's Pocket,like that of most discoveries, was happily not dependent on thefortune of its pioneer, and other parties projected tunnels andfound pockets. So Smith's Pocket became a settlement, with its twofancy stores, its two hotels, its one express office, and its twofirst families. Occasionally its one long straggling street wasoverawed by the assumption of the latest San Francisco fashions,imported per express, exclusively to the first families; makingoutraged Nature, in the ragged outline of her furrowed surface,look still more homely, and putting personal insult on that greaterportion of the population to whom the Sabbath, with a change oflinen, brought merely the necessity of cleanliness without theluxury of adornment. Then there was a Methodist Church, and hardby a Monte Bank, and a little beyond, on the mountainside, agraveyard; and then a little schoolhouse."The Master," as he was known to his little flock, sat alone onenight in the schoolhouse, with some open copybooks before him,carefully making those bold and full characters which are supposedto combine the extremes of chirographical and moral excellence, andhad got as far as "Riches are deceitful," and was elaborating thenoun with an insincerity of flourish that was quite in the spiritof his text, when he heard a gentle tapping. The woodpeckers hadbeen busy about the roof during the day, and the noise did notdisturb his work. But the opening of the door, and the tappingcontinuing from the inside, caused him to look up. He was slightlystartled by the figure of a young girl, dirty and shabbily clad.Still, her great black eyes, her coarse, uncombed, lusterless blackhair falling over her sunburned face, her red arms and feetstreaked with the red soil, were all familiar to him. It wasMelissa Smith--Smith's motherless child."What can she want here?" thought the master. Everybody knew"Mliss," as she was called, throughout the length and height of RedMountain. Everybody knew her as an incorrigible girl. Her fierce,ungovernable disposition, her mad freaks and lawless character,were in their way as proverbial as the story of her father'sweaknesses, and as philosophically accepted by the townsfolk. Shewrangled with and fought the schoolboys with keener invective andquite as powerful arm. She followed the trails with a woodman'scraft, and the master had met her before, miles away, shoeless,stockingless, and bareheaded on the mountain road. The miners'camps along the stream supplied her with subsistence during thesevoluntary pilgrimages, in freely offered alms. Not but that alarger protection had been previously extended to Mliss. The Rev.Joshua McSnagley, "stated" preacher, had placed her in the hotel asservant, by way of preliminary refinement, and had introduced herto his scholars at Sunday school. But she threw platesoccasionally at the landlord, and quickly retorted to the cheapwitticisms of the guests, and created in the Sabbath school asensation that was so inimical to the orthodox dullness andplacidity of that institution that, with a decent regard for thestarched frocks and unblemished morals of the two pink-and-white-faced children of the first families, the reverend gentleman hadher ignominiously expelled. Such were the antecedents, and suchthe character of Mliss as she stood before the master. It wasshown in the ragged dress, the unkempt hair, and bleeding feet, andasked his pity. It flashed from her black, fearless eyes, andcommanded his respect."I come here tonight," she said rapidly and boldly, keeping herhard glance on his, "because I knew you was alone. I wouldn't comehere when them gals was here. I hate 'em and they hates me.That's why. You keep school, don't you? I want to be teached!"If to the shabbiness of her apparel and uncomeliness of her tangledhair and dirty face she had added the humility of tears, the masterwould have extended to her the usual moiety of pity, and nothingmore. But with the natural, though illogical, instincts of hisspecies, her boldness awakened in him something of that respectwhich all original natures pay unconsciously to one another in anygrade. And he gazed at her the more fixedly as she went on stillrapidly, her hand on that door latch and her eyes on his:"My name's Mliss--Mliss Smith! You can bet your life on that. Myfather's Old Smith--Old Bummer Smith--that's what's the matter withhim. Mliss Smith--and I'm coming to school!""Well?" said the master.Accustomed to be thwarted and opposed, often wantonly and cruelly,for no other purpose than to excite the violent impulses of hernature, the master's phlegm evidently took her by surprise. Shestopped; she began to twist a lock of her hair between her fingers;and the rigid line of upper lip, drawn over the wicked littleteeth, relaxed and quivered slightly. Then her eyes dropped, andsomething like a blush struggled up to her cheek and tried toassert itself through the splashes of redder soil, and the sunburnof years. Suddenly she threw herself forward, calling on God tostrike her dead, and fell quite weak and helpless, with her face onthe master's desk, crying and sobbing as if her heart would break.The master lifted her gently and waited for the paroxysm to pass.When, with face still averted, she was repeating between her sobsthe MEA CULPA of childish penitence--that "she'd be good, shedidn't mean to," etc., it came to him to ask her why she had leftSabbath school.Why had she left the Sabbath school?--why? Oh, yes. What did he(McSnagley) want to tell her she was wicked for? What did he tellher that God hated her for? If God hated her, what did she want togo to Sabbath school for? SHE didn't want to be "beholden" toanybody who hated her.Had she told McSnagley this?Yes, she had.The master laughed. It was a hearty laugh, and echoed so oddly inthe little schoolhouse, and seemed so inconsistent and discordantwith the sighing of the pines without, that he shortly correctedhimself with a sigh. The sigh was quite as sincere in its way,however, and after a moment of serious silence he asked about herfather.Her father? What father? Whose father? What had he ever done forher? Why did the girls hate her? Come now! what made the folkssay, "Old Bummer Smith's Mliss!" when she passed? Yes; oh yes.She wished he was dead--she was dead--everybody was dead; and hersobs broke forth anew.The master then, leaning over her, told her as well as he couldwhat you or I might have said after hearing such unnatural theoriesfrom childish lips; only bearing in mind perhaps better than you orI the unnatural facts of her ragged dress, her bleeding feet, andthe omnipresent shadow of her drunken father. Then, raising her toher feet, he wrapped his shawl around her, and, bidding her comeearly in the morning, he walked with her down the road. There hebade her "good night." The moon shone brightly on the narrow pathbefore them. He stood and watched the bent little figure as itstaggered down the road, and waited until it had passed the littlegraveyard and reached the curve of the hill, where it turned andstood for a moment, a mere atom of suffering outlined against thefar-off patient stars. Then he went back to his work. But thelines of the copybook thereafter faded into long parallels ofnever-ending road, over which childish figures seemed to passsobbing and crying into the night. Then, the little schoolhouseseeming lonelier than before, he shut the door and went home.The next morning Mliss came to school. Her face had been washed,and her coarse black hair bore evidence of recent struggles withthe comb, in which both had evidently suffered. The old defiantlook shone occasionally in her eyes, but her manner was tamer andmore subdued. Then began a series of little trials and self-sacrifices, in which master and pupil bore an equal part, and whichincreased the confidence and sympathy between them. Althoughobedient under the master's eye, at times during recess, ifthwarted or stung by a fancied slight, Mliss would rage inungovernable fury, and many a palpitating young savage, findinghimself matched with his own weapons of torment, would seek themaster with torn jacket and scratched face and complaints of thedreadful Mliss. There was a serious division among the townspeopleon the subject, some threatening to withdraw their children fromsuch evil companionship, and others as warmly upholding the courseof the master in his work of reclamation. Meanwhile, with a steadypersistence that seemed quite astonishing to him on looking backafterward, the master drew Mliss gradually out of the shadow of herpast life, as though it were but her natural progress down thenarrow path on which he had set her feet the moonlit night of theirfirst meeting. Remembering the experience of the evangelicalMcSnagley, he carefully avoided that Rock of Ages on which thatunskillful pilot had shipwrecked her young faith. But if, in thecourse of her reading, she chanced to stumble upon those few wordswhich have lifted such as she above the level of the older, thewiser, and the more prudent--if she learned something of a faiththat is symbolized by suffering, and the old light softened in hereyes, it did not take the shape of a lesson. A few of the plainerpeople had made up a little sum by which the ragged Mliss wasenabled to assume the garments of respect and civilization; andoften a rough shake of the hand, and words of homely commendationfrom a red-shirted and burly figure, sent a glow to the cheek ofthe young master, and set him to thinking if it was altogetherdeserved.Three months had passed from the time of their first meeting, andthe master was sitting late one evening over the moral andsententious copies, when there came a tap at the door and againMliss stood before him. She was neatly clad and clean-faced, andthere was nothing perhaps but the long black hair and bright blackeyes to remind him of his former apparition. "Are you busy?" sheasked. "Can you come with me?"--and on his signifying hisreadiness, in her old willful way she said, "Come, then, quick!"They passed out of the door together and into the dark road. Asthey entered the town the master asked her whither she was going.She replied, "To see my father."It was the first time he had heard her call him by that filialtitle, or indeed anything more than "Old Smith" or the "Old Man."It was the first time in three months that she had spoken of him atall, and the master knew she had kept resolutely aloof from himsince her great change. Satisfied from her manner that it wasfruitless to question her purpose, he passively followed. In out-of-the-way places, low groggeries, restaurants, and saloons; ingambling hells and dance houses, the master, preceded by Mliss,came and went. In the reeking smoke and blasphemous outcries oflow dens, the child, holding the master's hand, stood and anxiouslygazed, seemingly unconscious of all in the one absorbing nature ofher pursuit. Some of the revelers, recognizing Mliss, called tothe child to sing and dance for them, and would have forced liquorupon her but for the interference of the master. Others,recognizing him mutely, made way for them to pass. So an hourslipped by. Then the child whispered in his ear that there was acabin on the other side of the creek crossed by the long flume,where she thought he still might be. Thither they crossed--atoilsome half-hour's walk--but in vain. They were returning by theditch at the abutment of the flume, gazing at the lights of thetown on the opposite bank, when, suddenly, sharply, a quick reportrang out on the clear night air. The echoes caught it, and carriedit round and round Red Mountain, and set the dogs to barking allalong the streams. Lights seemed to dance and move quickly on theoutskirts of the town for a few moments, the stream rippled quiteaudibly beside them, a few stones loosened themselves from thehillside and splashed into the stream, a heavy wind seemed to surgethe branches of the funereal pines, and then the silence seemed tofall thicker, heavier, and deadlier. The master turned towardMliss with an unconscious gesture of protection, but the child hadgone. Oppressed by a strange fear, he ran quickly down the trailto the river's bed, and, jumping from boulder to boulder, reachedthe base of Red Mountain and the outskirts of the village. Midwayof the crossing he looked up and held his breath in awe. For highabove him on the narrow flume he saw the fluttering little figureof his late companion crossing swiftly in the darkness.He climbed the bank, and, guided by a few lights moving about acentral point on the mountain, soon found himself breathless amonga crowd of awe-stricken and sorrowful men. Out from among them thechild appeared, and, taking the master's hand, led him silentlybefore what seemed a ragged hole in the mountain. Her face wasquite white, but her excited manner gone, and her look that of oneto whom some long-expected event had at last happened--anexpression that to the master in his bewilderment seemed almostlike relief. The walls of the cavern were partly propped bydecaying timbers. The child pointed to what appeared to be someragged, castoff clothes left in the hole by the late occupant. Themaster approached nearer with his flaming dip, and bent over them.It was Smith, already cold, with a pistol in his hand and a bulletin his heart, lying beside his empty pocket.
CHAPTER IIThe opinion which McSnagley expressed in reference to a "change ofheart" supposed to be experienced by Mliss was more forciblydescribed in the gulches and tunnels. It was thought there thatMliss had "struck a good lead." So when there was a new graveadded to the little enclosure, and at the expense of the master alittle board and inscription put above it, the RED MOUNTAIN BANNERcame out quite handsomely, and did the fair thing to the memory ofone of "our oldest Pioneers," alluding gracefully to that "bane ofnoble intellects," and otherwise genteelly shelving our dearbrother with the past. "He leaves an only child to mourn hisloss," says the BANNER, "who is now an exemplary scholar, thanks tothe efforts of the Rev. Mr. McSnagley." The Rev. McSnagley, infact, made a strong point of Mliss's conversion, and, indirectlyattributing to the unfortunate child the suicide of her father,made affecting allusions in Sunday school to the beneficial effectsof the "silent tomb," and in this cheerful contemplation drove mostof the children into speechless horror, and caused the pink-and-white scions of the first families to howl dismally and refuse tobe comforted.The long dry summer came. As each fierce day burned itself out inlittle whiffs of pearl-gray smoke on the mountain summits, and theupspringing breeze scattered its red embers over the landscape, thegreen wave which in early spring upheaved above Smith's grave grewsere and dry and hard. In those days the master, strolling in thelittle churchyard of a Sabbath afternoon, was sometimes surprisedto find a few wild flowers plucked from the damp pine forestsscattered there, and oftener rude wreaths hung upon the little pinecross. Most of these wreaths were formed of a sweet-scented grass,which the children loved to keep in their desks, intertwined withthe plumes of the buckeye, the syringa, and the wood anemone, andhere and there the master noticed the dark-blue cowl of themonkshood, or deadly aconite. There was something in the oddassociation of this noxious plant with these memorials whichoccasioned a painful sensation to the master deeper than hisesthetic sense. One day, during a long walk, in crossing a woodedridge he came upon Mliss in the heart of the forest, perched upon aprostrate pine on a fantastic throne formed by the hanging plumesof lifeless branches, her lap full of grasses and pine burrs, andcrooning to herself one of the Negro melodies of her younger life.Recognizing him at a distance, she made room for him on herelevated throne, and with a grave assumption of hospitality andpatronage that would have been ridiculous had it not been soterribly earnest, she fed him with pine nuts and crab apples. Themaster took that opportunity to point out to her the noxious anddeadly qualities of the monkshood, whose dark blossoms he saw inher lap, and extorted from her a promise not to meddle with it aslong as she remained his pupil. This done--as the master hadtested her integrity before--he rested satisfied, and the strangefeeling which had overcome him on seeing them died away.Of the homes that were offered Mliss when her conversion becameknown, the master preferred that of Mrs. Morpher, a womanly andkindhearted specimen of Southwestern efflorescence, known in hermaidenhood as the "Per-rairie Rose." Being one of those whocontend resolutely against their own natures, Mrs. Morpher, by along series of self-sacrifices and struggles, had at lastsubjugated her naturally careless disposition to principles of"order," which she considered, in common with Mr. Pope, as"Heaven's first law." But she could not entirely govern the orbitsof her satellites, however regular her own movements, and even herown "Jeemes" sometimes collided with her. Again her old natureasserted itself in her children. Lycurgus dipped into the cupboard"between meals," and Aristides came home from school without shoes,leaving those important articles on the threshold, for the delightof a barefooted walk down the ditches. Octavia and Cassandra were"keerless" of their clothes. So with but one exception, howevermuch the "Prairie Rose" might have trimmed and pruned and trainedher own matured luxuriance, the little shoots came up defiantlywild and straggling. That one exception was Clytemnestra Morpher,aged fifteen. She was the realization of her mother's immaculateconception--neat, orderly, and dull.It was an amiable weakness of Mrs. Morpher to imagine that "Clytie"was a consolation and model for Mliss. Following this fallacy,Mrs. Morpher threw Clytie at the head of Mliss when she was "bad,"and set her up before the child for adoration in her penitentialmoments. It was not, therefore, surprising to the master to hearthat Clytie was coming to school, obviously as a favor to themaster and as an example for Mliss and others. For "Clytie" wasquite a young lady. Inheriting her mother's physicalpeculiarities, and in obedience to the climatic laws of the RedMountain region, she was an early bloomer. The youth of Smith'sPocket, to whom this kind of flower was rare, sighed for her inApril and languished in May. Enamored swains haunted theschoolhouse at the hour of dismissal. A few were jealous of themaster.Perhaps it was this latter circumstance that opened the master'seyes to another. He could not help noticing that Clytie wasromantic; that in school she required a great deal of attention;that her pens were uniformly bad and wanted fixing; that sheusually accompanied the request with a certain expectation in hereye that was somewhat disproportionate to the quality of serviceshe verbally required; that she sometimes allowed the curves of around, plump white arm to rest on his when he was writing hercopies; that she always blushed and flung back her blond curls whenshe did so. I don't remember whether I have stated that the masterwas a young man--it's of little consequence, however; he had beenseverely educated in the school in which Clytie was taking herfirst lesson, and, on the whole, withstood the flexible curves andfactitious glance like the fine young Spartan that he was. Perhapsan insufficient quality of food may have tended to this asceticism.He generally avoided Clytie; but one evening, when she returned tothe schoolhouse after something she had forgotten, and did not findit until the master walked home with her, I hear that he endeavoredto make himself particularly agreeable --partly from the fact, Iimagine, that his conduct was adding gall and bitterness to thealready overcharged hearts of Clytemnestra's admirers.The morning after this affecting episode Mliss did not come toschool. Noon came, but not Mliss. Questioning Clytie on thesubject, it appeared that they had left the school together, butthe willful Mliss had taken another road. The afternoon broughther not. In the evening he called on Mrs. Morpher, whose motherlyheart was really alarmed. Mr. Morpher had spent all day in searchof her, without discovering a trace that might lead to herdiscovery. Aristides was summoned as a probable accomplice, butthat equitable infant succeeded in impressing the household withhis innocence. Mrs. Morpher entertained a vivid impression thatthe child would yet be found drowned in a ditch, or, what wasalmost as terrible, muddied and soiled beyond the redemption ofsoap and water. Sick at heart, the master returned to theschoolhouse. As he lit his lamp and seated himself at his desk, hefound a note lying before him addressed to himself, in Mliss'shandwriting. It seemed to be written on a leaf torn from some oldmemorandum book, and, to prevent sacrilegious trifling, had beensealed with six broken wafers. Opening it almost tenderly, themaster read as follows:RESPECTED SIR--When you read this, I am run away. Never to comeback. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER. You can give my beeds to MaryJennings, and my Amerika's Pride [a highly colored lithograph froma tobacco-box] to Sally Flanders. But don't you give anything toClytie Morpher. Don't you dare to. Do you know what my opinion isof her, it is this, she is perfekly disgustin. That is all and nomore at present fromYours respectfully,MELISSA SMITH.The master sat pondering on this strange epistle till the moonlifted its bright face above the distant hills, and illuminated thetrail that led to the schoolhouse, beaten quite hard with thecoming and going of little feet. Then, more satisfied in mind, hetore the missive into fragments and scattered them along the road.At sunrise the next morning he was picking his way through thepalmlike fern and thick underbrush of the pine forest, starting thehare from its form, and awakening a querulous protest from a fewdissipated crows, who had evidently been making a night of it, andso came to the wooded ridge where he had once found Mliss. Therehe found the prostrate pine and tasseled branches, but the thronewas vacant. As he drew nearer, what might have been somefrightened animal started through the crackling limbs. It ran upthe tossed arms of the fallen monarch and sheltered itself in somefriendly foliage. The master, reaching the old seat, found thenest still warm; looking up in the intertwining branches, he metthe black eyes of the errant Mliss. They gazed at each otherwithout speaking. She was first to break the silence."What do you want?" she asked curtly.The master had decided on a course of action. "I want some crabapples," he said humbly."Sha'n't have 'em! go away. Why don't you get 'em ofClytemnerestera?" (It seemed to be a relief to Mliss to expressher contempt in additional syllables to that classical youngwoman's already long-drawn title.) "O you wicked thing!""I am hungry, Lissy. I have eaten nothing since dinner yesterday.I am famished!" and the young man in a state of remarkableexhaustion leaned against the tree.Melissa's heart was touched. In the bitter days of her gypsy lifeshe had known the sensation he so artfully simulated. Overcome byhis heartbroken tone, but not entirely divested of suspicion, shesaid:"Dig under the tree near the roots, and you'll find lots; but mindyou don't tell," for Mliss had HER hoards as well as the rats andsquirrels.But the master, of course, was unable to find them; the effects ofhunger probably blinding his senses. Mliss grew uneasy. At lengthshe peered at him through the leaves in an elfish way, andquestioned:"If I come down and give you some, you'll promise you won't touchme?"The master promised."Hope you'll die if you do!"The master accepted instant dissolution as a forfeit. Mliss sliddown the tree. For a few moments nothing transpired but themunching of the pine nuts. "Do you feel better?" she asked, withsome solicitude. The master confessed to a recuperated feeling,and then, gravely thanking her, proceeded to retrace his steps. Ashe expected, he had not gone far before she called him. He turned.She was standing there quite white, with tears in her widely openedorbs. The master felt that the right moment had come. Going up toher, he took both her hands, and looking in her tearful eyes, said,gravely, "Lissy, do you remember the first evening you came to seeme?"Lissy remembered."You asked me if you might come to school, for you wanted to learnsomething and be better, and I said--""Come," responded the child, promptly."What would YOU say if the master now came to you and said that hewas lonely without his little scholar, and that he wanted her tocome and teach him to be better?"The child hung her head for a few moments in silence. The masterwaited patiently. Tempted by the quiet, a hare ran close to thecouple, and raising her bright eyes and velvet forepaws, sat andgazed at them. A squirrel ran halfway down the furrowed bark ofthe fallen tree, and there stopped."We are waiting, Lissy," said the master, in a whisper, and thechild smiled. Stirred by a passing breeze, the treetops rocked,and a long pencil of light stole through their interlaced boughsfull on the doubting face and irresolute little figure. Suddenlyshe took the master's hand in her quick way. What she said wasscarcely audible, but the master, putting the black hair back fromher forehead, kissed her; and so, hand in hand, they passed out ofthe damp aisles and forest odors into the open sunlit road.
CHAPTER IIISomewhat less spiteful in her intercourse with other scholars,Mliss still retained an offensive attitude in regard toClytemnestra. Perhaps the jealous element was not entirely lulledin her passionate little breast. Perhaps it was only that theround curves and plump outline offered more extended pinchingsurface. But while such ebullitions were under the master'scontrol, her enmity occasionally took a new and irrepressible form.The master in his first estimate of the child's character could notconceive that she had ever possessed a doll. But the master, likemany other professed readers of character, was safer in aposteriori than a priori reasoning. Mliss had a doll, but then itwas emphatically Mliss's doll--a smaller copy of herself. Itsunhappy existence had been a secret discovered accidentally by Mrs.Morpher. It had been the old-time companion of Mliss's wanderings,and bore evident marks of suffering. Its original complexion waslong since washed away by the weather and anointed by the slime ofditches. It looked very much as Mliss had in days past. Its onegown of faded stuff was dirty and ragged, as hers had been. Mlisshad never been known to apply to it any childish term ofendearment. She never exhibited it in the presence of otherchildren. It was put severely to bed in a hollow tree near theschoolhouse, and only allowed exercise during Mliss's rambles.Fulfilling a stern duty to her doll, as she would to herself, itknew no luxuries.Now Mrs. Morpher, obeying a commendable impulse, bought anotherdoll and gave it to Mliss. The child received it gravely andcuriously. The master on looking at it one day fancied he saw aslight resemblance in its round red cheeks and mild blue eyes toClytemnestra. It became evident before long that Mliss had alsonoticed the same resemblance. Accordingly she hammered its waxenhead on the rocks when she was alone, and sometimes dragged it witha string round its neck to and from school. At other times,setting it up on her desk, she made a pincushion of its patient andinoffensive body. Whether this was done in revenge of what sheconsidered a second figurative obtrusion of Clytie's excellencesupon her, or whether she had an intuitive appreciation of the ritesof certain other heathens, and, indulging in that "fetish"ceremony, imagined that the original of her wax model would pineaway and finally die, is a metaphysical question I shall not nowconsider.In spite of these moral vagaries, the master could not helpnoticing in her different tasks the working of a quick, restless,and vigorous perception. She knew neither the hesitancy nor thedoubts of childhood. Her answers in class were always slightlydashed with audacity. Of course she was not infallible. But hercourage and daring in passing beyond her own depth and that of thefloundering little swimmers around her, in their minds outweighedall errors of judgment. Children are not better than grown peoplein this respect, I fancy; and whenever the little red hand flashedabove her desk, there was a wondering silence, and even the masterwas sometimes oppressed with a doubt of his own experience andjudgment.Nevertheless, certain attributes which at first amused andentertained his fancy began to afflict him with grave doubts. Hecould not but see that Mliss was revengeful, irreverent, andwillful. That there was but one better quality which pertained toher semisavage disposition--the faculty of physical fortitude andself-sacrifice, and another, though not always an attribute of thenoble savage--Truth. Mliss was both fearless and sincere; perhapsin such a character the adjectives were synonymous.The master had been doing some hard thinking on this subject, andhad arrived at that conclusion quite common to all who thinksincerely, that he was generally the slave of his own prejudices,when he determined to call on the Rev. McSnagley for advice. Thisdecision was somewhat humiliating to his pride, as he and McSnagleywere not friends. But he thought of Mliss, and the evening oftheir first meeting; and perhaps with a pardonable superstitionthat it was not chance alone that had guided her willful feet tothe schoolhouse, and perhaps with a complacent consciousness of therare magnanimity of the act, he choked back his dislike and went toMcSnagley.The reverend gentleman was glad to see him. Moreover, he observedthat the master was looking "peartish," and hoped he had got overthe "neuralgy" and "rheumatiz." He himself had been troubled witha dumb "ager" since last conference. But he had learned to "rastleand pray."Pausing a moment to enable the master to write his certain methodof curing the dumb "ager" upon the book and volume of his brain,Mr. McSnagley proceeded to inquire after Sister Morpher. "She isan adornment to ChrisTEWanity, and has a likely growin' youngfamily," added Mr. McSnagley; "and there's that mannerly young gal--so well behaved--Miss Clytie." In fact, Clytie's perfectionsseemed to affect him to such an extent that he dwelt for severalminutes upon them. The master was doubly embarrassed. In thefirst place, there was an enforced contrast with poor Mliss in allthis praise of Clytie. Secondly, there was something unpleasantlyconfidential in his tone of speaking of Mrs. Morpher's earliestborn. So that the master, after a few futile efforts to saysomething natural, found it convenient to recall anotherengagement, and left without asking the information required, butin his after reflections somewhat unjustly giving the Rev. Mr.McSnagley the full benefit of having refused it.Perhaps this rebuff placed the master and pupil once more in theclose communion of old. The child seemed to notice the change inthe master's manner, which had of late been constrained, and in oneof their long postprandial walks she stopped suddenly, and mountinga stump, looked full in his face with big, searching eyes. "Youain't mad?" said she, with an interrogative shake of the blackbraids. "No." "Nor bothered?" "No." "Nor hungry?" (Hunger wasto Mliss a sickness that might attack a person at any moment.)"No." "Nor thinking of her?" "Of whom, Lissy?" "That whitegirl." (This was the latest epithet invented by Mliss, who was avery dark brunette, to express Clytemnestra.) "No." "Upon yourword?" (A substitute for "Hope you'll die!" proposed by themaster.) "Yes." "And sacred honor?" "Yes." Then Mliss gave hima fierce little kiss, and, hopping down, fluttered off. For two orthree days after that she condescended to appear more like otherchildren, and be, as she expressed it, "good."Two years had passed since the master's advent at Smith's Pocket,and as his salary was not large, and the prospects of Smith'sPocket eventually becoming the capital of the State not entirelydefinite, he contemplated a change. He had informed the schooltrustees privately of his intentions, but educated young men ofunblemished moral character being scarce at that time, he consentedto continue his school term through the winter to early spring.None else knew of his intention except his one friend, a Dr.Duchesne, a young Creole physician known to the people of Wingdamas "Duchesny." He never mentioned it to Mrs. Morpher, Clytie, orany of his scholars. His reticence was partly the result of aconstitutional indisposition to fuss, partly a desire to be sparedthe questions and surmises of vulgar curiosity, and partly that henever really believed he was going to do anything before it wasdone.He did not like to think of Mliss. It was a selfish instinct,perhaps, which made him try to fancy his feeling for the child wasfoolish, romantic, and unpractical. He even tried to imagine thatshe would do better under the control of an older and sternerteacher. Then she was nearly eleven, and in a few years, by therules of Red Mountain, would be a woman. He had done his duty.After Smith's death he addressed letters to Smith's relatives, andreceived one answer from a sister of Melissa's mother. Thankingthe master, she stated her intention of leaving the Atlantic Statesfor California with her husband in a few months. This was a slightsuperstructure for the airy castle which the master pictured forMliss's home, but it was easy to fancy that some loving,sympathetic woman, with the claims of kindred, might better guideher wayward nature. Yet, when the master had read the letter,Mliss listened to it carelessly, received it submissively, andafterward cut figures out of it with her scissors, supposed torepresent Clytemnestra, labeled "the white girl," to preventmistakes, and impaled them upon the outer walls of the schoolhouse.When the summer was about spent, and the last harvest had beengathered in the valleys, the master bethought him of gathering in afew ripened shoots of the young idea, and of having his HarvestHome, or Examination. So the savants and professionals of Smith'sPocket were gathered to witness that time-honored custom of placingtimid children in a constrained positions and bullying them as in awitness box. As usual in such cases, the most audacious and self-possessed were the lucky recipients of the honors. The reader willimagine that in the present instance Mliss and Clytie werepreeminent, and divided public attention; Mliss with her clearnessof material perception and self-reliance, Clytie with her placidself-esteem and saintlike correctness of deportment. The otherlittle ones were timid and blundering. Mliss's readiness andbrilliancy, of course, captivated the greatest number and provokedthe greatest applause. Mliss's antecedents had unconsciouslyawakened the strongest sympathies of a class whose athletic formswere ranged against the walls, or whose handsome bearded faceslooked in at the windows. But Mliss's popularity was overthrown byan unexpected circumstance.McSnagley had invited himself, and had been going through thepleasing entertainment of frightening the more timid pupils by thevaguest and most ambiguous questions delivered in an impressivefunereal tone; and Mliss had soared into astronomy, and wastracking the course of our spotted ball through space, and keepingtime with the music of the spheres, and defining the tetheredorbits of the planets, when McSnagley impressively arose."Meelissy! ye were speaking of the revolutions of this yere yearthand the move-MENTS of the sun, and I think ye said it had been adoing of it since the creashun, eh?" Mliss nodded a scornfulaffirmative. "Well, war that the truth?" said McSnagley, foldinghis arms. "Yes," said Mliss, shutting up her little red lipstightly. The handsome outlines at the windows peered further inthe schoolroom, and a saintly Raphael face, with blond beard andsoft blue eyes, belonging to the biggest scamp in the diggings,turned toward the child and whispered, "Stick to it, Mliss!" Thereverend gentleman heaved a deep sigh, and cast a compassionateglance at the master, then at the children, and then rested hislook on Clytie. That young woman softly elevated her round, whitearm. Its seductive curves were enhanced by a gorgeous and massivespecimen bracelet, the gift of one of her humblest worshipers, wornin honor of the occasion. There was a momentary silence. Clytie'sround cheeks were very pink and soft. Clytie's big eyes were verybright and blue. Clytie's low-necked white book muslin restedsoftly on Clytie's white, plump shoulders. Clytie looked at themaster, and the master nodded. Then Clytie spoke softly:"Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and it obeyed him!"There was a low hum of applause in the schoolroom, a triumphantexpression on McSnagley's face, a grave shadow on the master's, anda comical look of disappointment reflected from the windows. Mlissskimmed rapidly over her astronomy, and then shut the book with aloud snap. A groan burst from McSnagley, an expression ofastonishment from the schoolroom, a yell from the windows, as Mlissbrought her red fist down on the desk, with the emphaticdeclaration:"It's a damn lie. I don't believe it!"
CHAPTER IVThe long wet season had drawn near its close. Signs of spring werevisible in the swelling buds and rushing torrents. The pineforests exhaled the fresher spicery. The azaleas were alreadybudding, the ceanothus getting ready its lilac livery for spring.On the green upland which climbed Red Mountain at its southernaspect the long spike of the monkshood shot up from its broad-leaved stool, and once more shook its dark-blue bells. Again thebillow above Smith's grave was soft and green, its crest justtossed with the foam of daisies and buttercups. The littlegraveyard had gathered a few new dwellers in the past year, and themounds were placed two by two by the little paling until theyreached Smith's grave, and there there was but one. Generalsuperstition had shunned it, and the plot beside Smith was vacant.There had been several placards posted about the town, intimatingthat, at a certain period, a celebrated dramatic company wouldperform, for a few days, a series of "side-splitting" and"screaming farces"; that, alternating pleasantly with this, therewould be some melodrama and a grand divertisement which wouldinclude singing, dancing, etc. These announcements occasioned agreat fluttering among the little folk, and were the theme of muchexcitement and great speculation among the master's scholars. Themaster had promised Mliss, to whom this sort of thing was sacredand rare, that she should go, and on that momentous evening themaster and Mliss "assisted."The performance was the prevalent style of heavy mediocrity; themelodrama was not bad enough to laugh at nor good enough to excite.But the master, turning wearily to the child, was astonished andfelt something like self-accusation in noticing the peculiar effectupon her excitable nature. The red blood flushed in her cheeks ateach stroke of her panting little heart. Her small passionate lipswere slightly parted to give vent to her hurried breath. Herwidely opened lids threw up and arched her black eyebrows. She didnot laugh at the dismal comicalities of the funny man, for Mlissseldom laughed. Nor was she discreetly affected to the delicateextremes of the corner of a white handkerchief, as was the tender-hearted "Clytie," who was talking with her "feller" and ogling themaster at the same moment. But when the performance was over, andthe green curtain fell on the little stage, Mliss drew a long deepbreath, and turned to the master's grave face with a half-apologetic smile and wearied gesture. Then she said, "Now take mehome!" and dropped the lids of her black eyes, as if to dwell oncemore in fancy on the mimic stage.On their way to Mrs. Morpher's the master thought proper toridicule the whole performance. Now he shouldn't wonder if Mlissthought that the young lady who acted so beautifully was really inearnest, and in love with the gentleman who wore such fine clothes.Well, if she were in love with him it was a very unfortunate thing!"Why?" said Mliss, with an upward sweep of the drooping lid. "Oh!well, he couldn't support his wife at his present salary, and payso much a week for his fine clothes, and then they wouldn't receiveas much wages if they were married as if they were merely lovers--that is," added the master, "if they are not already married tosomebody else; but I think the husband of the pretty young countesstakes the tickets at the door, or pulls up the curtain, or snuffsthe candles, or does something equally refined and elegant. As tothe young man with nice clothes, which are really nice now, andmust cost at least two and a half or three dollars, not to speak ofthat mantle of red drugget which I happen to know the price of, forI bought some of it for my room once--as to this young man, Lissy,he is a pretty good fellow, and if he does drink occasionally, Idon't think people ought to take advantage of it and give him blackeyes and throw him in the mud. Do you? I am sure he might owe metwo dollars and a half a long time, before I would throw it up inhis face, as the fellow did the other night at Wingdam."Mliss had taken his hand in both of hers and was trying to look inhis eyes, which the young man kept as resolutely averted. Mlisshad a faint idea of irony, indulging herself sometimes in a speciesof sardonic humor, which was equally visible in her actions and herspeech. But the young man continued in this strain until they hadreached Mrs. Morpher's, and he had deposited Mliss in her maternalcharge. Waiving the invitation of Mrs. Morpher to refreshment andrest, and shading his eyes with his hand to keep out the blue-eyedClytemnestra's siren glances, he excused himself, and went home.For two or three days after the advent of the dramatic company,Mliss was late at school, and the master's usual Friday afternoonramble was for once omitted, owing to the absence of histrustworthy guide. As he was putting away his books and preparingto leave the schoolhouse, a small voice piped at his side, "Please,sir?" The master turned and there stood Aristides Morpher."Well, my little man," said the master, impatiently, "what is it?quick!""Please, sir, me and 'Kerg' thinks that Mliss is going to run awayagin.""What's that, sir?" said the master, with that unjust testinesswith which we always receive disagreeable news."Why, sir, she don't stay home any more, and 'Kerg' and me see hertalking with one of those actor fellers, and she's with him now;and please, sir, yesterday she told 'Kerg' and me she could make aspeech as well as Miss Cellerstina Montmoressy, and she spoutedright off by heart," and the little fellow paused in a collapsedcondition."What actor?" asked the master."Him as wears the shiny hat. And hair. And gold pin. And goldchain," said the just Aristides, putting periods for commas to ekeout his breath.The master put on his gloves and hat, feeling an unpleasanttightness in his chest and thorax, and walked out in the road.Aristides trotted along by his side, endeavoring to keep pace withhis short legs to the master's strides, when the master stoppedsuddenly, and Aristides bumped up against him. "Where were theytalking?" asked the master, as if continuing the conversation."At the Arcade," said Aristides.When they reached the main street the master paused. "Run downhome," said he to the boy. "If Mliss is there, come to the Arcadeand tell me. If she isn't there, stay home; run!" And off trottedthe short-legged Aristides.The Arcade was just across the way--a long, rambling buildingcontaining a barroom, billiard room, and restaurant. As the youngman crossed the plaza he noticed that two or three of the passers-by turned and looked after him. He looked at his clothes, took outhis handkerchief, and wiped his face before he entered the barroom.It contained the usual number of loungers, who stared at him as heentered. One of them looked at him so fixedly and with such astrange expression that the master stopped and looked again, andthen saw it was only his own reflection in a large mirror. Thismade the master think that perhaps he was a little excited, and sohe took up a copy of the RED MOUNTAIN BANNER from one of thetables, and tried to recover his composure by reading the column ofadvertisements.He then walked through the barroom, through the restaurant, andinto the billiard room. The child was not there. In the latterapartment a person was standing by one of the tables with a broad-brimmed glazed hat on his head. The master recognized him as theagent of the dramatic company; he had taken a dislike to him attheir first meeting, from the peculiar fashion of wearing his beardand hair. Satisfied that the object of his search was not there,he turned to the man with a glazed hat. He had noticed the master,but tried that common trick of unconsciousness in which vulgarnatures always fail. Balancing a billiard cue in his hand, hepretended to play with a ball in the center of the table. Themaster stood opposite to him until he raised his eyes; when theirglances met, the master walked up to him.He had intended to avoid a scene or quarrel, but when he began tospeak, something kept rising in his throat and retarded hisutterance, and his own voice frightened him, it sounded so distant,low, and resonant. "I understand," he began, "that Melissa Smith,an orphan, and one of my scholars, has talked with you aboutadopting your profession. Is that so?"The man with the glazed hat leaned over the table and made animaginary shot that sent the ball spinning round the cushions.Then, walking round the table, he recovered the ball and placed itupon the spot. This duty discharged, getting ready for anothershot, he said:"S'pose she has?"The master choked up again, but, squeezing the cushion of the tablein his gloved hand, he went on:"If you are a gentleman, I have only to tell you that I am herguardian, and responsible for her career. You know as well as I dothe kind of life you offer her. As you may learn of anyone here, Ihave already brought her out of an existence worse than death--outof the streets and the contamination of vice. I am trying to do soagain. Let us talk like men. She has neither father, mother,sister, or brother. Are you seeking to give her an equivalent forthese?"The man with the glazed hat examined the point of his cue, and thenlooked around for somebody to enjoy the joke with him."I know that she is a strange, willful girl," continued the master,"but she is better than she was. I believe that I have someinfluence over her still. I beg and hope, therefore, that you willtake no further steps in this matter, but as a man, as a gentleman,leave her to me. I am willing--" But here something rose again inthe master's throat, and the sentence remained unfinished.The man with the glazed hat, mistaking the master's silence, raisedhis head with a coarse, brutal laugh, and said in a loud voice:"Want her yourself, do you? That cock won't fight here, youngman!"The insult was more in the tone than in the words, more in theglance than tone, and more in the man's instinctive nature than allthese. The best appreciable rhetoric to this kind of animal is ablow. The master felt this, and, with his pent-up, nervous energyfinding expression in the one act, he struck the brute full in hisgrinning face. The blow sent the glazed hat one way and the cueanother, and tore the glove and skin from the master's hand fromknuckle to joint. It opened up the corners of the fellow's mouth,and spoilt the peculiar shape of his beard for some time to come.There was a shout, an imprecation, a scuffle, and the trampling ofmany feet. Then the crowd parted right and left, and two sharpquick reports followed each other in rapid succession. Then theyclosed again about his opponent, and the master was standing alone.He remembered picking bits of burning wadding from his coat sleevewith his left hand. Someone was holding his other hand. Lookingat it, he saw it was still bleeding from the blow, but his fingerswere clenched around the handle of a glittering knife. He couldnot remember when or how he got it.The man who was holding his hand was Mr. Morpher. He hurried themaster to the door, but the master held back, and tried to tell himas well as he could with his parched throat about "Mliss." "It'sall right, my boy," said Mr. Morpher. "She's home!" And theypassed out into the street together. As they walked along Mr.Morpher said that Mliss had come running into the house a fewmoments before, and had dragged him out, saying that somebody wastrying to kill the master at the Arcade. Wishing to be alone, themaster promised Mr. Morpher that he would not seek the agent againthat night, and parted from him, taking the road toward theschoolhouse. He was surprised in nearing it to find the door open--still more surprised to find Mliss sitting there.The master's nature, as I have hinted before, had, like mostsensitive organizations, a selfish basis. The brutal taunt thrownout by his late adversary still rankled in his heart. It waspossible, he thought, that such a construction might be put uponhis affection for the child, which at best was foolish andQuixotic. Besides, had she not voluntarily abnegated his authorityand affection? And what had everybody else said about her? Whyshould he alone combat the opinion of all, and be at last obligedtacitly to confess the truth of all they predicted? And he hadbeen a participant in a low barroom fight with a common boor, andrisked his life, to prove what? What had he proved? Nothing?What would the people say? What would his friends say? What wouldMcSnagley say?In his self-accusation the last person he should have wished tomeet was Mliss. He entered the door, and going up to his desk,told the child, in a few cold words, that he was busy, and wishedto be alone. As she rose he took her vacant seat, and, sittingdown, buried his head in his hands. When he looked up again shewas still standing there. She was looking at his face with ananxious expression."Did you kill him?" she asked."No!" said the master."That's what I gave you the knife for!" said the child, quickly."Gave me the knife?" repeated the master, in bewilderment."Yes, gave you the knife. I was there under the bar. Saw you hithim. Saw you both fall. He dropped his old knife. I gave it toyou. Why didn't you stick him?" said Mliss rapidly, with anexpressive twinkle of the black eyes and a gesture of the littlered hand.The master could only look his astonishment."Yes," said Mliss. "If you'd asked me, I'd told you I was off withthe play-actors. Why was I off with the play-actors? Because youwouldn't tell me you was going away. I knew it. I heard you tellthe Doctor so. I wasn't a goin' to stay here alone with thoseMorphers. I'd rather die first."With a dramatic gesture which was perfectly consistent with hercharacter, she drew from her bosom a few limp green leaves, and,holding them out at arm's length, said in her quick vivid way, andin the queer pronunciation of her old life, which she fell intowhen unduly excited:"That's the poison plant you said would kill me. I'll go with theplay-actors, or I'll eat this and die here. I don't care which. Iwon't stay here, where they hate and despise me! Neither would youlet me, if you didn't hate and despise me too!"The passionate little breast heaved, and two big tears peeped overthe edge of Mliss's eyelids, but she whisked them away with thecorner of her apron as if they had been wasps."If you lock me up in jail," said Mliss, fiercely, "to keep me fromthe play-actors, I'll poison myself. Father killed himself--whyshouldn't I? You said a mouthful of that root would kill me, and Ialways carry it here," and she struck her breast with her clenchedfist.The master thought of the vacant plot beside Smith's grave, and ofthe passionate little figure before him. Seizing her hands in hisand looking full into her truthful eyes, he said:"Lissy, will you go with ME?"The child put her arms around his neck, and said joyfully, "Yes.""But now--tonight?""Tonight."And, hand in hand, they passed into the road--the narrow road thathad once brought her weary feet to the master's door, and which itseemed she should not tread again alone. The stars glitteredbrightly above them. For good or ill the lesson had been learned,and behind them the school of Red Mountain closed upon themforever.
zpostcode
Recruit
weather
mreligion
Yellowpages
sport
constellation
shopping
name
game
directory
literature
Word
tour
furnish
Lottery
tftnews
lyrics
News
digital
car
dir
Edu
Finance
