Austin's Girl

by Kathleen Norris

In the blazing heat of a July afternoon, Mrs. Cyrus Austin Phelps,of Boston, arrived unexpectedly at the Yerba Buena rancho inCalifornia. She was the only passenger to leave the train at thelittle sun-burned platform that served as a station, and found noteven a freight agent there, of whom to ask the way to Miss ManzanitaBoone's residence. There were a few glittering lizards whiskingabout on the dusty boards, and a few buzzards hanging motionlessagainst the cloudless pale blue of the sky overhead. Otherwisenothing living was in sight.The train roared on down the valley, and disappeared. Its last echodied away. All about was the utter silence of the foot-hills. Theeven spires of motionless redwood trees rose, dense and steep, tomeet the sky-line with a shimmer of heat. The sun beat downmercilessly, there was no shadow anywhere.Mrs. Phelps, trim, middle-aged, richly and simply dressed, typicalof her native city, was not a woman to be easily disconcerted, butshe felt quite at a loss now. She was already sorry that she hadcome at all to Yerba Buena, sorry that, in coming, she had notwritten Austin to meet her. She already disliked this wide, silent,half-savage valley, and already felt out of place here. How couldshe possibly imagine that there would not be shops, stables, hotelsat the station? What did other people do when they arrived here?Mrs. Phelps crisply asked these questions of the unanswering woodsand hills.After a while she sat down on her trunk, though with her small backerect, and her expression uncompromisingly stern. She was sittingthere when Joe Bettancourt, a Portuguese milkman, happened to comeby with his shabby milk wagon, and his lean, shaggy horses, and--more because Joe, not understanding English, took it calmly forgranted that she wished to drive with him, than because she likedthe arrangement--Mrs. Phelps got him to take her trunk and herselfupon their way. They drove steadily upward, through apple orchardsthat stretched in hot zigzag lines, like the spokes of a greatwheel, about them, and through strips of forest, where the corduroyroad was springy beneath the wagon wheels, and past ugly low cowsheds, where the red-brown cattle were already gathering for themilking."You are taking me to Mr. Boone's residence?" Mrs. Phelps would ask,at two-minute intervals. And Joe, hunched lazily over the reins,would respond huskily:"Sure. Thaz th' ole man."And presently they did turn a corner, and find, in a great gash ofclearing, a low, rambling structure only a little better than thecow sheds, with wide, unpainted porches all about it, and astraggling line of out-houses near by. A Chinese cook came out of aswinging door to stare at the arrival, two or three Portuguesegirls, evidently house-servants, entered into a cheerful, nasalconversation with Joe Bettancourt, from their seats by the kitchendoor, and a very handsome young woman, whom Mrs. Phelps at firstthought merely another servant came running down to the wagon. Thisyoung creature had a well-rounded figure, clad in faded, crisp bluelinen, slim ankles that showed above her heavy buckled slippers, anda loosely-braided heavy rope of bright hair. Her eyes were a burningblue, the lashes curled like a doll's lashes, and the brows as evenand dark as a doll's, too. She was extraordinarily pretty, even Mrs.Phelps could find no fault with the bright perfection of her face."Don't say you're Mother Phelps!" cried this young person,delightedly, lifting the older woman almost bodily from the wagon."But I know you are!" she continued joyously. "Do you know who I am?I'm Manzanita Boone!"Mrs. Phelps felt her heart grow sick within her. She had thoughtherself steeled for any shock,--but not this! Stricken dumb for amoment, she was led indoors, and found herself listening to a streamof gay chatter, and relieved of hat and gloves, and answeringquestions briefly and coldly, while all the time an agonizedundercurrent of protest filled her heart: "He cannot--he shall notmarry her!"Austin was up at the mine, of course, but Miss Boone despatched amessenger for him in all haste. The messenger was instructed to saymerely that Manzanita had something she wanted to show him, but thesimple little ruse failed. Austin guessed what the something was,and before he had fairly dismounted from his wheeling buckskin, hismother heard his eager voice: "Mater! Where are you! Where's mymother?"He came rushing into the ranch-house, and caught her in his arms,laughing and eager, half wild with the joy of seeing his mother andhis girl in each other's company, and too radiant to suspect thathis mother's happiness was not as great as his own."You got my letter about our engagement, mater? Of course,--and youcame right on to meet my girl yourself, didn't you? Good littlemater, that was perfectly great of you! This is just about the bestthing that ever--and isn't she sweet--do you blame me?" He had hisarm about Manzanita, their eyes were together, his tender and proud,the girl's laughing and shy,--they did not see Mrs. Phelps'sexpression. "And what did you think?" Austin rushed on, "Were yousurprised? Did you tell Cornelia? That's good. Did you tell everyone--have the home papers had it? You know, mother," Austin droppedhis voice confidentially, "I wasn't sure you'd be awfully glad,--just at first, you know. I knew you would be the minute you sawManz'ita; but I was afraid--But now, it's all right,--and it's justgreat!""But I thought Yerba Buena was quite a little village, dear," saidMrs. Phelps, accusingly."What's the difference?" said Austin, cheerfully, much concernedbecause Manzanita was silently implying that he should remove hisarm from her waist."Why, I thought I could stay at a hotel, or at least a boarding-house--" began his mother. Miss Boone laughed out. She was a noisyyoung creature."We'll 'phone the Waldorf-Astoria," said she."Seriously, Austin--" said Mrs. Phelps, looking annoyed."Seriously, mater," he met her distress comfortably, "you'll stayhere at the ranch-house. I live here, you know. Manz'ita'll love tohave you, and you'll get the best meals you ever had since you wereborn! This was certainly a corking thing for you to do, mother!" hebroke off joyfully. "And you're looking awfully well!""I find you changed, Austin," his mother said, with a delicateinflection that made the words significant. "You're brown, dear, andbigger, and--heavier, aren't you?""Why don't you say fat?" said Manzanita, with a little push for heraffianced husband. "He was an awfully pasty-looking thing when hecame here," she confided to his mother. "But I fed him up, didn't I,Aus?" And she rubbed her cheek against his head like a littlefriendly pony."And he's going to marry her!" Mrs. Phelps said to herself,heartsick. She felt suddenly old and discouraged and helpless; outof their zone of youth and love. But on the heels of despair, hercourage rose up again. She would save Austin while there was yettime, if human power could do it.The three were sitting in the parlor, a small, square room, throughwhose western windows the sinking sun streamed boldly. Mrs. Phelpshad never seen a room like this before. There was no note ofquaintness here; no high-boy, no heavy old mahogany drop-leaf table,no braided rugs or small-paned windows. There was not even comfort.The chairs were as new and shining as chairs could be; there was a"mission style" rocker, a golden-oak rocker, a cherry rocker,heavily upholstered. There was a walnut drop-head sewing-machine onwhich a pink saucer of some black liquid fly-poison stood. There wasa "body Brussels" rug on the floor. Lastly, there was an oaksideboard, dusty, pretentious, with its mirror cut into smallsections by little, empty shelves.It all seemed like a nightmare to poor little Mrs. Phelps, as shesat listening to the delighted reminiscences of the young people,who presently reviewed their entire acquaintanceship for herbenefit. It seemed impossible that this was her Austin, this big-voiced, brown, muscular young man! Austin had always been slender,and rather silent. Austin had always been so close to her, so quickto catch her point of view. He had been nearer her even thanCornelia--Cornelia! Her heart reached Cornelia's name with a homesick throb.Cornelia would be home from her club or concert or afternoon atcards now,--Mrs. Phelps did not worry herself with latitude orlongitude,--she would be having tea in the little drawing-room,under the approving canvases of Copley and Gilbert Stuart. Hermother could see Cornelia's well-groomed hands busy with the Spodecups and the heavy old silver spoons; Cornelia's fine, intelligentface and smooth dark head well set off by a background of richhangings and soft lights, polished surfaces, and the dull tones ofpriceless rugs."I beg your pardon?" she said, rousing herself."I asked you if you didn't have a cat-fit when you realized that Auswas going to marry a girl you never saw?" Manzanita repeated withfriendly enjoyment. Mrs. Phelps gave her only a few seconds' steadyconsideration for answer, and then pointedly addressed her son."It sounds very strange to your mother, to have you called anythingbut Austin, my son," she said."Manz'ita can't spare the time," he explained, adoring eyes on thegirl, whose beauty, in the level light, was quite startling enoughto hold any man's eyes."And you young people are very sure of yourselves, I suppose?" themother said, lightly, after a little pause. Austin only laughedcomfortably, but Manzanita's eyes came suddenly to meet those of theolder woman, and both knew that the first gun had been fired. Acolor that was not of the sunset burned suddenly in the girl's roundcheeks. "She's not glad we're engaged!" thought Manzanita, with apang of utter surprise. "She knows why I came!" Mrs. Phelps saidtriumphantly to herself.For Mrs. Phelps was a determined woman, and in some ways a mercilessone. She had been born with Bostonian prejudices strong within her.She had made her children familiar, in their very nursery days, withthe great names of their ancestors. Cornelia, when a plain,distinguished-looking child of six, was aware that her nose was "allSlocumb," and her forehead just like "great-aunt Hannah Maria RandBabcock's." Austin learned that he was a Phelps in disposition, but"the image of the Bonds and the Baldwins." The children often wentto distinguished gatherings composed entirely of their near anddistant kinspeople, ate their porridge from silver bowls a hundredyears old, and even at dancing-school were able to discriminateagainst the beruffled and white-clad infants whose parents "motherdidn't know." In due time Austin went to a college in whose archivesthe names of his kinsmen bore an honorable part; and Cornelia,having skated and studied German cheerfully for several years, withspectacles on her near-sighted eyes, her hair in a club, and a metalband across her big white teeth, suddenly blossomed into a handsomeand dignified woman, who calmly selected one Taylor Putnam Underwoodas the most eligible of several possible husbands, and proceeded toset up an irreproachable establishment of her own.All this was as it should be. Mrs. Phelps, a bustling little figurein her handsome rich silks, with her crisp black hair severelyarranged, and her crisp voice growing more and more pleasantlypositive as years went by, fitted herself with dignity into the roleof mother-in-law and grandmother. Cornelia had been married severalyears. When Austin came home from college, and while taking himproudly with her on a round of dinners and calls, his mothernaturally cast her eye about her for the pearl of women, who shouldbecome his wife.Austin, it was understood, was to go into Uncle HubbardFrothingham's office. All the young sons and nephews and cousins inthe family started there. When Austin, agreeing in the main to theproposal, suggested that he be put in the San Francisco branch ofthe business, Mrs. Phelps was only mildly disturbed. He hadeverything to lose and nothing to gain by going West, she explained,but if he wanted to, let him try California.So Austin went, and quite distinguished himself in his new work forabout a year. Then suddenly out of a clear sky came the astoundingnews that he had left the firm,--actually resigned from Frothingham,Curtis, and Frothingham!--and had gone up into the mountains, tomanage a mine for some unknown person named Boone! Mrs. Phelps shuther lips into a severe line when she heard this news, and forseveral weeks she did not write to Austin. But as months went by,and he seemed always well and busy, and full of plans for a visithome, she forgave him, and wrote him twice weekly again,--charming,motherly letters, in which newspaper clippings and concertprogrammes likely to interest him were enclosed, and amateurphotographs,--snapshots of Cornelia in her furs, laughing against abackground of snowy Common, snapshots of Cornelia's children withold Kelly in the motor-car, and of dear Taylor and Cornelia withSally Middleton on the yacht. Did Austin remember dear Sally? Shehad grown so pretty and had so many admirers.It was Cornelia who suggested, when the staggering news of Austin'sengagement came to Boston, that her mother should go to California,stay at some "pretty, quiet farm-house near by," meet this MissManzanita Boone, whoever she was, and quietly effect, as mothers andsisters have hoped to effect since time began, a change of heart inAustin.And so she had arrived here, to find that there was no such thing inthe entire valley as the colonial farmhouse of her dreams, to findthat, far from estranging Austin from the Boone family, she mustactually be their guest while she stayed at Yerba Buena, to findthat her coming was interpreted by this infatuated pair to be a signof her entire sympathy with their plans. And added to all this,Austin was different, noisier, bigger, younger than she rememberedhim: Manzanita was worse than her worst fears, and the rancho,bounded only by the far-distant mountain ridges, with its canyons,its river, its wooded valleys and trackless ranges, struck actualterror to her homesick soul."Well, what do you think of her? Isn't she a darling?" demandedAustin, when he and his mother were alone on the porch, just beforedinner."She's very pretty, dear. She's not a college girl, of course?""College? Lord, no! Why, she wouldn't even go away to boarding-school." Austin was evidently proud of her independent spirit. "Sheand her brothers went to this little school over here at Eucalyptus,and I guess Manz'ita ran things pretty much her own way. You'll likethe kids. They have no mother, you know, and old Boone just adoresManzanita. He's a nice old boy, too.""Austin, dear!" Mrs. Phelps's protest died into a sigh."Well, but he is, a fine old fellow," amended Austin."And you think she's the sort of woman to make you happy, dear. Isshe musical? Is she fond of books?"Austin, for the first time, looked troubled."Don't you like her, mother?" he asked, astounded."Why, I've just met her, dear. I want you to tell me about her.""Every one here is crazy about her," Austin said half sulkily."She's been engaged four times, and she's only twenty-two!""And she told you that, dear? Herself?"The boy flushed quickly."Why shouldn't she?" he said uncomfortably. "Every one knows it."His mother fanned for a moment in silence."Can you imagine Cornelia--or Sally--engaged four times, and talkingabout it?" she asked gently."Things are different here," Austin presently submitted, to whichMrs. Phelps emphatically assented, "Entirely different!"There was a pause. From the kitchen region came much slamming oflight wire door, and the sound of hissing and steaming, high-keyedremarks from the Chinese and the Portuguese girls, and now and thenthe ripple of Manzanita's laughter. A farm-hand crossed the yard,with pails of milk, and presently a dozen or more men came down thesteep trail that led to the mine.These were ranch-hands, cow-boys, and road-keepers, strong, good-natured young fellows, who had their own house and their own cooknear the main ranch-house, and who now began a great washing andsplashing, at a bench under some willow trees, where there werebasins and towels. An old Spanish shepherd, with his dogs, came downfrom the sheep range; other dogs lounged out from barns and stables;there was a cheerful stir of reunion and relaxation as the hot daydropped to its close.A great hawk flapped across the canyon below the ranch-house, batsbegan to wheel in the clear dusk, owls called in the woods. Justbefore Manzanita appeared in the kitchen doorway to ring a clamorousbell for some sixty ear-splitting seconds, her father, an immenseold man on a restless claybank mare, rode into the yard, and thefour brothers, Jose, Marty, Allen, and the little crippled youngest,eight-year-old Rafael, appeared mysteriously from the shadows, andannounced that they were ready for dinner. Martin Boone, Senior,gave Mrs. Phelps a vigorous welcome."Well, sir! I never thought I'd be glad to see the mother of thefellow who carried off my girl," said Martin Boone, wringing Mrs.Phelps's aching fingers, "but you and I married in our day, ma'am,and it's the youngsters' turn. But he'll have to be a pretty finefellow to satisfy Manzanita!" And before the lady could even beginthe spirited retort that rose to her lips, he had led the way to thelong, overloaded dinner-table."I am too terribly heartsick to go into details," wrote the poorlittle lady, when Manzanita had left her for the night in her bare,big bedroom and she had opened her writing-case upon a pine tableover which hung, incongruously enough, a large electric light."Austin is apparently blind to everything but her beauty, which isreally noticeable, not that it matters. What is mere beauty besidesuch refinement as Sally's, for instance, how far will it go withour friends when they discover that Austin's wife is an untrained,common little country girl? Even when I tell you that she uses suchwords as 'swell,' and 'perfect lady,' and that she asked me whoPhillips Brooks was, and had never heard of William Morris orMaeterlinck you can really form no idea of her ignorance! And thedinner,--one shudders at the thought of beginning to teach her ofcorrect service; hors d'oeuvres, finger-bowls, butter-spreaders,soup-spoons and salad-forks will all be mysteries to her! And herclothes! A rowdyish-looking little tight-fitting cotton a servantwould not wear, and openwork hose, and silver bangles! It isterrible, terrible. I don't know what we can do. She is very clever.I think she suspects already that I do not approve, although shebegan at once to call me 'Mother Phelps'--with a familiarity that isquite typical of her. My one hope is to persuade Austin to come homewith me for a visit, and to keep him there until his wretchedinfatuation has died a natural death. What possible charm this partof the world can have for him is a mystery to me. To compare thisbarn of a house to your lovely home is enough to make me long to bethere with all my heart. Instead of my beautiful rooms, and Mary'sconstant attendance, imagine your mother writing in a room whosewindows have no shades, so that one has the uncomfortable sensationthat any one outside may be looking in. Of course the valleydescends very steeply from the ranch-house, and there are thousandsof acres of silent woods and hills, but I don't like it,nevertheless, and shall undress in the dark. ...I shall certainlyspeak seriously to Austin as soon as possible."But the right moment for approaching Austin on the subject of hisreturn to Boston did not immediately present itself, and for severaldays Manzanita, delighted at having a woman guest, took Mrs. Phelpswith her all over the countryside."I like lady friends," said Manzanita once, a little shyly. "You seeit's 'most always men who visit the rancho, and they're no fun!"She used to come, uninvited but serene, into her prospective mother-in-law's room at night, and artlessly confide in her, while shebraided the masses of her glorious hair. She showed Mrs. Phelps the"swell" pillow she was embroidering to represent an Indian's head,and which she intended to finish with real beads and real feathers.She was as eagerly curious as a child about the older woman's daintytoilet accessories, experimenting with manicure sets and creams andpowders with artless pleasure. "I'm going to have that and do itthat way!" she would announce, when impressed by some particularlittle nice touch about Cornelia's letters, or some allusion thatgave her a new idea."If you ever come to Boston, you will be expected to know all thesethings," Mrs. Phelps said to her once, a little curiously."Oh, but I'll never go there!" she responded confidently."You will have to," said the other, sharply. "Austin can hardlyspend his whole life here! His friends are there, his family. Allhis traditions are there. Those may not mean much to him now, but intime to come they will mean more.""We'll make more money than we can spend, right here," Manzanitasaid, in a troubled voice."Money is not everything, my dear.""No--" Manzanita's brown fingers went slowly down to the last finestrands of the braid she was finishing. Then she said, brightening:"But I am everything to Aus! I don't care what I don't know, orcan't do, he thinks I'm fine!"And she went off to bed in high spirits. She was too entirely normala young woman to let anything worry her very long,--too busy tobrood. The visitor soon learned why the ranch-house parlor presentedso dismal an aspect of unuse. It was because Manzanita was neverinside it. The girl's days were packed to the last instant withduties and pleasures. She needed no parlor. Even her bedroom was asbare and impersonal as her father's. She was never idle. Mrs. Phelpsmore than once saw the new-born child of a rancher's or miner's wifeheld in those capable young arms, she saw the children at the minegathering about Manzanita, the women leaving their doorways foreager talk with her. And once, during the Eastern woman's visit,death came to the Yerba Buena, and Manzanita and young Jose spentthe night in one of the ranch-houses, and walked home, white, tired,and a little sobered, in the early morning, for breakfast.Manzanita rode and drove horses of which even her brothers wereafraid; she handled a gun well, she chattered enough Spanish,Portuguese, Indian, and Italian to make herself understood by theranch hands and dairy-men. And when there was a housewarming, or anew barn to gather in, she danced all night with a passionateenjoyment. It might be with Austin, or the post-office clerk, or ayoung, sleek-haired rancher, or a miner shining from soap and water;it mattered not to Manzanita, if he could but dance. And when sheand Mrs. Phelps drove, as they often did, to spend the day with thegentle, keen, capable women on other ranches thereabout, it wasquite the usual thing to have them bring out bolts of silk orgingham for Manzanita's inspection, and seriously consult her as tofitting and cutting.Mrs. Phelps immensely enjoyed these day-long visits, though shewould have denied it; hardly recognized the fact herself. One couldgrow well acquainted in a day with the clean, big, bare ranch-houses, the very old people in the shining kitchens, the three orfour capable companionable women who managed the family; one with achild at her breast, perhaps another getting ready for her wedding,a third newly widowed, but all dwelling harmoniously together andsharing alike the care of menfolk and children. They would all makethe Eastern woman warmly welcome, eager for her talk of the worldbeyond their mountains, and when she and Manzanita drove away, itwas with jars of specially chosen preserves and delicious cheeses intheir hands, pumpkins and grapes, late apples and perhaps a jug ofcider in the little wagon body, and a loaf of fresh-baked cake orbread still warm in a white napkin. Hospitable children, dancingabout the phaeton, would shout generous offers of "bunnies" or"kitties," Manzanita would hang at a dangerous angle over the wheelto accept good-by kisses, and perhaps some old, old woman, limpingout to stand blinking in the sunlight, would lay a fine,transparent, work-worn hand on Mrs. Phelps and ask her to comeagain. It was an "impossible" life, of course, and yet, at themoment, absorbing enough to the new-comer. And it was at leastsurprising to find the best of magazines and books everywhere,--"theadvertisements alone seem to keep them in touch with everythingnew," wrote Mrs. Phelps.Her whole attitude toward Manzanita might have softened sometimes,if long years of custom had not made the little things of lifevitally important to her. A misused or mispronounced word was like ablow to her; inner forces over which she had no control forced herto discuss it and correct it. She had a quick, horrified pity forManzanita's ignorance on matters which should be part of a lady'sinstinctive knowledge. She winced at the girl's cheerfulacknowledgement of that ignorance. No woman in Mrs. Phelps's owncircle at home ever for one instant admitted ignorance of anyimportant point of any sort; what she did not know she couldsuperbly imply was not worth knowing. Even though she might besecretly enjoying the universal, warm hospitality of the rancho,Mrs. Phelps never lost sight of the fact that Manzanita was not thewife for Austin, and that the marriage would be the ruin of hislife. She told herself that her opposition was for Manzanita'shappiness as well as for his, and plotted without ceasing againsttheir plans."I've had a really remarkable letter from Uncle William, dear!" shesaid, one afternoon, when by some rare chance she was alone with herson."Good for you!" said Austin, absently, clicking the cock of the gunhe was cleaning. "Give the old boy my love when you write.""He sends you a message, dear. He wants to know--but you're notlistening," Mrs. Phelps paused. Austin looked up."Oh, I'm listening. I hear every word.""You seem so far from me these days, Austin," said his mother,plaintively. But--" she brightened, "I hope dear Uncle William'splan will change all that. He wants you to come home, dear. Heoffers you the junior partnership, Austin." She brought it out veryquietly."Offers me the--what?""The junior partnership,--yes, dear. Think of it, at your age,Austin! What would your dear father have said! How proud he wouldhave been! Yes. Stafford has gone into law, you know, and KeithCurtis will live abroad when Isabel inherits. So you see!""Mighty kind of Uncle William," mused Austin, "but of course there'snothing in it for me!" He avoided her gaze, and went on cleaning hisgun. "I'm fixed here, you know. This suits me.""I hope you are not serious, my son." Austin knew that voice. Hebraced himself for unpleasantness."Manzanita," he said simply. There was a throbbing silence."You disappoint one of my lifelong hopes for my only son, Austin,"his mother said very quietly."I know it, mother. I'm sorry.""For the first time, Austin, I wish I had another son. I am going tobeg you--to beg you to believe that I can see your happiness clearerthan you can just now!" Mrs. Phelps's voice was calm, but she wastrembling with feeling."Don't put it that way, mater. Anyway, I never liked office workmuch, you know.""Austin, don't think your old mammy is trying to manage you," Mrs.Phelps was suddenly mild and affectionate. "But think, dear. Taylorsays the salary is not less than fifteen thousand. You could have alovely home, near me. Think of the opera, of having a really formaldinner again, of going to Cousin Robert Stokes's for Christmas, andyachting with Taylor and Gerry."Austin was still now, evidently he was thinking."My idea," his mother went on reasonably, "would be to have you comeon with me now, at once. See Uncle William,--we mustn't keep hiskindness waiting, must we?--get used to the new work, make sure ofyourself. Then come back for Manzanita, or have her come on--" Shepaused, her eyes a question."I'd hate to leave Yerba Buena--" Austin visibly hesitated."But, Austin, you must sooner or later." Mrs. Phelps was framing atriumphant letter to Cornelia in her mind.But just then Manzanita came running around the corner of the house,and seeing them, took the porch steps in two bounds, and came tolean on Austin's shoulder."Austin!" she burst out excitedly. "I want you to ride straight downto the stock pens,--they've got a thousand steers on the flats theregoing through from Portland, and the men say they aren't to leavethe cars to-night! I told them they would have to turn them out andwater them, and they just laughed! Will you go down?" She wasbreathing hard like an impatient child, her cheeks two poppies, hereyes blazing. "Will you? Will you?""Sure I will, if you'll do something for me." Austin pulled hertoward him."Well, there!" She gave him a child's impersonal kiss. "You'll makethem water them, won't you, Austin?""Oh, yes. I'll 'tend to them." Austin got up, his arm about her."Look here," said he. "How'd you like to come and live in Boston?"Her eyes went quickly from him to his mother."I wouldn't!" she said, breathing quickly and defiantly."Never?""Never, never, never! Unless it was just to visit. Why, Austin--"her reproachful eyes accused him, "you said we needn't, ever! Youknow I couldn't live in a street!"Austin laughed again. "Well, that settles Uncle William!" heannounced comfortably. "I'll write him to-morrow, mother. Come on,now, we'll settle this other trouble!"And he and Manzanita disappeared in the direction of the stable.Mrs. Phelps sat thinking, deep red spots burning in her cheeks.Things could not go on this way. Yet she would not give up. Shesuddenly determined to try an idea of Cornelia's.So the word went all over the ranch-house next day that Mrs. Phelpswas ill. The nature of the illness was not specified, but she couldnot leave her bed. Austin was all filial sympathy, Manzanita anuntiring nurse. Hong Fat sent up all sorts of kitchen delicacies,the boys brought trout, and rare ferns, and wild blackberries infrom their daily excursions, for her especial benefit, and beforetwo days were over, every hour found some distant neighbor at therancho with offers of sympathy and assistance. An old doctor came upfrom Emville at once, and Jose and Marty accompanied him all thetwenty miles back into town for medicines.But days went by, and the invalid was no better. She lay, quiet anduncomplaining, in the airy bedroom, while October walked over themountain ranges, and the grapes were gathered, and the applesbrought in. She took the doctor's medicine, and his advice, andagreed pleasantly with him that she would soon be well enough to gohome, and would be better off there. But she would not try to getup.One afternoon, while she was lying with closed eyes, she heard therattle of the doctor's old buggy outside, and heard Manzanita greethim from where she was labelling jelly glasses on the porch. Mrs.Phelps could trace the old man's panting approach to a porch chair,and heard Manzanita go into the house with a promise of lemonade andcrullers. In a few minutes she was back again, and the clink of iceagainst glass sounded pleasantly in the hot afternoon."Well, how is she?" said the doctor, presently, with a long, wetgasp of satisfaction."She's asleep," answered Manzanita. "I just peeked in.--There's moreof that," she added, in apparent reference to the iced drink. Andthen, with a change of tone, she added, "What's the matter with her,anyway, Doc' Jim?"To which the old doctor with great simplicity responded:"You've got me, Manz'ita. I can diagnose as good as any one," hewent on after a pause, "when folks have got something. If you mashedyour hand in a food cutter, or c't something poisonous, or come downwith scarlet fever, I'd know what to do for ye. But, these richwomen--""Well, you know, I could prescribe for her, and cure her, too," saidManzanita. "All I'd do is tell her she'd got to go home right off.I'd say that this climate was too bracing for her, or something.""Shucks! I did say that," interrupted the doctor."Yes, but you didn't say you thought she'd ought to take her sonalong in case of need," the girl added significantly. There was along pause."She don't want ye to marry him, hey?" said the doctor, ending it.Manzanita evidently indicated an assent, for he presently resumedindignantly: "Who does she want for him--Adelina Patti?" Hemarvelled over a third glass. "Well, what do you know about that!"he murmured. Then, "Well, I'll be a long time prescribing that.""No, I want you to send her off, and send him with her," saidManzanita, decidedly, "that's why I'm telling you this. I've thoughtit all over. I don't want to be mean about it. She thinks that if hesaw his sister, and his old friends, and his old life, he'd get tohate the Yerba Buena. At first I laughed at her, and so did Aus.But, I don't know, Doc' Jim, she may be right!""Shucks!" said the doctor, incredulously."No, of course she isn't!" the girl said, after a pause. "I knowAus. But let her take him, and try. Then, if he comes back, shecan't blame me. And--" She laughed. "This is a funny thing," shesaid, "for she doesn't like me. But I like her. I have no mother andno aunts, you know, and I like having an old lady 'round. I alwayswanted some one to stay with me, and perhaps, if Aus comes back someday, she'll get to liking me, too. She'll remember," her tone grew alittle wistful, "that I couldn't help his loving me! And besides--"and the tone was suddenly confident again--"I am good--as good ashis sister! And I'm learning things. I learn something new from herevery day! And I'd like to feel that he went away from me--and hadto come back!""Don't you be a fool," cautioned the doctor. "A feller gets amonghis friends for a year or two, and where are ye? Minnie Ferguson'sfeller never come back to her and she was a real pretty, good girl,too.""Oh, I think he'll come back," the girl said softly, as if toherself."I only hope, if he don't show up on the minute, you'll marrysomebody else so quick it'll make her head spin!" said the doctor,fervently. Manzanita laughed out, and the sound of it made Mrs.Phelps wince, and shut her eyes."Maybe I will!" the girl said hardily. "You'll suggest his takingher home, anyway, won't you, Doc' Jim?" she asked."Well, durn it, I'd jest as soon," agreed the doctor. "I don't knowas you're so crazy about him!""And you'll stay to dinner?" Manzanita instantly changed thesubject. "There's ducks. Of course the season's over, but a stringof them came up to Jose and Marty, and pushed themselves againsttheir guns--you know how it is.""Sure, I'll stay," said the doctor. "Go see if she's awake,Manz'ita, that's a good girl. If she ain't--I'll walk up to the minefor a spell."So Manzanita tiptoed to the door of Mrs. Phelps's room andnoiselessly opened it, and smiled when she saw the invalid's openeyes."Well, have a nice nap?" she asked, coming to put a daughterlylittle hand over the older woman's hand. "Want more light? Yourbooks have come.""I'm much better, dear," said Mrs. Phelps. The Boston woman's tonewould always be incisive, her words clear. But she kept Manzanita'shand. "I think I will get up for dinner. I've been lying herethinking that I've wasted quite enough time, if we are to have awedding here before I go home--"Manzanita stared at her. Then she knelt down beside the bed andbegan to cry.On a certain Thursday afternoon more than a year later, Mrs. Phelpshappened to be alone in her daughter's Boston home. Cornelia wasattending the regular meeting of a small informal club whose reasonfor being was the study of American composers. Mrs. Phelps mighthave attended this, too, or she might have gone to several otherclub meetings, or she might have been playing cards, or makingcalls, but she had been a little bit out of humor with all thesethings of late, and hence was alone in the great, silent house. Therain was falling heavily outside, and in the library there was agreat coal fire. Now and then a noiseless maid came in andreplenished it.Cornelia was always out in the afternoons. She belonged to a greatmany clubs, social, literary, musical and civic clubs, and cardclubs. Cornelia was an exceptionally capable young woman. She hadtwo nice children, in the selection of whose governesses andcompanions she exercised very keen judgment, and she had a finehusband, a Harvard man of course, a silent, sweet-tempered man someyears her senior, whose one passion in life was his yacht, and whosegreat desire was that his wife and children should have everythingin life of the very best. Altogether, Cornelia's life was quiteperfect, well-ordered, harmonious, and beautiful. She attended thefuneral of a relative or friend with the same decorous serenity withwhich she welcomed her nearest and dearest to a big family dinner atChristmas or Thanksgiving. She knew what life expected of her, andshe gave it with calm readiness.The library in her beautiful home, where her mother was sitting now,was like all the other drawing-rooms Cornelia entered. Its mahoganyreading-table bore a priceless lamp, and was crossed by a strip ofwonderful Chinese embroidery. There were heavy antique brasscandlesticks on the mantel, flanking a great mirror whose carvedframe showed against its gold rare touches of Florentine blue. Therugs on the floor were a silken blend of Oriental tones, the booksin the cases were bound in full leather. An oil portrait of Taylorhung where his wife's dutiful eyes would often find it, lovelypictures of the children filled silver frames on a low book-case.Eleanor, the ten-year-old, presently came into the room, withFraulein Hinz following her. Eleanor was a nice child, and the onlyyoung life in the house since Taylor Junior had been sent off toboarding-school."Here you are, grandmother," said she, with a kiss. "Uncle Edwardbrought us home. It's horrid out. Several of the girls didn't comeat all to-day.""And what have you to do now, dear?" Mrs. Phelps knew she hadsomething to do."German for to-morrow. But it's easy. And then Dorothy's comingover, for mamma is going out. We'll do our history together, andhave dinner upstairs. She's not to go home until eight!""That's nice," said Mrs. Phelps, claiming another kiss before thechild went away. She had grown quite used to seeing Eleanor only fora moment now and then.When she was alone again, she sat staring dreamily into the fire, asmile coming and going in her eyes. She had left Manzanita's letterupstairs, but after all, she knew the ten closely covered pages byheart. It had come a week ago, and had been read several times a daysince. It was a wonderful letter.They wanted her--in California. In fact, they had always wanted her,from the day she came away. She had stayed to see the new housebuilt, and had stayed for the wedding, and then had come back toBoston, thinking her duty to Austin done, and herself free to takeup the old life with a clear conscience. But almost the firstletters from the rancho demanded her! Little Rafael had painfullywritten to know where he could find this poem and that to which shehad introduced him. Marty had sent her a bird's nest, running overwith ants when it was opened in Cornelia's breakfast-room, but henever knew that. Jose had written for advice as to seeds forManzanita's garden. And Austin had written he missed her, it was"rotten" not to find mater waiting for them, when they came backfrom their honeymoon.But best of all, Manzanita had written, and, ah, it was sweet to bewanted as Manzanita wanted her! News of all the neighbors, of thewomen at the mine, pressed wildflowers, scraps of new gowns, andquestions of every sort; Manzanita's letters brimmed with them. Shecould have her own rooms, her own bath, she could have everythingshe liked, but she must come back!"I am the only woman here at the house," wrote Manzanita, "and it'sno fun. I'd go about ever so much more, if you were here to go withme. I want to start a club for the women at the mine, but I neverbelonged to a club, and I don't know how. Rose Harrison wants you tocome on in time for her wedding, and Alice has a new baby. And oldMrs. Larabee says to tell you--"And so on and on. They didn't forget her, on the Yerba Buena, as themonths went by. Mrs. Phelps grew to look eagerly for the letters.And now came this one, and the greatest news in the world--! Andnow, it was as it should be, Manzanita wanted her more than ever!Cornelia came in upon her happy musing, to kiss her mother, send herhat and furs upstairs, ring for tea, and turn on the lights, all inthe space of some sixty seconds."It was so interesting to-day, mater," reported Cornelia. "CousinEmily asked for you, and Edith and the Butlers sent love. Helen isgiving a bridge lunch for Mrs. Marye; she's come up for Frances'wedding on the tenth. And Anna's mother is better; the nurse saysyou can see her on Wednesday. Don't forget the Shaw lectureWednesday, though. And there is to be a meeting of this auxiliary ofthe political study club,--I don't know what it's all about, but onefeels one must go. I declare," Cornelia poured a second cup, "nextwinter I'm going to try to do less. There isn't a single morning orafternoon that I'm not attending some meeting or going to someaffair. Between pure milk and politics and charities and luncheons,--it's just too much! Belle says that women do all the work of theworld, in these days--""And yet we don't get at anything," said Mrs. Phelps, in her brisk,impatient little way. "I attend meetings, I listen to reports, I siton boards--But what comes of it all! Trained nurses and paid workersdo all the actual work--""But mother, dear, a great deal will come of it all," Cornelia wasmildly reproachful. "You couldn't inspect babies and do nursingyourself, dear! Investigating and tabulating and reporting are verydifficult things to do!""Sometimes I think, Cornelia, that the world was much pleasanter forwomen when things were more primitive. When they just had householdsand babies to look out for, when every one was personally needed.""Mother, dear!" Cornelia protested indulgently. "Then we haven'tprogressed at all since Mayflower days?""Oh, perhaps we have!" Mrs. Phelps shrugged doubtfully. "But I amsometimes sorry," she went on, half to herself, "that birth andwealth and position have kept me all my life from real things! Ican't help my friends in sickness or trouble, Cornelia, I don't knowwhat's coming on my own table for dinner, or what the woman nextdoor looks like! I can only keep on the surface of things, dressinga certain way, eating certain things, writing notes, sendingflowers, making calls!""All of which our class--the rich and cultivated people of theworld--have been struggling to achieve for generations!" Corneliareminded her. "Do you mean you would like to be a laborer's mother,mater, with all sorts of annoying economies to practice, and allsorts of inconveniences to contend with?""Yes, perhaps I would!" her mother laughed defiantly."I can see you've had another letter from California," saidCornelia, pleasantly, after a puzzled moment. "You are still apioneer in spite of the ten generations, mater. Austin's wife is nota lady, Austin is absolutely different from what he was, the peopleout there are actually common, and yet, just because they like tohave you, and think you are intelligent and instructive, you want togo. Go if you want to, but I will think you are mad if you do! Agirl who confused 'La Boheme' with 'The Bohemian Girl,' and wants anenlarged crayon portrait of Austin in her drawing-room! Really,it's--well, it's remarkable to me. I don't know what you see in it!""Crayon portraits used to be considered quite attractive, and may beagain," said Mrs. Phelps, mildly. "And some day your children willthink Puccini and Strauss as old-fashioned as you think 'Faust' andOffenbach. But there are other things, like the things that a womanloves to do, for instance, when her children are grown, and herhusband is dead, that never change!"Cornelia was silent, frankly puzzled."Wouldn't you rather do nothing than take up the stupid routine workof a woman who has no money, no position, and no education?" sheasked presently."I don't believe I would," her mother answered, smiling. "PerhapsI've changed. Or perhaps I never sat down and seriously thoughtthings out before. I took it for granted that our way of doingthings was the only way. Of course I don't expect every one to seeit as I do. But it seems to me now that I belong there. When shefirst called me 'Mother Phelps,' it made me angry, but what sweeterthing could she have said, after all? She has no mother. And sheneeds one, now. I don't think you have ever needed me in your life,Cornelia--actually needed me, my hands and my eyes and my brain.""Oh, you are incorrigible!" said Cornelia, still with an air oflenience. "Now," she stopped for a kiss, "we're going out to-night,so I brought you The Patricians to read; it's charming. And you readit, and be a good mater, and don't think any more about going out tostay on that awful, uncivilized ranch. Visit there in a year or two,if you like, but don't strike roots. I'll come in and see you whenI'm dressed."And she was gone. But Mrs. Phelps felt satisfied that enough hadbeen said to make her begin to realize that she was serious, and shecontentedly resumed her dreaming over the fire.The years, many or few, stretched pleasantly before her. She smiledinto the coals. She was still young enough to enjoy the thought ofservice, of healthy fatigue, of busy days and quiet evenings, andlong nights of deep sleep, with slumbering Yerba Buena lying beneaththe moon outside her open window. There would be Austin close besideher and other friends almost as near, to whom she would be sometimesnecessary, and always welcome.And there would be Manzanita, and the child,--and after a while,other children. There would be little bibs to tie, little prayers tohear, deep consultations over teeth and measles, over morals andmanners. And who but Grandmother could fill Grandmother's place?Mrs. Phelps leaned back in her chair, and shut her eyes. She sawvisions. After a while a tear slipped from between her lashes.

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