A Little Girl in Old San Francisco

Mr. Dawson had died, and his wife had retired to a handsome private dwelling, and kept her carriage. The Folsom House was much grander, and Dick, a "young blood," whom girls were striving in vain to captivate. Mrs. Folsom wanted to hear about her father's death, and if her stepmother had lived up to her promises.

"I do suppose your father died a rich man. Or, did it all take wings and vanish?"

Laverne answered that the business had not been settled, and that Mrs. Westbury had proved very kind to her.

"I never could quite make up my mind about her. Queer, wasn't it, that she should take such a fancy to you and insist upon having you, for second wives' fancies don't often run that way. I had an idea she would marry you to some lord, with all the money, they expected to have. And here you've married that Mr. Savedra and come back. Does any one hear what has become of that old uncle of yours?"

"Oh yes, he keeps in touch with Victor's father."

"It was too bad he should have lost all by that dreadful fire. Fires have been the bane of the town, but we do not have as many now. Oh, didn't the place look queer when we first came. There were rows of tents still, and such shanties, and now great four-story bricks and stone, and banks and business places. One would hardly believe it if he had not seen it."

Mr. Personette was in a large real estate business, and even yet was hardly reconciled that Howard had not gone into the law. But he was very well satisfied with what he called "real business."

Mrs. Personette was stout and rosy, and had been made a grandmother twice. Miss Gaines had taken a husband, though she still kept up a very stylish establishment. Sometimes the three old friends met and talked over their adventures.

Laverne was very happy and added a great charm to the household. Elena would have had her talk continually about her life abroad.

"Why do you not make Victor describe some of the places where he has been? Every summer he took a journey away," she said, rather amused.

"He talks about places. You always put in the people, and they are more interesting."

Jason Chadsey was startled by this message. His little girl really here – but, after all, another's. At first it gave him a sharp pang. Yes, he must fly to her. So he picked up his nuggets again. Norcross Gulch was about deserted. Better mining had been found up on a little stream emptying into the Sacramento. Cabins had mostly been carried off, shacks had fallen down. Certainly, nothing could look more dreary than a deserted mining region. But in a month or two another horde would doubtless invade it.

He came in town and "spruced up," in his old Maine vernacular, was trimmed as to beard and hair, and purchased a suit of new clothes. His little girl! He ought to take some great treasure to her. What if she were changed; but no, they would love each other to the very end of life. He had sent her away in that desperate time, but no, he could not have kept her.

Ah, what a meeting it was! A pretty girl with the air of a princess, he thought, sweeter than some of the princesses he had seen, coming back to his arms with all the old love, nay, more than the old love. For now she realized what his affection had been, and how he had soothed her mother in those last sad days. And she confessed to him much that she had not even told Victor; how, by degrees, she had learned the hollowness of the lavish professions that had put on the semblance of love as the present whim had swayed Mrs. Westbury, and, at the last, she had been really relieved to dismiss her, because she could not bend her to her desires. For even Laverne had not suspected her of aiming at the title for herself.

"And she takes everything!" he said indignantly. "He was concerned with a company that will make some tremendous fortunes in quicksilver – an English company. And it is said that he managed by underhand ways to get possession of the tract while he was here. They have just sent out a new agent, and that you, his only child, should have no part nor lot in this!"

"Oh, don't mind," she cried, "I would rather belong to you in poverty than to live with them in luxury. It was dreadful to have him die that way; he was so fond of life, and business, and plans. It makes me feel quite free not to be under any obligation to them. And I do not care about the money. I would a hundred times rather have stayed with you and helped you, and comforted you, if I could have been any comfort."

They would fain have kept Jason Chadsey for a longer stay, but he was a little restless and would go back. He had not secured all the Golden Fleece, he declared, and he must live up to his name. But he would see them often now. To himself he said, he must get used to sharing his little girl's heart with another, and, since it must be, he would rather have it Victor than a stranger.

They were all very happy at the Savedras. The house was large, and they gave them room and the heartiest of welcomes. And there was room in the rapidly growing town, and need for young men of culture and integrity and all the earnest purposes of life that mould men into fine citizens. For there was much work to do in this glorious land, even if nature had dealt bountifully by it.

And then came the terrific struggle that swept through the country, with its four years of hopes and fears, sacrifices and sorrows, and the loss of human lives. California took her share bravely. Gold mines missed the rapid influx, the city had to call a halt in improvements. But a great interest in agriculture was awakened, and now they understood that this might be the most bountiful garden spot of the world.

Through this time of anguish to many, Laverne Savedra felt that she had been singled out for good fortune and some of the choicest blessings of life. Her little son was born, and to none did it give greater joy than to Jason Chadsey. He kept at his lode with varying fortunes, and at length struck his aim in a splendid nugget that for a while was the town's marvel. Now the place swarmed again, and he was offered a fabulous price for his claim. He listened at length to his earnest advisers, and retired from the field. For, though he was not an old man, he had borne much of the heat and burden of life, and won a resting time.

And, after years of trading about and buying a boat of his own, Captain Hudson sailed in to San Francisco one fine day with his wife and three babies, bright rosy children, and she with content written in every line of her face. He had a cargo of valuables consigned to several San Francisco firms, and they were overjoyed to meet old friends. When her first baby was born, Carmen had written a long, tender letter to her mother, and was glad to have a reply, even if it did upbraid her dreadful disobedience. After that matters softened. The old Papa Estenega died, and, though there were still some distant cousins, he left the estate to those who had cared for him in his last days. Juana had married well, and Anesta had a nice lover. She was to go to Monterey to see them all as soon as Captain Hudson could be spared.

And then, the last spike in the line that united California with the East, was driven by Leland Stanford in May, 1869. Railroads were being built elsewhere, but this was the dream and desire of the Old San Francisco that had almost passed away.

But nothing could take away the beautiful Bay and the Golden Gate, the entrance to the golden land that had been the dream of centuries.

Afterward they did go round the world. Some of the old ports had changed greatly. Some just as Jason Chadsey had seen them thirty or more years agone. And there was wonderful Japan, which was some day to startle the world with its marvellous capacities. Strange India, with its old gods and old beliefs; Arabia, the Holy Land, with its many vicissitudes; great, barbarous Russia, Germany, the conqueror, and the beautiful Eugénie a sorrowful widow.

In Europe, Isola Savedra joined them, and did make a name as a remarkable improvisatrice. She did not court publicity, but the higher circles of music were really enchanted with her marvellous gift, and invitations came from crowned heads to play at palaces.

Lady Wrexford had achieved most of her ambitions, and was a social success. If she could only have kept off old age!

They came back well content. And, lo! again San Francisco had changed, stretched out up and down, with the hill-encircled bay on one side and the ocean-fretted rocks on the other. Is this old Market Street, and this Montgomery, with its splendid buildings? Whole blocks taken up by spacious hotels. California Street, with its palaces; Kearny Street, with its glittering stores and throngs of handsome shoppers or promenaders – everywhere a marvellous city.

But the old "Forty-niners" are gone, the Mexican in his serape and sombrero, the picturesque Californian on horseback, and nearly all the wandering Indians. Tents and shacks and two-roomed adobe houses have disappeared before the march of improvement.

The Savedras are prosperous and happy, and have a lovely home out of the turmoil and confusion, where beautiful nature reigns supreme. And an old, white-haired man, rather bent in the shoulders, tells a group of pretty, joyous children about the Old San Francisco of half a century before, and the long search of Jason after the Golden Fleece and the little girl that he loved so well. They go up Telegraph Hill and say, "Was it here she and Pablo made the little lake for Balder, was it here she climbed up the crooked paths and tamed birds and squirrels, and here that Bruno killed the cruel fox?" It is more wonderful than any fairy story to them.