A Little Girl in Old San Francisco

Uncle Jason glanced up from his paper when Miss Holmes spoke of the school.

"Not that I find it at all troublesome to teach her, and she is the most tractable child I ever saw. Then she is so eager to get to the very foundation of things. Why, you would hardly believe how much she knows about botany. I found an old book – but the flowers here are so different. And I really love to teach now that I am well and strong. I could almost go in school again."

"Oh, don't think of such a thing. We couldn't do without you," he exclaimed earnestly. "But you think – a school – " and he paused, his eyes fixed on the floor as if he was ruminating.

"Laverne needs the companionship of children, comparing thoughts with them, playing, the harmless rivalry of studying together. When it comes to that, I could have a small school. You see she will be growing older all the time."

"Frankly, which would be best? You are more capable of deciding, since you have had a wider experience in this matter."

"Oh, the school. You see she must take a place with other people. She has no relatives, and friends must stand in their stead."

He turned back to his paper, but he was not reading. The little girl was all his. He had a feeling when they left Maine that nothing and no one should come between them. Every thought, every desire should cluster about her. He would make a fortune for her. His first plan in going to California was to start to the gold fields for the sake of adventures. He would cut loose from all old recollections. He would leave Laverne Westbury a comfortable and satisfied wife and mother. He had no bitterness against his rival now. It had all been so different. Many a night on shipboard he lived over those few sad weeks and hugged to his heart the consolation that she had loved him, and that fate had been cruel to both. And then, conscious of the finer strain of fatherhood that had so long lain fallow in his soul, the child slipped into the place, and aims were changed for him. There would be enough for him to do in the new town where everything was needed, and he could turn his hand to almost anything. But he must keep to her, she was the apple of his eye, and he would go groping in sorrowful darkness without her.

He had a curious feeling at first that he must hide her away lest her father should start up from somewhere and claim her, and was glad to light on that out-of-the-way place. The long voyage had been like living in the same village with these people. The New England reticence of Miss Holmes appealed to him in a peculiar manner, he was reticent himself. Then the child took the greatest fancy to her. She was rather timid about this new world while the others were ready for adventures. And when he offered her a home for the care of the child she was very willing to accept it for the present. Her belief was that when she was rested and in her usual health she should teach school again.

Her two friends had teased her a little about finding a possible lover in Jason Chadsey. She had the fine feminine delicacy that shrank from the faintest suspicion of putting herself in the way of such a possibility. He was a sturdy, upright, plain-spoken fellow, not at all her ideal, and she still had the romance of girlhood. She came to know presently by her womanly intuition that marriage had no place in his thoughts, that were centred in the little girl. Perhaps, her mother was his only sister, a deserted wife, she gathered from childish prattle of Laverne's. She knew so little about her past. Uncle Jason had come when they were in great want, and her mother had died. And now, Jason Chadsey knew it would be best for this idea to gain credence. He would always be her uncle.

But he had some duties toward her. She could not always remain a child, a plaything. That was the sorrow of it. There must be a rich, delightful life before her. She must have the joys her mother had missed, the prosperity that had not come to her.

He looked up from the paper presently.

"About the school," he began. "Yes, I have been considering it. And you will have quite enough to do to keep the house and have the oversight of her; I will make it an object for you to stay. We get along comfortably together, though sometimes I feel I am a queer unsocial Dick, much occupied now with business. But it is all for her. She is the only thing out of a life that has been all ups and downs, but, please God, there'll be some clear sailing now. I like San Francisco. I like the rush and bustle and newness, the effort for a finer civilization that has strength and purpose in it. Heaven knows there is enough of the other sort, but the dross does get sifted out and the gold is left. It will be so here, and these earnest men ten years hence will be proud of the city they are rearing."

He glanced at her steadily, forgetting he had wandered from the main question.

"You will not leave us – "

"I? Oh, no;" yet she colored a little.

"There will be enough to do if the child does go to school. And you can walk down for her in the afternoon, wherever it is, and have little outings. I am glad you are so fond of her, and she loves you. She isn't the kind to strew her love broadcast."

"Yes, I am very fond of her," was the reply.

CHAPTER VIII

GIRLS AND GIRLS

They rambled over the hills on Sunday, for Miss Holmes had given her ankle a little wrench and was applying hot fomentations. Up there was the Presidio, and over here the beautiful ocean, blue as the sky to-day, except where the swells drove up on the rocks and, catching the sun, made spray of all colors. The ground squirrels ran about, scudding at the slightest sound of human beings, which they seemed to distinguish from the rustling and whispering of the trees, or the tinkle of a little stream over the stones. It ran under a crevice in the rock that was splitting apart now by some of Nature's handiwork and came out over west of their house where it dropped into a little basin. Here was a blasted pine that had been struck by some freak of rare lightning, then piles of sand over which cactus crept. And here was a deer-trail, though civilization had pretty well scared them away.

But the birds! Here was the jay with his scolding tongue, the swallows darting to and fro in a swift dazzle, the martins in bluish purple, the tanager in his brilliant red, the robin, thrush, meadowlark, the oriole, and the mocking birds that filled the air with melody this May Sunday. And nearly every foot of ground was covered with bloom. Now and then the little girl hopped over a tuft that she might not crush the beautiful things. Great clouds of syringas and clusters of white lilies filled the air with a delicious fragrance. And the wild lilac with its spikes of bloom nodding to the faintest breeze. Wild barley and wild oats, and a curious kind of clover, and further down the coarse salt grass with its spear-like blades.

They sat down on some stones and glanced over the ocean. There were two vessels coming up the coast and some seamews were screaming. It was all wild and strange, almost weird, and no little girl could have dreamed that in a few years streets would be stretching out here. As for trolleys going to and fro, even grown people would have laughed at such a thing.

They talked of the great procession that was to be the next day. And then Uncle Jason wondered how she would like going to school regularly.

"I shall like girls," she said. "There are no boys where Olive goes. She thinks boys are more fun."

"But you don't go to school for the mere fun."

"They make so much noise in the street. And some times they sing such funny songs. But they were nice about sledding back home, only there's no snow here."

"Are you ever homesick?"

"You know I was sick sometimes on the ship."

"But to go back, I mean."

"There wouldn't be any one – I've almost forgotten who were there. Mother, you know – " with a pitiful sort of retrospection.

"Yes, yes," hurriedly.

"Would you want to go?"

"Oh, no, no!" with some vehemence.

She came and leaned against his knee, put her arms about his neck, and her soft cheek against his weather-beaten one.

"I should never want to go anywhere without you," she replied, with grave sweetness.

"You are all I have, my little darling."

"And I haven't any one else. Olive has such a lot of cousins. She goes over to Oaklands to see them."

There was a long pause and the wind rushed by laden with perfumes. They heard the lapping of the surf against the rocks. The strange beauty penetrated both souls that were not so far apart after all.

"Uncle Jason, did you ever have a wife?" she asked, with a child's innocence.

"No, dear." Sometime he would tell her the story of his love for her mother.

"Then you won't want to marry any one?"

"Marry! I?" Had that Personette girl put some nonsense into her head about Miss Holmes? He colored under the weather-browned skin.

"You see, Mr. Personette's wife had died, and I suppose he had to marry some one again to look after the children."

"Would you like me to marry some one to look after you?" in a half humorous tone.

"Why, Miss Holmes can do that," she returned, in surprise.

"She seems to do it very well." There was a lurking smile about the corners of his mouth.

"I like her. No, I shouldn't like any one else coming in. Perhaps she would not stay. No, Uncle Jason, I don't want you to marry any one," she said, simply. "And when I get old I shall not marry, though Carmen means to. And we will live together always. Oh," with a bright little laugh, "let's promise. Put your little finger – so." She hooked hers in it. "Now, you must say: Honest and true, I love but you!"

He uttered it solemnly. He had said it to one other little girl when he was a big boy.

Then she repeated it, looking out of clear, earnest eyes.

After that she gathered a great armful of flowers and they rambled off home.

"Who do you think has been here?" inquired Miss Holmes, with a laugh in her very voice.

"Who – Olive, perhaps. Or, maybe, Dick Folsom."

"No. Guess again."

She cudgelled her wits. "Not Snippy?"

"Yes, Snippy. He actually came into the house and looked so sharply at me that I told him you would be home about noon. Then I gave him a bit of cracker, and when he had eaten a little he scampered off with the rest. I think he has been planning a house near us."

"Oh, wouldn't that be splendid! I'm just going to scatter a path of cracker bits as Hop o' my Thumb did."

"But if he eats them up how much wiser will you be?"

Laverne looked nonplussed. "Well, he will have them at any rate," and she nodded her head with satisfaction.

Pablo had built a stone fireplace and was roasting some ducks out of doors. He was sure he couldn't do it any other way.

"I must go and view the camping process," and Uncle Jason laughed. "How is your ankle?"

"Oh, quite on the mend," she answered.

Pablo had built a stone fireplace and was roasting the ducks over a great bed of coals that he was burning at one side. It might be wasteful, as when the Chinaman first roasted his pig, but it was filling the air with a savory smell, and they were browned to a turn.

"They look just delicious," announced Laverne. She took the platter out and Pablo carried them in with a proud air.

And delicious they certainly were. The little girl was hungry, and Uncle Jason said he had not enjoyed anything so much in a long while. She insisted she should wash up the dishes while Uncle Jason took his usual nap. Then she went out and dropped some cracker crumbs and strictly forbade Bruno to touch them.

"If you would like to go down to the Estenegas I will get one of the horses," Uncle Jason said. His Sundays were always devoted to her.

So she went out and talked to Pelajo while Pablo harnessed him. He said very plainly that she had quite neglected him of late and he did not like it. He did not want to be thrown over for new friends.

All along the road the beauty of the May met them, and it stirred both riders, making them respond to the joy of motion and the sweetness of all blooming things, the merriment of the birds, the touch of the wind in the trees as a voice playing on a flute. He thought it was all the delight of owning the little girl who would always be his. How he would care for her in old age, and he quite forgot that he would be there decades and decades first. But he suddenly felt so young, with all these signs of youth about him, the magnetism of the air in this wondrous land.

Here was the old house. They were straightening the road, digging away hills, filling up hollows, and a corner of it had tumbled down. There seemed a damp, marshy smell of the newly turned earth, and two trees had fallen and begun to wither up. The wood doves were calling plaintively.

"Oh, I wouldn't come back for anything!" cried Laverne. "Did we have nice times here, and did we really like it?"

"This is the hand of improvement. Sometime, when we are trotting over a nice level road, with pretty houses and grounds, we shall admire it again."

But it was lovely enough at the Estenegas, out of doors. The children were wild with delight. It seemed as if Carmencita had suddenly shot up into a tall girl. And in the autumn she was to go to Monterey, to the old convent, where Doña Conceptione de Arguello had gone after her Russian lover had been killed, and where she had finally become Mother Superior and lived to old age, always praying for his soul.

"But I am going only for accomplishments. And it seems the distant cousin of the Estenegas wishes a wife who will grace the great house and carry on the honors. Mamacita is very proud that he made the offer. And the children will go up to the Mission to stay all the week at the Sisters' School."

"And they must visit me sometimes. The new home is so much pleasanter. I am going to school also, and I have some new friends. It is splendid to be in the heart of the city." Then she told them about the day at Russ's garden, and that on to-morrow, Monday, she was going out to walk with hundreds of children.

The Spanish girl's eyes grew larger and larger at all the wonders. They walked up and down with their arms about each other and were full of childish happiness. Then Señora Estenega summoned them to refreshments on the balcony, now a wilderness of roses. Uncle Jason did not care much for the Spanish sweetmeats and candied fruits, the freshly ripened ones were more to his taste and he had been quite spoiled again by New England living. But he knew how to be polite.

It was quite dusk when they reached home. Olive Personette had been over. They would call for her to-morrow, and she was to be dressed in white, sure. It would be a greater thing than the German Festival.

And great it surely was! There had never been such an event in San Francisco. There were over a thousand children, and each one carried a bouquet of flowers. Miss Holmes had found some white ribbon and trimmed her gypsy hat, and the little girl with her fair hair looked like a lily. There were crowds of people in the streets to see them, proud mothers and aunts. Each school had a distinctive banner, and there was a band of music. The Queen of May wore a wreath, and so did her maids of honor.

When they had gone through the principal thoroughfares and been cheered enthusiastically, they moved to the schoolhouse on Broadway, where they had a little sort of play dialogue, and sang some beautiful songs. A few brief addresses were made, and San Francisco declared itself proud of its children that day, the children who were to be the future men and women of the city.

Then there was quite a feast, which the young people enjoyed mightily. How they laughed and talked and declared they would not have missed it for anything.

Afterward they dispersed. The Personette carriage was waiting, with instructions to take home all it would hold, so they crowded in. And at the gate stood Uncle Jason.

"Oh," the little girl exclaimed, with a tired sigh, "it was just splendid. If you had only been there!"

"Do you think I would have missed it? I came up to see the procession and I picked you out, walking with Olive. Why, I was as proud of you as if you had been the Queen."

"But the Queen was lovely. And the play! I couldn't hear all of it, there was such a crowd, and I had to stand up to see. Wasn't it good of Olive to ask me! And she wanted to take me home to dinner."

"I couldn't have eaten dinner without you." He kissed her over and over again. He was so glad to see her happy. Not that she was ever a sad little girl.

Miss Holmes was very much improved and regretted she could not have gone out to see the procession. Snippy had called, and all the cracker bits were gone, but she had seen the wood doves carrying off some of the crumbs.

"I guess Snippy has moved for good," said Uncle Jason. "It's rather funny, too. You must have charmed him."

She gave a pleased laugh.

Nearly midnight of that happy day the bells rang out with their dreadful alarm. Uncle Jason sprang up, and before he was dressed he saw the blaze. Citizens turned out en masse. The Rassete House on Sansome Street was in a sheet of flame. A fine five-story hotel, full of lodgers, who had to flee for their lives. The firemen were quite well organized now and made great efforts to keep it from spreading, remembering the former big fires. In this they were quite successful. Other generous people were taking in the four hundred homeless ones, and it was found the next day that no lives had been lost, which was a source of thanksgiving.

A little later there were some imposing ceremonies near the Presidio, just at the foot of the hill. This was the commencement of the Mountain Lake Water Works, a much-needed project. There were various artesian wells, and water was brought in tanks from Sausalito, but the supply was inadequate in case of fires and the city was growing so rapidly. The rather curious Mountain Lake was not large, but a short distance from its northern margin a stream of water gushed through the ground, which was a great spring or a subterranean river from the opposite shores. It was begun with great rejoicing, but like all large undertakings it had progressed slowly.

Indeed, San Francisco had so many things on its hands. There were plans for the State Marine Hospital and other benevolent institutions. Churches too were urging demands on a generous people who felt they must make an effort to redeem the standing of the city. The toughs had been somewhat restrained, but the continual influx of miners with their pouches of gold, ready for any orgies after having been deprived of the amenities of social life, and the emigration from nearly all quarters of the globe constituted a class very difficult to govern, who drank, gambled, frequented dance houses, quarrelled, and scrupled not at murder.

But of this side the little girl was to hear nothing, though Uncle Jason was often shocked in spite of all his experiences. He was having a warehouse down on the bay, fitting out vessels, disposing of cargoes, and keeping the peace with one of those imperturbable temperaments, grown wise by training of various sorts, and the deep settled endeavor to make a fortune for the Little Girl. It did not matter so much now, but when she grew up she should be a lady and have everything heart could desire.

In a short street that came to be called Pine afterward, and was at the head of the streets that were to be named after trees, there stood quite a substantial brick building with some fine grounds. Here a Mrs. Goddart and her sister, Miss Bain, kept a school for young girls and smaller children, and had a few boarding scholars. The Personette girls had gone there because it was near by, and out of the range of the noisier part of the city. Howard was at the San Francisco Academy, kept by a Mr. Prevaux, in quite a different direction. There was a plan for a new public school on Telegraph Hill, but these were more largely filled with boys, as is often the case in the youth of towns.

So the little girl went to Mrs. Goddart's and quite surprised her teachers by her acquirements and her love of study. Perhaps, if she had not lived so much alone she would have been more interested in play and childish gossip. And her walks with Uncle Jason had brought her into companionship not only with trees and flowers, but with different countries of the world, and their products. Uncle Jason had grafted upon a boy's common education the intelligence that travel and business give, and though a quiet man he had taken a keen interest not only in the resources of countries, but their governments as well, and these things were the little girl's fairy stories. She would find the places on the map, the Orient, the northern coast of Africa, the country of the Turks, Arabia, India. A trading vessel goes from port to port.

She liked her school very much, though she was rather shy of the girls. Some of them called her a little prig because she would not talk and was correct in her deportment. She found in the course of a few days that Olive "squirmed" out of some things and did not always tell the truth. Back in Maine children had been soundly whipped for telling falsehoods and it was considered shameful; Miss Holmes was a very upright person, of the old Puritan strain.

She was not finding fault, but she did want to know if a prig was something rather disgraceful.

"It is never disgraceful to be honest in word and deed, to obey whatever rules are set before you, to study honestly and not shirk. I think the prig would set himself above his neighbors for this, but you see he would only be doing his duty, he would have no extra claim. But when he set himself up to be better than his neighbors and triumphed over them, he would be a prig."

Her delicately pencilled brows worked a little.

"Some of them are ever so much prettier than I am," she said innocently, "and they say such funny things, and their clothes are very nice. Well, I like them. We have such fun playing at recess."

He remembered about the clothes and spoke to Miss Holmes.

"I do not think it best to dress a child so much for school. What will she have afterward? And it does fill their heads with vanity."

He had given her a pretty ring for a birthday, and she had her grandmother's string of gold beads that had come over from London with some great, great-grandmother.

Snippy had settled himself quite comfortably, just where they could not tell, and he had evidently coaxed his wife to emigrate. She was not quite as handsome as he. Dick Folsom, who ran up every now and then, said he was what was called a hare squirrel, on account of his splendid feathery tail, though why, he couldn't see, as hares had scarcely any tail at all. Snippy was so tame now, or else he was so glad to be near the little girl, that he was not much afraid of strangers if they did not offer to touch him. He would run around Uncle Jason, and nose in his pockets until he found nuts or crumbs. But he didn't like tobacco a bit and scolded in his funny way when he came across that.

Pelajo was not forgotten, though he sometimes complained a little. Uncle Jason said Miss Holmes must learn to ride. The big dray horse was not fit for a lady, and though the Mexican and Indian women rode mules and were very expert, they were not considered quite the thing.

There was a stream coming out in a sort of split rock up above the place, and it made a kind of pool just below. In the autumn rains it ran along down the slope of the ground, tumbling over the stones that were in its way. Pablo and the little girl had made quite a pretty waterfall and a new pond where the ducks could swim about. The upper one they covered over and had for family use. Springs were not very plentiful, and Uncle Jason believed this a little underground spur of the Mountain Lake, as it never quite dried up.

And one Saturday, when Laverne was working at her stream, meaning to make it more extensive when the rainy season set in, a great white something fell at her very feet and gave such a screech that she started and ran. It lay on the ground and fluttered and cried, so she knew it was some kind of a bird and came nearer. It looked up at her out of frightened black eyes, rose on one foot, flapped one wing, and fell over again. Was it really a gull?

She called Pablo.

"Yes, Señorita, it is a gull. I never could get nearby one unless it was shot. They are the wildest things. This have a leg broke," and he picked up the limp member.