A moment after the hail was heard
from the roof, the muffled noise which accompanied
it ceased. The stranger groping about in the snowy
gloom had stepped off the roof into the huge drift
outside the Heavenly Bower, and a minute later, lifted
the latch of the door and pushed in among the astonished
miners. They saw the figure of a sturdy man holding
something in his arms, so wrapped round with blankets
and coverings that no one could tell its nature.
He stamped the snow from his boots, shook himself
like a shaggy dog, then walked heavily to the chair
which Budge Isham placed near the fire for him, and
almost fell into it.
“Good evening, friends,”
he said in a grave voice; “It was no fault of
mine that I tried at first to enter by the roof.”
“When I built the Heavenly Bower,”
replied Landlord Ortigies; “I meant to place
a door up there, but there wasn’t anybody in
New Constantinople with enough sense to know how to
do it. I ’spose you was looking fur it,
stranger.”
“No,” was the reply, “I
wasn’t looking for anything; I was just walking,
walking through the storm, not knowing or caring where
I went. I can’t say how far I came, but
it must have been a number of miles. I was still
plodding on, when I set my foot on vacancy and down
I went.”
“Gracious! you fell nearly a
hundred feet,” said Parson Brush; “it was
a wonderful providence that saved you from being dashed
to death.”
“The snow on the roof must be
five or six feet deep,” replied the stranger;
“for it received me as if it were a feather bed.
I saw a glow from the top of your chimney against
the rocks and knew I was on the roof of a house.
I hardly felt jarred and groped my way off into a
lot more snow and here I am.”
The astonishment of the listeners
did not make them forget the laws of hospitality.
Budge Isham looked significantly at the landlord, but
he had already drawn a glass of spirits and was coming
from behind the bar with it.
“Stranger, swallow this; you
look cold; you’re welcome to the Heavenly Bower,
whether you come through the roof or down the chimbley.”
“Thank you; I’ll take the whiskey in a
minute.”
And then feeling that he owed those
who made him so welcome some explanation of his coming
among them, the stranger said:
“My friends, my name is Maurice
Dawson. About two months ago, I left Independence,
Missouri, with an emigrant train for the Pacific coast.
The elements, disease and the Indians made such inroads
upon us that after a time only half a dozen families
remained. As if that wasn’t enough, the
few survivors quarreled over the course to follow,
most of them aiming for a pass through the mountains
into Southern California, while I, the greatest fool
of them all, set out to find Dead Man’s Gulch,
of which I had heard from a party of trappers.
My canvas covered wagon, with a single span of horses,
contained all my worldly goods, and my companions
were my wife and little girl Nellie, only three years
old. Everything might have gone well but for this
blizzard, which jumbled up the points of the compass
and made traveling so difficult that after a time
it became impossible.”
All were listening with the closest
interest, and every heart was touched by the emotion
of the man, which he could not control for several
minutes. No one interrupted, and, feeling that
his story was not quite completed, he added:
“I fired my gun in the hope
of attracting attention, but fortunately for others
I was the only one abroad. By and by the horses
stopped. They could draw the wagon no further.
They stood panting and exhausted and soon lay down
in the snow. I turned to speak to my wife, when
I found she had been dead for some minutes, the cold
carrying her off as quietly as if she were dropping
asleep. Before she passed away, she wrapped nearly
all her clothing about Nellie, who was cuddling beside
her, so that really the mother, like the noble woman
she was, gave her life for the little one. It
was because Nellie was alive, that I jumped out of
the wagon and began floundering through the snow.
I ploughed blindly forward until providence guided
me to you.”
While uttering the last words, Maurice
Dawson was tenderly unwrapping the bundle in his arms.
There were many folds to draw away, but at last he
reached the treasure within, which was his Nellie,
still sound asleep.
If the miners were startled by the
resounding thump on the roof, they were now almost
struck dumb with amazement. They sat with open
mouths, staring eyes and for a minute no one spoke
or stirred.
“God bless you, my Nellie,”
murmured the father, bending his head and touching
his lips to the cool forehead; “I had no hope
of this when I left your dead mother and started on
my tramp through the snow.”
A general sigh went up from the group
of awed miners. Wade Ruggles, who had been leaning
on the bar, with his gaze fixed on that of the handsome
stranger, was the first to recover from the spell which
held them all. Tiptoeing across the room, he
paused in front of the father and his child and stared,
wondering and speechless. Then one by one the
others did the same, until the whole company were grouped
around the man and child, each afraid to whisper,
as if doing so would dissolve the heavenly vision.
When the wrappings had been laid aside,
and the little one was placed upright, she stared
bewildered into the shaggy faces around her. Her
big blue eyes were open to their widest extent, the
mass of golden curls rippled about her shoulders and
the fairy-like feet were inclosed in thick, warm shoes
and stockings. The dress of a dull brown color
and thick texture, fitted her tiny frame perfectly
and she formed a most winsome picture of infantile
beauty.
For fully five minutes all stared
in silence at the marvelous picture. As before,
Wade Ruggles was the first to come to himself, but
when he spoke, it was in an awed, hesitating whisper:
“Is she really alive?”
The sorrowful face of the father lit
up with a faint smile as he answered:
“Yes; thank heaven; alive and well.”
“May I touch her?” timidly
asked Ike Hoe, extending his finger which faintly
brushed the rosy cheek, and was instantly snatched
away as if he felt he had done a sacrilegious thing.
“I say,” ventured Ruggles
gathering courage, “I wonder now if she would
let me take her in my arms for a minute or so; I won’t
drop her; but that’s too much to ask, howsumever.”
While he stood hopeful, hesitating
and doubtful, Nellie with a half frightened smile,
dived her head under the arm of her father, as if to
get away from the embarrassing situation. He gently
fondled the golden hair and drew her face into view
again.
“There, little one, there’s
nothing to be frightened at; these people are all
your friends and will do anything they can to please
you.”
“You’re right!”
exclaimed Landlord Ortigies, with a shake of his head;
“we’ll do anything in the world for you;
if you say the word, I’ll stand on my head or
stand any one else here the same way.”
And he showed an alarming inclination
to invert himself for the amusement of the child,
but she did not seem to grasp the meaning of the offer.
She fixed her eyes upon Ruggles, who made bold by what
seemed a favorable sign, took a step forward and invitingly
extended his hands. She debated for a moment,
whether to meet the proffer and then with the impulsiveness
of infancy leaned toward him. With a thrill of
pleasure the grizzled miner carefully placed his huge
arms underneath hers, and lifted her as if she were
a doll from her father’s knee. As he did
so, every one saw the big tears trickling down his
cheeks.
“I can’t help it, boys,”
he said apologetically; “the last child I held
in these arms was my own Jennie, and she was dead.”
With infinite affection, he pressed
his bearded lips against the chubby cheek, while she,
relieved of all fear, flung her dimpled arms about
his neck and kissed him in return. With one hand,
she lifted the flapping hat from his head and with
the other smoothed away the luxuriant hair from his
forehead.
“I like you ever so much, but
you are crying,” she said sympathetically; “what
makes you do that? Haven’t you got a little
girl like me?”
“No, my precious child; I once
had just such a sweet tot as you, but the good Lord
took her from me, and I love you just as I loved her.”
“And that’s what we all
are going to do,” remarked Ike Hoe, with a sniff
as he drew his sleeve across his eyes; “this
beats anything in the history of New Constantinople,
by seven hundred and eighty-four thousand majority.”
“Come, Wade, you must be fair
with us,” said the landlord, reaching out his
arms; “we all claim an equal share in her.”
The miner felt the truth of this,
and without a word relinquished the treasure.
Drawing his handkerchief, he wiped his eyes clear of
their mist and jealously followed the surrendered
one as she was fondled in turn by the others.
First one and then another, until she had completed
the round. All had something pleasant to say to
her and she replied in her sweet innocent way, causing
laughter and winning her path straight to the hearts
of the hardy fellows, to whom such endearments had
been unknown for years, but whose better natures were
stirred by the presence of the child, as if she were
in reality an angel sent from heaven.
Felix Brush had purposely left his
turn for the last, hoping thereby to retain her longer
than his friends. After chatting with her for
a moment and repeating some rigmarole that set her
laughing, followed by the request for him to say it
again, he stood her on the bar. Then he danced
in front of her, swung his arms like a jumping-jack,
and told some outlandish fairy story from the stock
that no one had ever suspected he possessed.
“Can you stand on your head?”
asked Nellie, rippling over with fun.
“Certainly,” he replied,
as without a moment’s hesitation, he inverted
himself and cracked his heels together, though the
attitude was such an unfamiliar one that he careened
and went over on his back with a thump that made the
room tremble. Nellie clapped her chubby hands
with delight and before Brush could repeat the performance,
she called:
“Catch me; I’m going to jump.”
“All right; I’m ready for you.”
She recoiled a step to gather momentum
and Landlord Ortigies, terrified at the fear that
she might step off backward, made a dive round the
end of the bar, catching his foot in an obstruction
and falling with a crash that drew all attention to
him.
“I’m so sorry; be you
hurt?” asked Nellie, turning her head and surveying
him, as his face came up to view like the full moon
rising above the horizon.
“Not a bit; I done that on purpose
to make you laugh; I always do that to please good
little girls like you.”
“Bime by I’ll let you
fall all the time, but just see me jump.”
Felix Brush was still standing, with
arms outstretched, and, without a second’s hesitation
the child leaped off into space. She showed no
fright, for there was no cause for it, since she was
caught fairly and securely. Inasmuch as she had
been fondled by every one, and the parson had had
her longer than anyone else, he set her down on the
floor and she began running here and there, displaying
a childish curiosity to understand everything in sight.
Going to the half-opened door, communicating with
the darkened apartment at the rear, she peeped timidly
in.
“Who lives in dere?” she
asked, turning around and addressing the whole group
who were laughingly watching her.
“That’s where I live,” replied Ortigies.
“Do you live all alone?”
“Yes, my child.”
“Haven’t you got any little girl like
me?”
“No; I’d give all I have in the world
if I had.”
“Wouldn’t you like to have me for your
little girl?”
“Indeed I would; will you be my little girl?”
The baby face became thoughtful.
She thrust one finger in the corner of her mouth and
looked down at the floor.
“What would papa do and those
other folks? I will be the little girl for all
of you.”
This struck the party as the brightest
and wittiest expression ever made by a mortal.
They laughed, clapped their hands and striking each
other on the shoulder wanted to know whether anything
of the like had ever before been heard. Certainly
not. Without paying any heed to them, Nellie
was peering into the room again.
“It’s dark and cold,”
she said in an awed voice, turning her face around,
the better to communicate the information; “but
I ain’t afraid.”
Before she could fairly enter the
place, her father, who was affectionately watching
her, said:
“I guess you would better not
go in there, Nellie; it’s growing late and is
time you prepared for bed.”
“I’ll fix a place for
her,” said Ortigies; “we ain’t much
on style here, but I can manage to make her comfortable.”
“But will it not discommode you?”
“That little gal can’t
discommode any one in New Constantinople; if she would
prefer to have me go out and sleep in the snow, I’ll
be glad to do it.”
“I’ve just the place for
her,” interposed Wade Ruggles; “couldn’t
be better if I had taken a week to get it ready.”
“Can’t begin with my quarters,”
Felix Brush hastened to say, and there would have
been a general wrangle for the privilege of accommodating
the little one, had not her father, seeing how matters
were going, smilingly raised his hand in protest.
“I cannot tell you, my friends,
how much I thank you all for your kindness. Ah,
if my poor wife could have held out until she reached
here, but that was not to be. I shall be glad
to stay with Mr. Ortigies to-night, and with your
permission shall remain for a few days in your settlement.
I have lost everything I owned in the world, and will
need some time to decide what is best to do. Our
stay in New Constantinople will give all a better
chance to get acquainted with Nellie. I’ll
surrender her to you until you get tired of her.”
“Get tired of her!” repeated
Vose Adams, voicing the sentiments of all; “we’re
not the kind of galoots to git tired of an angel.”
The father expressed his thanks with
such winsome grace, that every man instinctively felt
that he was a born gentleman. There was not a
miner in the room who did not sympathize with him in
his affliction, and yet they envied him the possession
of the child, whose innocence and beauty impressed
them as more wonderful than they had ever looked upon
before. When Felix Brush whispered to Budge Isham
that arrangements must be made in some way to keep
the father with them, for the sake of having the child,
his friend nodded his head, and said he had made up
his mind to the same effect from the moment the parent
referred to the matter. And the sentiments of
these two were those of the rest.
“Come, Nellie, let me prepare
you for bed; it’s a long time since you have
had that privilege.”
The little one obediently walked to
her father and turned her back to him that he might
better remove her clothing.
“I suppose you have plenty of
covering for her?” remarked the parent inquiringly
to the landlord.
“There’s all she can need.”
Lifting her on his knee, the father
began removing the shoes and stockings, the little
one giving what aid she could, when it came to the
garments. One of the last acts of the affectionate
mother had been to place upon her child the gown she
was accustomed to wear while asleep. When at
last she was ready, she looked up to her father and
asked in a half whisper:
“Where’s mamma?”
“She will not be with us to-night.”
“Then she will come in the morning?”
“Wait until then, my child; don’t say
anything more about mamma now.”
She was satisfied, and signified that
she was ready to have her father carry her to her
bed. Then she exclaimed with a laugh:
“Ain’t that funny?”
“What’s that?”
“I like to fordot to say my prayers.”
And slipping from her father’s
knee, she knelt on the floor, with her hands covering
her face which, as it pressed his knee, was hidden
by the mass of golden ringlets clustering and falling
about it. Not a man stirred or spoke. All
were so silent that the sifting of the snow against
the logs, the moaning of the gale and the soft rustle
of the embers that broke apart on the hearth were
audible. But all these were as the “voice
of silence” itself, so that when the child began
her prayer in a low voice, every syllable was heard.
“Now I lay me
down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul
to keep;
If I should die before
I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul
to take.
God bless papa, mamma
and make Nellie a good girl; bless ”
Wheeling short round at the silent,
awed group, she looked at the landlord and asked:
“What is your name?”
“Or-ti-gies,” he replied, pronouncing
it carefully.
She made rather sorry work at first,
but there could be no doubt that the One to whom she
was addressing the petition understood her wishes.
When she had satisfied herself and included the landlord
in her prayer, she ceased again, and this time looked
up at her father whose hand was resting on her head.
“I must pray for all of them, musn’t
I?”
“Certainly, my child.”
“But I don’t know dere names.”
“They will all tell them.”
No act of worship in church or grand
cathedral was more solemn and reverential than that
of the men, as each in turn stepped softly forward
with bowed head, and repeated his name to the tiny
petitioner, who immediately included it with those
for whom she had already prayed and it was wafted
upward through space to Him who delights to hear and
answer such petitions.
She did not forget one. To make
sure, she looked up while still on her knees and asked:
“Did I fordot any of you?”
“No,” replied the parent;
“you have not missed any. That’s a
good girl.”
“And I know they will all be good, for I asked
God to make ’em so.”
The father now rose to his feet with
her in his arms, and she called a general good night,
flinging a kiss to all. Landlord Ortigies had
lit an extra lamp and with it in hand, he led the way
to the rear room, where as he stated, comfortable
quarters were provided for the little one. Since
the Heavenly Bower was the only place in the mining
settlement where the wanderer, who occasionally made
his way into that remote part of the world, could expect
to find sleeping accommodations, Ortigies was always
prepared for visitors. Thus he was able to furnish
the father with a couch so placed that he virtually
shared the bed with his child.
Ten minutes later, when he stole back
into the room with the landlord to see whether everything
was right with his child, she was found sunk in the
sweet, dreamless slumber of infancy. The picture
was so winsome as she lay with her cheek resting upon
the rough pillow, that Ortigies stepped softly to
the door and beckoned to his friends. Everyone
stole forward, and stood looking down for several
minutes upon the sleeper, and, as he did so, new resolves
sprang into his heart. Already it may be said
they were better men because of the blessed messenger
that had come among them.