The Convalescence Of Jack Hamlin

by Bret Harte

The habitually quiet, ascetic face of Seth Rivers was somewhatdisturbed and his brows were knitted as he climbed the long ascentof Windy Hill to its summit and his own rancho. Perhaps it was theeffect of the characteristic wind, which that afternoon seemed toassault him from all points at once and did not cease its batteryeven at his front door, but hustled him into the passage, blew himinto the sitting room, and then celebrated its own exit from thelong, rambling house by the banging of doors throughout the hallsand the slamming of windows in the remote distance.Mrs. Rivers looked up from her work at this abrupt onset of herhusband, but without changing her own expression of slightlyfatigued self-righteousness. Accustomed to these elementaleruptions, she laid her hands from force of habit upon the liftingtablecloth, and then rose submissively to brush together thescattered embers and ashes from the large hearthstone, as she hadoften done before."You're in early, Seth," she said."Yes. I stopped at the Cross Roads Post Office. Lucky I did, oryou'd hev had kempany on your hands afore you knowed it--this verynight! I found this letter from Dr. Duchesne," and he produced aletter from his pocket.Mrs. Rivers looked up with an expression of worldly interest. Dr.Duchesne had brought her two children into the world with somedifficulty, and had skillfully attended her through a long illnessconsequent upon the inefficient maternity of soulful but fragileAmerican women of her type. The doctor had more than a mere localreputation as a surgeon, and Mrs. Rivers looked up to him as hersole connecting link with a world of thought beyond Windy Hill."He's comin' up yer to-night, bringin' a friend of his--a patientthat he wants us to board and keep for three weeks until he's wellagin," continued Mr. Rivers. "Ye know how the doctor used to raveabout the pure air on our hill."Mrs. Rivers shivered slightly, and drew her shawl over hershoulders, but nodded a patient assent."Well, he says it's just what that patient oughter have to curehim. He's had lung fever and other things, and this yer air andgin'ral quiet is bound to set him up. We're to board and keep himwithout any fuss or feathers, and the doctor sez he'll pay liberalfor it. This yer's what he sez," concluded Mr. Rivers, readingfrom the letter: "'He is now fully convalescent, though weak, andreally requires no other medicine than the--ozone'--yes, that'swhat the doctor calls it--'of Windy Hill, and in fact as littleattendance as possible. I will not let him keep even his negroservant with him. He'll give you no trouble, if he can beprevailed upon to stay the whole time of his cure.'""There's our spare room--it hasn't been used since Parson Greenwoodwas here," said Mrs. Rivers reflectively. "Melinda could put it torights in an hour. At what time will he come?""He'd come about nine. They drive over from Hightown depot. But,"he added grimly, "here ye are orderin' rooms to be done up and yedon't know who for.""You said a friend of Dr. Duchesne," returned Mrs. Rivers simply."Dr. Duchesne has many friends that you and me mightn't cotton to,"said her husband. "This man is Jack Hamlin." As his wife's remoteand introspective black eyes returned only vacancy, he addedquickly. "The noted gambler!""Gambler?" echoed his wife, still vaguely."Yes--reg'lar; it's his business.""Goodness, Seth! He can't expect to do it here.""No," said Seth quickly, with that sense of fairness to his fellowman which most women find it so difficult to understand. "No--andhe probably won't mention the word 'card' while he's here.""Well?" said Mrs. Rivers interrogatively."And," continued Seth, seeing that the objection was not pressed,he's one of them desprit men! A reg'lar fighter! Killed two orthree men in dools!"Mrs. Rivers stared. "What could Dr. Duchesne have been thinkingof? Why, we wouldn't be safe in the house with him!"Again Seth's sense of equity triumphed. "I never heard of hisfightin' anybody but his own kind, and when he was bullyragged.And ez to women he's quite t'other way in fact, and that's why Ithink ye oughter know it afore you let him come. He don't go roundwith decent women. In fact"--But here Mr. Rivers, in the sanctityof conjugal confidences and the fullness of Bible reading, used afew strong scriptural substantives happily unnecessary to repeathere."Seth!" said Mrs. Rivers suddenly, "you seem to know this man."The unexpectedness and irrelevancy of this for a moment startledSeth. But that chaste and God-fearing man had no secrets. "Onlyby hearsay, Jane," he returned quietly; "but if ye say the wordI'll stop his comin' now.""It's too late," said Mrs. Rivers decidedly."I reckon not," returned her husband, "and that's why I camestraight here. I've only got to meet them at the depot and saythis thing can't be done--and that's the end of it. They'll go offquiet to the hotel.""I don't like to disappoint the doctor, Seth," said Mrs. Rivers."We might," she added, with a troubled look of inquiry at herhusband, "we might take that Mr. Hamlin on trial. Like as not hewon't stay, anyway, when he sees what we're like, Seth. What doyou think? It would be only our Christian duty, too.""I was thinkin' o' that as a professin' Christian, Jane," said herhusband. "But supposin' that other Christians don't look at it inthat light. Thar's Deacon Stubbs and his wife and the parson. Yeremember what he said about 'no covenant with sin'?""The Stubbses have no right to dictate who I'll have in my house,"said Mrs. Rivers quickly, with a faint flush in her rather sallowcheeks."It's your say and nobody else's," assented her husband with grimsubmissiveness. "You do what you like."Mrs. Rivers mused. "There's only myself and Melinda here," shesaid with sublime naivete; "and the children ain't old enough to becorrupted. I am satisfied if you are, Seth," and she again lookedat him inquiringly."Go ahead, then, and get ready for 'em," said Seth, hurrying awaywith unaffected relief. "If you have everything fixed by nineo'clock, that'll do."Mrs. Rivers had everything "fixed" by that hour, including herselfpresumably, for she had put on a gray dress which she usually worewhen shopping in the county town, adding a prim collar and cuffs.A pearl-encircled brooch, the wedding gift of Seth, and a solitairering next to her wedding ring, with a locket containing herchildren's hair, accented her position as a proper wife and mother.At a quarter to nine she had finished tidying the parlor, openingthe harmonium so that the light might play upon its polishedkeyboard, and bringing from the forgotten seclusion of her closettwo beautifully bound volumes of Tupper's "Poems" and Pollok's"Course of Time," to impart a literary grace to the centre table.She then drew a chair to the table and sat down before it with areligious magazine in her lap. The wind roared over the deep-throated chimney, the clock ticked monotonously, and then therecame the sound of wheels and voices.But Mrs. Rivers was not destined to see her guest that night. Dr.Duchesne, under the safe lee of the door, explained that Mr. Hamlinhad been exhausted by the journey, and, assisted by a mild opiate,was asleep in the carriage; that if Mrs. Rivers did not object,they would carry him at once to his room. In the flaring andguttering of candles, the flashing of lanterns, the flapping ofcoats and shawls, and the bewildering rush of wind, Mrs. Rivers wasonly vaguely conscious of a slight figure muffled tightly in acloak carried past her in the arms of a grizzled negro up thestaircase, followed by Dr. Duchesne. With the closing of the frontdoor on the tumultuous world without, a silence fell again on thelittle parlor.When the doctor made his reappearance it was to say that hispatient was being undressed and put to bed by his negro servant,who, however, would return with the doctor to-night, but that thepatient would be left with everything that was necessary, and thathe would require no attention from the family until the next day.Indeed, it was better that he should remain undisturbed. As thedoctor confined his confidences and instructions entirely to thephysical condition of their guest, Mrs. Rivers found it awkward topress other inquiries."Of course," she said at last hesitatingly, but with a certainprimness of expression, "Mr. Hamlin must expect to find everythinghere very different from what he is accustomed to--at least fromwhat my husband says are his habits.""Nobody knows that better than he, Mrs. Rivers," returned thedoctor with an equally marked precision of manner, "and you couldnot have a guest who would be less likely to make you remind him ofit."A little annoyed, yet not exactly knowing why, Mrs. Riversabandoned the subject, and as the doctor shortly afterwards busiedhimself in the care of his patient, with whom he remained until thehour of his departure, she had no chance of renewing it. But as hefinally shook hands with his host and hostess, it seemed to herthat he slightly recurred to it. "I have the greatest hope of thecurative effect of this wonderful locality on my patient, but evenstill more of the beneficial effect of the complete change of hishabits, his surroundings, and their influences." Then the doorclosed on the man of science and the grizzled negro servant, thenoise of the carriage wheels was shut out with the song of the windin the pine tops, and the rancho of Windy Hill possessed Mr. JackHamlin in peace. Indeed, the wind was now falling, as was itscustom at that hour, and the moon presently arose over a hushed andsleeping landscape.For the rest of the evening the silent presence in the room aboveaffected the household; the half-curious servants and ranch handsspoke in whispers in the passages, and at evening prayers, in thedining room, Seth Rivers, kneeling before and bowed over a rush-bottomed chair whose legs were clutched by his strong hands,included "the stranger within our gates" in his regularsupplications. When the hour for retiring came, Seth, with acandle in his hand, preceded his wife up the staircase, but stoppedbefore the door of their guest's room. "I reckon," he saidinterrogatively to Mrs. Rivers, "I oughter see ef he's wantin'anythin'?""You heard what the doctor said," returned Mrs. Rivers cautiously.At the same time she did not speak decidedly, and thefrontiersman's instinct of hospitality prevailed. He knockedlightly; there was no response. He turned the door handle softly.The door opened. A faint clean perfume--an odor of some generalpersonality rather than any particular thing--stole out upon them.The light of Seth's candle struck a few glints from some cut-glassand silver, the contents of the guest's dressing case, which hadbeen carefully laid out upon a small table by his negro servant.There was also a refined neatness in the disposition of his clothesand effects which struck the feminine eye of even the tidy Mrs.Rivers as something new to her experience. Seth drew nearer thebed with his shaded candle, and then, turning, beckoned his wife toapproach. Mrs. Rivers hesitated--but for the necessity of silenceshe would have openly protested--but that protest was shut up inher compressed lips as she came forward.For an instant that awe with which absolute helplessness investsthe sleeping and dead was felt by both husband and wife. Only theupper part of the sleeper's face was visible above the bedclothes,held in position by a thin white nervous hand that was encircled atthe wrist by a ruffle. Seth stared. Short brown curls weretumbled over a forehead damp with the dews of sleep and exhaustion.But what appeared more singular, the closed eyes of this vessel ofwrath and recklessness were fringed with lashes as long and silkyas a woman's. Then Mrs. Rivers gently pulled her husband's sleeve,and they both crept back with a greater sense of intrusion and evenmore cautiously than they had entered. Nor did they speak untilthe door was closed softly and they were alone on the landing.Seth looked grimly at his wife."Don't look much ez ef he could hurt anybody.""He looks like a sick man," returned Mrs. Rivers calmly.The unconscious object of this criticism and attention slept untillate; slept through the stir of awakened life within and without,through the challenge of early cocks in the lean-to shed, throughthe creaking of departing ox teams and the lazy, long-drawncommands of teamsters, through the regular strokes of the morningpump and the splash of water on stones, through the far-off barkingof dogs and the half-intelligible shouts of ranchmen; slept throughthe sunlight on his ceiling, through its slow descent of his wall,and awoke with it in his eyes! He woke, too, with a delicioussense of freedom from pain, and of even drawing a long breathwithout difficulty--two facts so marvelous and dreamlike that henaturally closed his eyes again lest he should waken to a world ofsuffering and dyspnoea. Satisfied at last that this relief wasreal, he again opened his eyes, but upon surroundings so strange,so wildly absurd and improbable, that he again doubted theirreality. He was lying in a moderately large room, primly andseverely furnished, but his attention was for the moment riveted toa gilt frame upon the wall beside him bearing the text, "God BlessOur Home," and then on another frame on the opposite wall whichadmonished him to "Watch and Pray." Beside them hung an engravingof the "Raising of Lazarus," and a Hogarthian lithograph of "TheDrunkard's Progress." Mr. Hamlin closed his eyes; he was dreamingcertainly--not one of those wild, fantastic visions that had somiserably filled the past long nights of pain and suffering, butstill a dream! At last, opening one eye stealthily, he caught theflash of the sunlight upon the crystal and silver articles of hisdressing case, and that flash at once illuminated his memory. Heremembered his long weeks of illness and the devotion of Dr.Duchesne. He remembered how, when the crisis was past, the doctorhad urged a complete change and absolute rest, and had told him ofa secluded rancho in some remote locality kept by an honest Westernpioneer whose family he had attended. He remembered his ownreluctant assent, impelled by gratitude to the doctor and thehelplessness of a sick man. He now recalled the weary journeythither, his exhaustion and the semi-consciousness of his arrivalin a bewildering wind on a shadowy hilltop. And this was theplace!He shivered slightly, and ducked his head under the cover again.But the brightness of the sun and some exhilarating quality in theair tempted him to have another outlook, avoiding as far aspossible the grimly decorated walls. If they had only left him hisfaithful servant he could have relieved himself of that mischievousbadinage which always alternately horrified and delighted thatdevoted negro. But he was alone--absolutely alone--in thisconventicle!Presently he saw the door open slowly. It gave admission to thesmall round face and yellow ringlets of a little girl, and finallyto her whole figure, clasping a doll nearly as large as herself.For a moment she stood there, arrested by the display of Mr.Hamlin's dressing case on the table. Then her glances moved aroundthe room and rested upon the bed. Her blue eyes and Mr. Hamlin'sbrown ones met and mingled. Without a moment's hesitation shemoved to the bedside. Taking her doll's hands in her own, shedisplayed it before him."Isn't it pitty?"Mr. Hamlin was instantly his old self again. Thrusting his handcomfortably under the pillow, he lay on his side and gazed at itlong and affectionately. "I never," he said in a faint voice, butwith immovable features, "saw anything so perfectly beautiful. Isit alive?""It's a dolly," she returned gravely, smoothing down its frock andstraightening its helpless feet. Then seized with a spontaneousidea, like a young animal she suddenly presented it to him withboth hands and said,--"Kiss it."Mr. Hamlin implanted a chaste salute on its vermilion cheek."Would you mind letting me hold it for a little?" he said withextreme diffidence.The child was delighted, as he expected. Mr. Hamlin placed it in asitting posture on the edge of his bed, and put an ostentatiouspaternal arm around it."But you're alive, ain't you?" he said to the child.This subtle witticism convulsed her. "I'm a little girl," shegurgled."I see; her mother?""Ess.""And who's your mother?""Mammy.""Mrs. Rivers?"The child nodded until her ringlets were shaken on her cheek.After a moment she began to laugh bashfully and with repression,yet as Mr. Hamlin thought a little mischievously. Then as helooked at her interrogatively she suddenly caught hold of theruffle of his sleeve."Oo's got on mammy's nighty."Mr. Hamlin started. He saw the child's obvious mistake andactually felt himself blushing. It was unprecedented--it was thesheerest weakness--it must have something to do with the confoundedair."I grieve to say you are deeply mistaken--it is my very own," hereturned with great gravity. Nevertheless, he drew the coverletclose over his shoulder. But here he was again attracted byanother face at the half-opened door--a freckled one, belonging toa boy apparently a year or two older than the girl. He wasviolently telegraphing to her to come away, although it was evidentthat he was at the same time deeply interested in the guest'stoilet articles. Yet as his bright gray eyes and Mr. Hamlin'sbrown ones met, he succumbed, as the girl had, and walked directlyto the bedside. But he did it bashfully--as the girl had not. Heeven attempted a defensive explanation."She hadn't oughter come in here, and mar wouldn't let her, and sheknows it," he said with superior virtue."But I asked her to come as I'm asking you," said Mr. Hamlinpromptly, "and don't you go back on your sister or you'll never bepresident of the United States." With this he laid his hand on theboy's tow head, and then, lifting himself on his pillow to a half-sitting posture, put an arm around each of the children, drawingthem together, with the doll occupying the central post of honor."Now," continued Mr. Hamlin, albeit in a voice a little faint fromthe exertion, "now that we're comfortable together I'll tell youthe story of the good little boy who became a pirate in order tosave his grandmother and little sister from being eaten by a wolfat the door."But, alas! that interesting record of self-sacrifice never wastold. For it chanced that Melinda Bird, Mrs. Rivers's help,following the trail of the missing children, came upon the opendoor and glanced in. There, to her astonishment, she saw thedomestic group already described, and to her eyes dominated by the"most beautiful and perfectly elegant" young man she had ever seen.But let not the incautious reader suppose that she succumbed asweakly as her artless charges to these fascinations. The characterand antecedents of that young man had been already delivered to herin the kitchen by the other help. With that single glance shehalted; her eyes sought the ceiling in chaste exaltation. Fallingback a step, she called in ladylike hauteur and precision, "MaryEmmeline and John Wesley."Mr. Hamlin glanced at the children. "It's Melindy looking for us,"said John Wesley. But they did not move. At which Mr. Hamlincalled out faintly but cheerfully, "They're here, all right."Again the voice arose with still more marked and loftydistinctness, "John Wesley and Mary Em-me-line." It seemed to Mr.Hamlin that human accents could not convey a more significant andelevated ignoring of some implied impropriety in his invitation.He was for a moment crushed.But he only said to his little friends with a smile, "You'd bettergo now and we'll have that story later.""Affer beckus?" suggested Mary Emmeline."In the woods," added John Wesley.Mr. Hamlin nodded blandly. The children trotted to the door. Itclosed upon them and Miss Bird's parting admonition, loud enoughfor Mr. Hamlin to hear, "No more freedoms, no more intrudings, youhear."The older culprit, Hamlin, retreated luxuriously under hisblankets, but presently another new sensation came over him--absolutely, hunger. Perhaps it was the child's allusion to"beckus," but he found himself wondering when it would be ready.This anxiety was soon relieved by the appearance of his hosthimself bearing a tray, possibly in deference to Miss Bird's senseof propriety. It appeared also that Dr. Duchesne had previouslygiven suitable directions for his diet, and Mr. Hamlin found hisrepast simple but enjoyable. Always playfully or ironically politeto strangers, he thanked his host and said he had slept splendidly."It's this yer 'ozone' in the air that Dr. Duchesne talks about,"said Seth complacently."I am inclined to think it is also those texts," said Mr. Hamlingravely, as he indicated them on the wall. "You see they remindedme of church and my boyhood's slumbers there. I have never sleptso peacefully since." Seth's face brightened so interestedly atwhat he believed to be a suggestion of his guest's conversion thatMr. Hamlin was fain to change the subject. When his host hadwithdrawn he proceeded to dress himself, but here became consciousof his weakness and was obliged to sit down. In one of thoseenforced rests he chanced to be near the window, and for the firsttime looked on the environs of his place of exile. For a moment hewas staggered. Everything seemed to pitch downward from the rockyoutcrop on which the rambling house and farm sheds stood. Even thegreat pines around it swept downward like a green wave, to riseagain in enormous billows as far as the eye could reach. He couldcount a dozen of their tumbled crests following each other on theirway to the distant plain. In some vague point of that shimmeringhorizon of heat and dust was the spot he came from the precedingnight. Yet the recollection of it and his feverish past seemed toconfuse him, and he turned his eyes gladly away.Pale, a little tremulous, but immaculate and jaunty in his whiteflannels and straw hat, he at last made his way downstairs. To hisgreat relief he found the sitting room empty, as he would havewillingly deferred his formal acknowledgments to his hostess later.A single glance at the interior determined him not to linger, andhe slipped quietly into the open air and sunshine. The day waswarm and still, as the wind only came up with the going down of thesun, and the atmosphere was still redolent with the morning spicingof pine and hay and a stronger balm that seemed to fill his breastwith sunshine. He walked toward the nearest shade--a cluster ofyoung buckeyes--and having with a certain civic fastidiousnessflicked the dust from a stump with his handkerchief he sat down.It was very quiet and calm. The life and animation of earlymorning had already vanished from the hill, or seemed to besuspended with the sun in the sky. He could see the ranchmen andoxen toiling on the green terraced slopes below, but no soundreached his ears. Even the house he had just quitted seemed emptyof life throughout its rambling length. His seclusion wascomplete. Could he stand it for three weeks? Perhaps it need notbe for so long; he was already stronger! He foresaw that theascetic Seth might become wearisome. He had an intuition that Mrs.Rivers would be equally so; he should certainly quarrel withMelinda, and this would probably debar him from the company of thechildren--his only hope.But his seclusion was by no means so complete as he expected. Hepresently was aware of a camp-meeting hymn hummed somewhatostentatiously by a deep contralto voice, which he at oncerecognized as Melinda's, and saw that severe virgin proceeding fromthe kitchen along the ridge until within a few paces of thebuckeyes, when she stopped and, with her hand shading her eyes,apparently began to examine the distant fields. She was a tall,robust girl, not without certain rustic attractions, of which sheseemed fully conscious. This latter weakness gave Mr. Hamlin a newidea. He put up the penknife with which he had been paring hisnails while wondering why his hands had become so thin, and awaitedevents. She presently turned, approached the buckeyes, plucked aspike of the blossoms with great girlish lightness, and thenapparently discovering Mr. Hamlin, started in deep concern and saidwith somewhat stentorian politeness: "I BEG your pardon--didn'tknow I was intruding!""Don't mention it," returned Jack promptly, but without moving. "Isaw you coming and was prepared; but generally--as I have somethingthe matter with my heart--a sudden joy like this is dangerous."Somewhat mystified, but struggling between an expression ofrigorous decorum and gratified vanity, Miss Melinda stammered, "Iwas only"--"I knew it--I saw what you were doing," interrupted Jack gravely,"only I wouldn't do it if I were you. You were looking at one ofthose young men down the hill. You forgot that if you could seehim he could see you looking too, and that would only make himconceited. And a girl with YOUR attractions don't require that.""Ez if," said Melinda, with lofty but somewhat reddening scorn,"there was a man on this hull rancho that I'd take a second lookat.""It's the first look that does the business," returned Jack simply."But maybe I was wrong. Would you mind--as you're going straightback to the house" (Miss Melinda had certainly expressed no suchintention)--"turning those two little kids loose out here? I've asort of engagement with them.""I will speak to their mar," said Melinda primly, yet with acertain sign of relenting, as she turned away."You can say to her that I regretted not finding her in the sittingroom when I came down," continued Jack tactfully.Apparently the tact was successful, for he was delighted a fewmoments later by the joyous onset of John Wesley and Mary Emmelineupon the buckeyes, which he at once converted into a game of hideand seek, permitting himself at last to be shamelessly caught inthe open. But here he wisely resolved upon guarding againstfurther grown-up interruption, and consulting with his companionsfound that on one of the lower terraces there was a large reservoirfed by a mountain rivulet, but they were not allowed to play there.Thither, however, the reckless Jack hied with his playmates and waspresently ensconced under a willow tree, where he dexterouslyfashioned tiny willow canoes with his penknife and sent themsailing over a submerged expanse of nearly an acre. But half anhour of this ingenious amusement was brought to an abrupttermination. While cutting bark, with his back momentarily turnedon his companions, he heard a scream, and turned quickly to seeJohn Wesley struggling in the water, grasping a tree root, and MaryEmmeline--nowhere! In another minute he saw the strings of herpinafore appear on the surface a few yards beyond, and in yetanother minute, with a swift rueful glance at his white flannels,he had plunged after her. A disagreeable shock of finding himselfout of his depths was, however, followed by contact with thechild's clothing, and clutching her firmly, a stroke or two broughthim panting to the bank. Here a gasp, a gurgle, and then a roarfrom Mary Emmeline, followed by a sympathetic howl from JohnWesley, satisfied him that the danger was over. Rescuing the boyfrom the tree root, he laid them both on the grass and contemplatedthem exercising their lungs with miserable satisfaction. But herehe found his own breathing impeded in addition to a slightfaintness, and was suddenly obliged to sit down beside them, atwhich, by some sympathetic intuition, they both stopped crying.Encouraged by this, Mr. Hamlin got them to laughing again, and thenproposed a race home in their wet clothes, which they accepted, Mr.Hamlin, for respiratory reasons, lagging in their rear until he hadthe satisfaction of seeing them captured by the horrified Melindain front of the kitchen, while he slipped past her and regained hisown room. Here he changed his saturated clothes, tried to rub awaya certain chilliness that was creeping over him, and lay down inhis dressing gown to miserable reflections. He had nearly drownedthe children and overexcited himself, in spite of his promise tothe doctor! He would never again be intrusted with the care of theformer nor be believed by the latter!But events are not always logical in sequence. Mr. Hamlin wentcomfortably to sleep and into a profuse perspiration. He wasawakened by a rapping at his door, and opening it, was surprised tofind Mrs. Rivers with anxious inquiries as to his condition."Indeed," she said, with an emotion which even her prim reservecould not conceal, "I did not know until now how serious theaccident was, and how but for you and Divine Providence my littlegirl might have been drowned. It seems Melinda saw it all."Inwardly objurgating the spying Melinda, but relieved that hisplaymates hadn't broken their promise of secrecy, Mr. Hamlinlaughed."I'm afraid that your little girl wouldn't have got into the waterat all but for me--and you must give all the credit of getting herout to the other fellow." He stopped at the severe change in Mrs.Rivers's expression, and added quite boyishly and with a suddendrop from his usual levity, "But please don't keep the childrenaway from me for all that, Mrs. Rivers."Mrs. Rivers did not, and the next day Jack and his companionssought fresh playing fields and some new story-telling pastures.Indeed, it was a fine sight to see this pale, handsome, elegantlydressed young fellow lounging along between a blue-checkeredpinafored girl on one side and a barefooted boy on the other. Theranchmen turned and looked after him curiously. One, a rusticprodigal, reduced by dissipation to the swine-husks of ranching,saw fit to accost him familiarly."The last time I saw you dealing poker in Sacramento, Mr. Hamlin, Idid not reckon to find you up here playing with a couple of kids.""No!" responded Mr. Hamlin suavely, "and yet I remember I wasplaying with some country idiots down there, and you were one ofthem. Well! understand that up here I prefer the kids. Don't letme have to remind you of it."Nevertheless, Mr. Hamlin could not help noticing that for the nexttwo or three days there were many callers at the ranch and that hewas obliged in his walks to avoid the highroad on account of theimpertinent curiosity of wayfarers. Some of them were of that sexwhich he would not have contented himself with simply calling"curious.""To think," said Melinda confidently to her mistress, "that thatthar Mrs. Stubbs, who wouldn't go to the Hightown Hotel becausethere was a play actress thar, has been snoopin' round here twicesince that young feller came."Of this fact, however, Mr. Hamlin was blissfully unconscious.Nevertheless, his temper was growing uncertain; the angle of hissmart straw hat was becoming aggressive to strangers; hispoliteness sardonic. And now Sunday morning had come with anatmosphere of starched piety and well-soaped respectability at therancho, and the children were to be taken with the rest of thefamily to the day-long service at Hightown. As these Sabbathpilgrimages filled the main road, he was fain to take himself andhis loneliness to the trails and byways, and even to invade thehaunts of some other elegant outcasts like himself--to wit, acrested hawk, a graceful wild cat beautifully marked, and aneloquently reticent rattlesnake. Mr. Hamlin eyed them withoutfear, and certainly without reproach. They were not out of theirelement.Suddenly he heard his name called in a stentorian contralto. Animpatient ejaculation rose to his lips, but died upon them as heturned. It was certainly Melinda, but in his present sensitiveloneliness it struck him for the first time that he had neveractually seen her before as she really was. Like most men in hisprofession he was a quick reader of thoughts and faces when he wasinterested, and although this was the same robust, long-limbed,sunburnt girl he had met, he now seemed to see through her tripleincrustation of human vanity, conventional piety, and outrageousSabbath finery an honest, sympathetic simplicity that commanded hisrespect."You are back early from church," he said."Yes. One service is good enough for me when thar ain't no specialpreacher," she returned, "so I jest sez to Silas, 'as I ain't hereto listen to the sisters cackle ye kin put to the buckboard anddrive me home ez soon ez you please.'""And so his name is Silas," suggested Mr. Hamlin cheerfully."Go 'long with you, Mr. Hamlin, and don't pester," she returned,with heifer-like playfulness. "Well, Silas put to, and when werose the hill here I saw your straw hat passin' in the gulch, andsez to Silas, sez I, 'Ye kin pull up here, for over yar is our newboarder, Jack Hamlin, and I'm goin' to talk with him.' 'Allright,' sez he, 'I'd sooner trust ye with that gay young gambolierevery day of the week than with them saints down thar on Sunday.He deals ez straight ez he shoots, and is about as nigh onto agentleman as they make 'em.'"For one moment or two Miss Bird only saw Jack's long lashes. Whenhis eyes once more lifted they were shining. "And what did yousay?" he said, with a short laugh."I told him he needn't be Christopher Columbus to have discoveredthat." She turned with a laugh toward Jack, to be met by the word"shake," and an outstretched thin white hand which grasped herlarge red one with a frank, fraternal pressure."I didn't come to tell ye that," remarked Miss Bird as she sat downon a boulder, took off her yellow hat, and restacked her tawny maneunder it, "but this: I reckoned I went to Sunday meetin' as I oughtter. I kalkilated to hear considerable about 'Faith' and 'Works,'and sich, but I didn't reckon to hear all about you from the Lord'sPrayer to the Doxology. You were in the special prayers ez awarnin', in the sermon ez a text; they picked out hymns to fit ye!And always a drefful example and a visitation. And the rest o' thetune it was all gabble, gabble by the brothers and sisters aboutyou. I reckon, Mr. Hamlin, that they know everything you ever didsince you were knee-high to a grasshopper, and a good deal morethan you ever thought of doin'. The women is all dead set onconvertin' ye and savin' ye by their own precious selves, and themen is ekally dead set on gettin' rid o' ye on that account.""And what did Seth and Mrs. Rivers say?" asked Hamlin composedly,but with kindling eyes."They stuck up for ye ez far ez they could. But ye see the parsonhez got a holt upon Seth, havin' caught him kissin' a convert atcamp meeting; and Deacon Turner knows suthin about Mrs. Rivers'ssister, who kicked over the pail and jumped the fence years ago,and she's afeard a' him. But what I wanted to tell ye was thatthey're all comin' up here to take a look at ye--some on 'em to-night. You ain't afeard, are ye?" she added, with a loud laugh."Well, it looks rather desperate, doesn't it?" returned Jack, withdancing eyes."I'll trust ye for all that," said Melinda. "And now I reckon I'lltrot along to the rancho. Ye needn't offer ter see me home," sheadded, as Jack made a movement to accompany her. "Everybody uphere ain't as fair-minded ez Silas and you, and Melinda Bird hez acharacter to lose! So long!" With this she cantered away, alittle heavily, perhaps, adjusting her yellow hat with both handsas she clattered down the steep hill.That afternoon Mr. Hamlin drew largely on his convalescence tomount a half-broken mustang, and in spite of the rising afternoonwind to gallop along the highroad in quite as mischievous andbreezy a fashion. He was wont to allow his mustang's nose to hangover the hind rails of wagons and buggies containing young couples,and to dash ahead of sober carryalls that held elderly "members ingood standing."An accomplished rider, he picked up and brought back the flyingparasol of Mrs. Deacon Stubbs without dismounting. He finally camehome a little blown, but dangerously composed.There was the usual Sunday evening gathering at Windy Hill Rancho--neighbors and their wives, deacons and the pastor--but theircuriosity was not satisfied by the sight of Mr. Hamlin, who kepthis own room and his own counsel. There was some desultoryconversation, chiefly on church topics, for it was vaguely feltthat a discussion of the advisability or getting rid of the guestof their host was somewhat difficult under this host's roof, withthe guest impending at any moment. Then a diversion was created bysome of the church choir practicing the harmonium with the singingof certain more or less lugubrious anthems. Mrs. Rivers presentlyjoined in, and in a somewhat faded soprano, which, however, stillretained considerable musical taste and expression, sang, "Come, yedisconsolate." The wind moaned over the deep-throated chimney in aweird harmony with the melancholy of that human appeal as Mrs.Rivers sang the first verse:--"Come, ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish,Come to the Mercy Seat, fervently kneel;Here bring your wounded hearts--here tell your anguish,Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal!"A pause followed, and the long-drawn, half-human sigh of themountain wind over the chimney seemed to mingle with the wail ofthe harmonium. And then, to their thrilled astonishment, a tenorvoice, high, clear, but tenderly passionate, broke like a skylarkover their heads in the lines of the second verse:--"Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying,Hope of the penitent--fadeless and pure;Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying,Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure!"The hymn was old and familiar enough, Heaven knows. It had beenquite popular at funerals, and some who sat there had had itsstrange melancholy borne upon them in time of loss andtribulations, but never had they felt its full power before.Accustomed as they were to emotional appeal and to respond to it,as the singer's voice died away above them, their very tears flowedand fell with that voice. A few sobbed aloud, and then a voiceasked tremulously,--"Who is it?""It's Mr. Hamlin," said Seth quietly. "I've heard him oftenhummin' things before."There was another silence, and the voice of Deacon Stubbs broke inharshly,--"It's rank blasphemy.""If it's rank blasphemy to sing the praise o' God, not only betterthan some folks in the choir, but like an angel o' light, I wishyou'd do a little o' that blaspheming on Sundays, Mr. Stubbs."The speaker was Mrs. Stubbs, and as Deacon Stubbs was a notoriouslybad singer the shot told."If he's sincere, why does he stand aloof? Why does he not joinus?" asked the parson."He hasn't been asked," said Seth quietly. "If I ain't mistakenthis yer gathering this evening was specially to see how to get ridof him."There was a quick murmur of protest at this. The parson exchangedglances with the deacon and saw that they were hopelessly in theminority."I will ask him myself," said Mrs. Rivers suddenly."So do, Sister Rivers; so do," was the unmistakable response.Mrs. Rivers left the room and returned in a few moments with ahandsome young man, pale, elegant, composed, even to a graveindifference. What his eyes might have said was another thing; thelong lashes were scarcely raised."I don't mind playing a little," he said quietly to Mrs. Rivers, asif continuing a conversation, "but you'll have to let me trust mymemory.""Then you--er--play the harmonium?" said the parson, with anattempt at formal courtesy."I was for a year or two the organist in the choir of Dr. Todd'schurch at Sacramento," returned Mr. Hamlin quietly.The blank amazement on the faces of Deacons Stubbs and Turner andthe parson was followed by wreathed smiles from the other auditorsand especially from the ladies. Mr. Hamlin sat down to theinstrument, and in another moment took possession of it as it hadnever been held before. He played from memory as he had implied,but it was the memory of a musician. He began with one or twofamiliar anthems, in which they all joined. A fragment of a massand a Latin chant followed. An "Ave Maria" from an opera was hisfirst secular departure, but his delighted audience did not detectit. Then he hurried them along in unfamiliar language to "O mioFernando" and "Spiritu gentil," which they fondly imagined werehymns, until, with crowning audacity, after a few preliminarychords of the "Miserere," he landed them broken-hearted in theTrovatore's donjon tower with "Non te scordar de mi."Amidst the applause he heard the preacher suavely explain thatthose Popish masses were always in the Latin language, and rosefrom the instrument satisfied with his experiment. Excusinghimself as an invalid from joining them in a light collation in thedining room, and begging his hostess's permission to retire, henevertheless lingered a few moments by the door as the ladies filedout of the room, followed by the gentlemen, until Deacon Turner,who was bringing up the rear, was abreast of him. Here Mr. Hamlinbecame suddenly deeply interested in a framed pencil drawing whichhung on the wall. It was evidently a schoolgirl's amateurportrait, done by Mrs. Rivers. Deacon Turner halted quickly by hisside as the others passed out--which was exactly what Mr. Hamlinexpected."Do you know the face?" said the deacon eagerly.Thanks to the faithful Melinda, Mr. Hamlin did know it perfectly.It was a pencil sketch of Mrs. Rivers's youthfully erring sister.But he only said he thought he recognized a likeness to some one hehad seen in Sacramento.The deacon's eye brightened. "Perhaps the same one--perhaps," headded in a submissive and significant tone "a--er--painful story.""Rather--to him," observed Hamlin quietly."How?--I--er--don't understand," said Deacon Turner."Well, the portrait looks like a lady I knew in Sacramento who hadbeen in some trouble when she was a silly girl, but had got over itquietly. She was, however, troubled a good deal by some mean houndwho was every now and then raking up the story wherever she went.Well, one of her friends--I might have been among them, I don'texactly remember just now--challenged him, but although he had noconscientious convictions about slandering a woman, he had someabout being shot for it, and declined. The consequence was he wascowhided once in the street, and the second time tarred andfeathered and ridden on a rail out of town. That, I suppose, waswhat you meant by your 'painful story.' But is this the woman?""No, no," said the deacon hurriedly, with a white face, "you havequite misunderstood.""But whose is this portrait?" persisted Jack."I believe that--I don't know exactly--but I think it is a sisterof Mrs. Rivers's," stammered the deacon."Then, of course, it isn't the same woman," said Jack in simulatedindignation."Certainly--of course not," returned the deacon."Phew!" said Jack. "That was a mighty close call. Lucky we werealone, wasn't it?""Yes," said the deacon, with a feeble smile."Seth," continued Jack, with a thoughtful air, "looks like a quietman, but I shouldn't like to have made that mistake about hissister-in-law before him. These quiet men are apt to shootstraight. Better keep this to ourselves."Deacon Turner not only kept the revelation to himself butapparently his own sacred person also, as he did not call again atWindy Hill Rancho during Mr. Hamlin's stay. But he was exceedinglypolite in his references to Jack, and alluded patronizingly to a"little chat" they had had together. And when the usual reactiontook place in Mr. Hamlin's favor and Jack was actually induced toperform on the organ at Hightown Church next Sunday, the deacon'svoice was loudest in his praise. Even Parson Greenwood allowedhimself to be non-committal as to the truth of the rumor, largelycirculated, that one of the most desperate gamblers in the Statehad been converted through his exhortations.So, with breezy walks and games with the children, occasionalconfidences with Melinda and Silas, and the Sabbath "singing ofanthems," Mr. Hamlin's three weeks of convalescence drew to aclose. He had lately relaxed his habit of seclusion so far as tomingle with the company gathered for more social purposes at therancho, and once or twice unbent so far as to satisfy theircuriosity in regard to certain details of his profession."I have no personal knowledge of games of cards," said ParsonGreenwood patronizingly, "and think I am right in saying that ourbrothers and sisters are equally inexperienced. I am--ahem--farfrom believing, however, that entire ignorance of evil is the bestpreparation for combating it, and I should be glad if you'd explainto the company the intricacies of various games. There is one thatyou mentioned, with a--er--scriptural name.""Faro," said Hamlin, with an unmoved face."Pharaoh," repeated the parson gravely; "and one which you call'poker,' which seems to require great self-control.""I couldn't make you understand poker without your playing it,"said Jack decidedly."As long as we don't gamble--that is, play for money--I see noobjection," returned the parson."And," said Jack musingly, "you could use beans."It was agreed finally that there would be no falling from grace intheir playing among themselves, in an inquiring Christian spirit,under Jack's guidance, he having decided to abstain from cardplaying during his convalescence, and Jack permitted himself to bepersuaded to show them the following evening.It so chanced, however, that Dr. Duchesne, finding the end ofJack's "cure" approaching, and not hearing from that interestinginvalid, resolved to visit him at about this time. Having nochance to apprise Jack of his intention, on coming to Hightown atnight he procured a conveyance at the depot to carry him to WindyHill Rancho. The wind blew with its usual nocturnal rollickingpersistency, and at the end of his turbulent drive it seemed almostimpossible to make himself heard amongst the roaring of the pinesand some astounding preoccupation of the inmates. After vainlyknocking, the doctor pushed open the front door and entered. Herapped at the closed sitting room door, but receiving no reply,pushed it open upon the most unexpected and astounding scene he hadever witnessed. Around the centre table several respectablemembers of the Hightown Church, including the parson, were gatheredwith intense and eager faces playing poker, and behind the parson,with his hands in his pockets, carelessly lounged the doctor'spatient, the picture of health and vigor. A disused pack of cardswas scattered on the floor, and before the gentle and precise Mrs.Rivers was heaped a pile of beans that would have filled a quartmeasure.When Dr. Duchesne had tactfully retreated before the hurried andstammering apologies of his host and hostess, and was alone withJack in his rooms, he turned to him with a gravity that was morethan half affected and said, "How long, sir, did it take you toeffect this corruption?""Upon my honor," said Jack simply, "they played last night for thefirst time. And they forced me to show them. But," added Jackafter a significant pause, "I thought it would make the gamelivelier and be more of a moral lesson if I gave them nearly allgood pat hands. So I ran in a cold deck on them--the first time Iever did such a thing in my life. I fixed up a pack of cards sothat one had three tens, another three jacks, and another threequeens, and so on up to three aces. In a minute they had alltumbled to the game, and you never saw such betting. Every man andwoman there believed he or she had struck a sure thing, and stakedaccordingly. A new panful of beans was brought on, and Seth, yourfriend, banked for them. And at last the parson raked in the wholepile.""I suppose you gave him the three aces," said Dr. Duchesnegloomily."The parson," said Jack slowly, "HADN'T A SINGLE PAIR IN HIS HAND.It was the stoniest, deadest, neatest BLUFF I ever saw. And whenhe'd frightened off the last man who held out and laid that measlyhand of his face down on that pile of kings, queens, and aces, andlooked around the table as he raked in the pile, there was a smileof humble self-righteousness on his face that was worth double themoney."

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