A California Girl Part 4

"I tell you he has got some ambition and grit," said Stearns, admiringly.

It was not long before the news spread all over Orangeville, that Ben West was going to the Klondike, and the abilities which he possessed as a worker and money maker, and an all round good fellow were the theme of conversation in many a household and on many a ranch.

When the news reached the ears of the young ladies of Orangeville, most of them felt a shade of disappointment, because Ben had been good to them.

Not having shown any decided preference for one, he devoted his attentions to many, and having a good fast team he was able to give the young ladies many a pleasant ride to dances, parties and church, so he was a great favorite with them all.

Just previous to Ben West's leaving Orangeville, a great farewell supper and dance was given him. The attendance was very large. The young ladies appeared in their best toilets. Julia looked superb and was very graceful in her deportment. This evening she "played her cards" with evident success, and the result was that as Ben West went home the feeling that had been flickering for some time had now broken out into a flame that fired his blood. Julia did indeed know her power and how to use it, and she intended that some one else should be restless and disturbed as well as herself. So that night there were two persons in Orangeville who tried to sleep but could not. Ben West realized that night that he had become a willing slave. Sometimes the thought seemed pleasant, then again it would be galling in the extreme.

A few of the boys went to Roseland to see Ben off, and they had a time "all to themselves" as they called it in Roseland, the night previous to his departure. Ben West left with the best wishes and prayers for good luck following him from all his friends.

When a rising, popular young man leaves his home and neighborhood for the purpose of making his fortune, he is full of great expectations, and this thought is shared by all his friends. He departs with the best wishes following him, for his companions say: "If a man can strike it rich he can." There does not seem the least doubt in their minds regarding his success, for they have unbounded confidence in him. Now the young man leaving is exceedingly alive to the expressions and sentiments of his friends, and he feels that he must succeed or die in the attempt. His attachment to name and fame and his personal self is so strong, and he is so susceptible and negative to the good opinion of those around him, that he feels he will never want to come back and show himself among his friends unless he has struck it rich, for he knows there is nothing that succeeds like success.

Talk about the idolatry of the heathen! Is there any idolatry in the world that is stronger than that which is found in the so-called "Christian" world in the year 1900? Where do you find any greater idolatry than that which is bestowed on money and on woman? There are more devotees at these two shrines than are to be found worshipping the Divine. Look at a young man fortunate in the financial world. The first year in speculations he makes fifty thousand dollars. The second year he is worth two hundred thousand dollars. The third year he has made half a million. The fourth year he has become a millionaire. Now listen to the eulogies and encomiums pa.s.sed upon him. He is the lion of the hour, the hero of the day, for he has won the victory that to win fifty thousand other men had tried and failed. He has attained the great end for which most men think they were born, money making. What a number of young ladies see so many excellent qualities in the rising young millionaire, the "Napoleon of Finance." Note how his faults are all glossed over by their mammas, who are ready to act as if they had received a retaining fee as his attorneys, so ready are they to defend him at all times to their daughters and friends. It seems to matter little about his intellectual gifts or moral character. His financial success covers a mult.i.tude of sins and weaknesses. Should a young lady raise one or two slight objections in regard to the young millionaire's character, her mother says: "Why, dear, all young men must sow their wild oats. You must not expect to find a pure young man. All young men are fast more or less. It would be hard to find an unmarried man that is moral. After they are married they get steady and settle down."

Should a young lady of moderate means marry a young man who has made a million dollars, there is more rejoicing by the members of her family than if she had become a saint or a great angel of light. She thinks she has attained the great end of her existence in marrying a millionaire and making for herself name and fame and family position.

Should the young millionaire be a little liberal to a few of his friends, he becomes more to them than the Lord himself. Other young men, seeing and knowing all this, are putting forth every effort and straining every nerve to be successful financiers. They realize that the power of money is so great to-day in the eyes of many, that unless they are successful money getters, they are no good to themselves or their friends. They parody the verse in Proverbs something like this: "With all thy getting, get money; get it honestly if you can, _but get it anyway_."

Such is the gospel that is acted out in the commercial world to-day. All good intentions, all right convictions, all wise counsels of religious teachers, are side-tracked and become as a dead letter if they stand in the way to successful money making.

Ben West knew what the sentiment of the people of Orangeville was towards himself, and it fired his ambition to think of the expressions conveyed to him by his friends, and his heart was fired still more when he thought of the possibility of possessing the fine form of Julia Hammond. He made up his mind that he would be willing to endure all hardships, that he would leave no stone unturned in order to be successful; for he saw before him the chance of getting a fortune and the praise, adoration and admiration of the people of Orangeville.

The form of Julia Hammond seemed to float before the eyes of his mind day and night; and when he saw, in his imagination, that face with its sparkling black eyes, and the finely poised head, with its wavy black hair, her well-rounded bust, and the handsome figure, it made him feel like removing a mountain of dirt or penetrating the bowels of the earth, to get the shiny metal which was to open for him the gates of his earthly paradise.

CHAPTER VI.

STELLA WHEELWRIGHT.

One afternoon two men were digging post-holes and setting in redwood posts on the side of one of the main roads in Orangeville. Everything had been exceedingly quiet, not a team was seen since dinner. Nothing in the way of excitement had happened to relieve the monotony of their work. They were interested and delighted when they heard a noise, and, looking down the road, saw a vehicle coming, but it was not near enough to tell whose it was. When it got a little nearer one of the men said: "Why, Alfred, it is the old man Wheelwright and his girl Stella."

Alfred replied to James, the man who has just spoken: "Stella was to school at San Jose, and her father has been to Roseland to meet the train which arrived this morning and bring her home."

"How she has grown," remarked James, "since she went away. She has improved in her looks very much."

"Yes," said Alfred, "I think she will make a fine woman, for she has a bright, intelligent eye, and they say she is real smart in her studies, away ahead of most of the girls round here. She seems so different to them. She comes of good stock; her mother is the brightest and best woman in Orangeville, and her father is a well-posted man."

"You must be kind of stuck on her and her folks," replied his companion.

"I don't go so much myself on girls who have their heads in books all the time. What does a fellow want with such a girl as that? She may be all right to be a school marm, or woman's rights talker, but I don't want any of them. I say to h.e.l.l with book women. Give me a girl like Nance Slater. She is round and plump, don't care much for books or papers, but is bright and laughing all the day. She is the girl to have lots of fun with, and when it comes to making a man a good wife, why, she is the best cook in Orangeville. I was over to Slater's on an errand the other morning about ten o'clock, and Nance was looking as pretty as a picture; her cheeks had the blush of the peach on them; her eyes were sparkling bright, her lips red, and when she laughed, her teeth looked like the best and whitest ivory you ever saw. She had on such a pretty, light, calico wrapper, and a white ap.r.o.n with a bib, and was busy taking out of the oven some mince pies and just putting in some apple pies. She had a kettle of doughnuts a frying, and a whole lot of cookie paste ready to cut out and bake. She said: 'James, you must sample my doughnuts. Mother, give James a cup of coffee to go with them; there is some hot on the stove.' Nance is a trump. She is straight goods. The trouble with those Wheelwrights is they live awful close, and instead of cooking good meals, spend their time in reading books. They starve in the kitchen to sit in the parlor. The devil take the books, I say. I wouldn't give a book girl barn room for all the good she would be to me."

Alfred replied: "That's all right; every fellow to his own girl, I say.

It would not do for all to be after the same one. As for me, I like Stella. She has some stability of character. There is something interesting about a girl like that, and if she don't care about doing all the cooking, why, I can help her, if she will only let me enjoy her company."

The sun went down and the men went each to his own home, being content in their mind that each man should have his own choice.

Stella was the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright, she being the only child they ever had had. At the time she returned from school she was sixteen and would have one year more in school. She was very precocious, a thorough student, and would allow nothing to divert her from her studies. She was at that age when the intellectual part of her nature predominated, though the spiritual was just beginning to tinge her mind with its coloring. She possessed a strong individuality; she was a born investigator; would accept no statements without examining them, and rebelled against a great many of the customs and usages of society. She did her own thinking, and nothing seemed to please her more than to take her investigating axe and cut away some of the roots which held her free spirit in bondage. Problems seemed to be crowding on her mind thick and fast, and she could not take the time from her studies to do the necessary amount of reading and thinking to resolve them, and she was looking forward to the time when her last year would expire. During this vacation she took much physical exercise, for she did not believe in developing one side of her nature at the expense of the other. She rode horseback and climbed the sides of steep mountains, mixed with the young people in their recreations, such as camping parties, picnics, and social entertainments. In company she was bright, witty, and entertaining. She had no fear; was full of confidence, and was better balanced than her companions in that she was not carried away by pleasures and the company of the opposite s.e.x.

When she was not away from home on camping or picnic excursions, she would find time to visit the cabin of an old man who lived alone, and had sore eyes so that he could not see to read. She would read to him whatever he liked, cheer him up by her bright, happy talk, and when she left the old man often thought to himself that her comings were like angels' visits, for she seemed to lift him up completely out of himself into a new world. When she laid her head on her pillow at night, after having spent the evening with old Andrews, she thought how much greater a satisfaction she derived from hearing that old man say, on her leaving him: "G.o.d bless you, Stella, you always bring sunshine to me," than she did from even the most enjoyable pleasure excursion.

She bestowed the attractions and charm of her social and intellectual nature less on those outside than those inside her home. You saw her at her best when talking to her father and mother.

Some parents let their children outgrow them intellectually, so that there is a great gulf fixed between parents and children, the latter having nothing in common with the former. Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright tried as much as possible to keep themselves in advance of their daughter's intellectual growth, so that they might always command her respect for their opinions, and that she might realize that in them she found two interesting, intelligent companions, whom she could love and confide in.

The relationship between many parents and their grown children is very unsatisfactory; for being on the material plane, there is nothing very permanent in their relationship. The grown son and his father have only in common business and social interests; that is their world; outside of that neither one has any life that he realizes.

It is the same with the grown daughters and their mother. Their life is mainly in the social and domestic world. Outside of that they apparently have no existence; but the true ideal parents and children are those whose life is in the intellectual and spiritual world. They cease to exist in each other's minds as parents and children, and realize a stronger and more permanent tie, and intellectual and spiritual union, which is blessed, glorious, and eternal. They realize daily that "In Him they live, and breathe, and have their being"; that they are immersed in an ocean of Divine love, and that Divine love permeates them all through and through; and that it is in that ocean of Divine love that they realize that they are one. They feel a blessed nearness and dearness and oneness to each other, though separated by oceans and continents, for they have realized through sweet experience that the same intelligent spiritual thought and love pulses through them all as if they were one organism.

CHAPTER VII.

PENLOE.

One afternoon Mrs. Herne received a caller. It was Mrs. Cullom. She had met Mrs. Herne twice at parties and promised to call on her each time, but for various reasons she had not been able to fulfil her promise.

After the usual introductory talk, Mrs. Cullom said:

"Did you ever see Penloe or his mother, Mrs. Lanair?"

"No," said Mrs. Herne, "who are they?"

Mrs. Cullom replied: "They live up about a mile above where I do. It's rather lonesome where I live, but it is a very lonesome place where they live. It is not a good road over there. I don't suppose you were ever on that road were you?"

"No," said Mrs. Herne, "I have never been over there. Charles said it was out of the way and a poor road, being muddy in winter and very dusty in summer."

"Well," said Mrs. Cullom, "Mrs. Lenair has been on that place about two years. She seems pleasant, but so different from most women. The second time I called on her, I got there about two o'clock, and I thought I would have a nice afternoon chat. So I began talking to her about my work, and telling her how I worked my b.u.t.ter, and talking to her about my cooking, and I tried to get her to talk, but she would only say a few words about such things. About five minutes was as long as I could get her to talk about her b.u.t.ter and cooking. Why, some women would talk by the hour on such subjects. Now, she did not appear stuck up or proud, she seemed so pleasant, her face being very bright and pleasing; and there seemed to be such a feeling of restfulness about her that I liked to be with her; but she seems to have so little to say about matters we are all so much interested in. I could not get her to talk about herself, so I asked about Penloe, if he was at home. She said, yes, he had returned from San Francisco last week; that he had been away three months. That surprised me, Mrs. Herne, because I did not think they were people who had money to spend in visiting and seeing the sights of a great city. Why, look at their place, it is not much; she sold the fruit on the trees for two hundred dollars, and outside of the orchard they have only pasture enough for four head of stock. Their house has four rooms, the kitchen is the only room I have been in, but it is kept very neat. I said to her: 'Does Penloe have much business in San Francisco?'

She smiled and said he had business as long as he washed dishes in a restaurant. That just took my breath away, for to see Penloe you would think he would be the last man in the world to do work like that. I cannot tell you how he looks, but he looks so different from the young men about here; nothing like them at all. He has a face that I like, but I don't know him enough to say much to him.

"Well, after they had been on that place about eighteen months or so, I said to Dan one morning after breakfast, that I did not feel like going out to-day, but I wanted some one here to talk to, and I wished him to hitch up Puss and Bess and go right up and get Mrs. Lenair to come down and spend the day with me, and to tell her that when she wished to go home I would take her back. 'Now, if you don't get a move on you, Dan,'

I said, 'you will come home and find a cold stove and no dinner and your cook gone.' Dan moved round like a cat on hot bricks. That kind of talk fetches men to time. I did not have to cook much for dinner because the day before was Dan's birthday. Dan had killed a veal two days previous and I made two kinds of rich cake, two kinds of pies, and some cream puffs. They were very rich. Dan is fond of high living, and he ate very heartily of it all. I laughed at him, and said I never saw a man that liked to dig his grave with his teeth so well as he did. So you see I could get up a good dinner for Mrs. Lenair without having to cook much.

It was not long after Dan left before Mrs. Lenair was with me. Well, after she had taken off her things and we chatted awhile, I thought I would tell her the news, as she never goes out anywhere. So I said: 'Did you hear what a hard time Mrs. Dunn had in confinement? The doctor thought he would have to take the child with instruments;' but Mrs.

Lenair kept looking out of the window, and all she said was, 'Is that so?' So I said: 'I suppose you have heard about Mrs. Warmstey's case.

She had a doctor from Orangeville and two from Roseland.' Just as I said that, she rose from her chair and said so sweetly: 'Mrs. Cullom, I do want to go out and look at your flowers; they look beautiful from the window.'

"Well, I was clean took off my feet, because I was just beginning to tell the most interesting part of Mrs. Warmstey's case. I said: 'Why, yes, Mrs. Lenair,' and I went out with her. She began to be so chatty I thought she was some one else for awhile. She appeared delighted with my flowers, and called them such crack-jaw names, and told me all about their families, and what relation they were to each other. Why, to hear her talk, you would think flowers had babies, she went on so about male and female plants. Then she told me that flowers breathed, and told me all about their coloring, and how they attracted the bee and dusted themselves on him, and much more I cannot remember. She talked to and petted them as if they were alive. You would have thought she had been a flower herself, the way she went on. She said something about the pencilings and colorings of the Almighty being in the tulips.

"When we returned to the house my back was feeling kind of lame, and gave me one or two of those twister pains. I said: 'Oh, my back! It has got one of its spells on.' Mrs. Lenair said it would soon go away, and, to my surprise, it did. Only had it about half an hour, and generally those spells last me all day. I said: 'Mrs. Lenair, do you have any ailments? I never hear you complain, if you do.' She said she had not an ache nor pain in her body for a number of years. I threw my hands up in astonishment, and said: 'You don't say so?' 'That is the truth,' she said. And I believe her, for she looks ten years younger than she really is. 'Why,' I said, 'how different you are from the girls and women around here. Most all the girls not married are ailing more or less, and about every married woman has her aches and pains. I can't make you out.'

"Mrs. Lenair laughed, and said: 'If I were like other women I should be ailing as they are.' Well, I got up just as good a dinner as I knew how.

I put on the table fried ham and eggs, baked veal, potatoes, peas, canned tomatoes, red currant jelly, fig preserve, canned nectarines, cream puffs, grape pie, lemon pie, plain cake, and frosted cake; and we had coffee, chocolate, and milk to drink. I did want her to make out a good meal, because I thought she never cooked much at home. Well, what do you think? I could not get her to eat any meat. 'Why,' I said, 'I would starve if I did not have meat two or three times a day with my meals.' She said she had not eaten meat for seventeen years, and was much better without it. She just ate a little potatoes, one egg, some nectarines, bread and b.u.t.ter, and drank a little milk. I told her she must try my cream puffs if she would not eat any cake or pie. At last I did get her to eat a cream puff. That woman don't eat much more than would keep a mouse alive, and yet she is so hearty and well. I told her as she ate so little, Dan and I would have to make up for her. And we did, for we ate as if it were a Thanksgiving dinner. Dan and I say it is our religion not to die in debt to our stomachs. After dinner I felt more like sleep than anything else, and I said, 'Mrs. Lenair, let you and me take a nap.' That seemed to please her, so she laid down on the lounge and I went and laid on my bed. About an hour later I returned to the room where I had left Mrs. Lenair.

"'Well,' I said, 'I have just had the boss sleep and feel so much better. I hope you had a good nap.'