Part 39 (1/2)

A singular look, quite unlike the habitual placid, good-humoured expression of the man, crossed Gabriel's face as he quietly reached out and took the paper from Olly's hand.

”Thet's why I'm goin' off,” he said, simply.

”Goin' off,” repeated Olly.

”Goin' off--to the States. To New York,” he responded, ”July and me.

July sez--and she's a peart sort o' woman in her way, ef not o' your kind, Olly,” he interpolated, apologetically, ”but pow'ful to argyfy and plan, and she allows ez New York 'ud nat'rally be the stampin' ground o'

sich a high-toned feller ez him. And that's why I want to talk to ye, Olly. Thar's only two things ez 'ud ever part you and me, dear, and one on 'em ez this very thing--it's my dooty to Gracy, and the other ez my dooty to you. Et ain't to be expected that when you oughter be gettin'

your edykation you'd be cavortin' round the world with me. And you'll stop yer at Sacramento in a A-1 first-cla.s.s school, ontil I come back.

Are ye hark'nin', dear?”

”Yes,” said Olly, fixing her clear eyes on her brother.

”And ye ain't to worrit about me. And it 'ud be as well, Olly, ez you'd forget all 'bout this yer gulch, and the folks. Fur yer to be a lady, and in bein' thet brother Gabe don't want ennythin' to cross ye. And I want to say to thet feller, Olly, 'Ye ain't to jedge this yer fammerly by me, fur the men o' that fammerly gin'rally speakin' runs to size, and ain't, so to speak, strong up yer,'” continued Gabriel, placing his hands on his sandy curls; ”'but thar's a little lady in school in Californy ez is jest what Gracy would hev bin if she'd had the schoolin'. And ef ye wants to converse with her she kin give you pints enny time' And then I brings you up, and nat'rally I reckon thet you ain't goin' back on brother Gabe--in 'stronomy, grammar, 'rithmetic and them things.”

”But wot's the use of huntin' Grace if she says she'll never return?”

said Olly, sharply.

”Ye musn't read them 'pursonals' ez ef they was square. They're kinder conundrums, ye know--puzzles. It says G. C. will never return. Well, s'pose G. C. has another name. Don't you see?”

”Married, maybe,” said Olly, clapping her hands.

”Surely,” said Gabriel, with a slight colour in his cheeks. ”Thet's so.”

”But s'pose it doesn't mean Grace after all?” persisted Olly.

Gabriel was for a moment staggered.

”But July sez it does,” he answered, doubtfully.

Olly looked as if this evidence was not entirely satisfactory.

”But what does 'look at home' mean?” she continued.

”Thet's it,” said Gabriel, eagerly. ”Thet reads--'Look at little Olly--ain't she there?' And thet's like Gracy--allus thinkin' o'

somebody else.”

”Well,” said Olly, ”I'll stop yer, and let you go. But wot are _you_ goin' to do without me?”

Gabriel did not reply. The setting sun was so nearly level with his eyes that it dazzled them, and he was fain to hide them among the cl.u.s.tering curls of Olly, as he held the girl's head in both his hands. After a moment he said--

”Do ye want to know why I like this old cabin and this yer chimbly, Olly?”

”Yes,” said Olly, whose eyes were also affected by the sun, and who was glad to turn them to the object indicated.

”It ain't because you and me hez sot there many and many a day, fur that's suthin' that we ain't goin' to think about any more. It's because, Olly, the first lick I ever struck with a pick on this hill was just yer. And I raised this yer chimbly with the rock. Folks thinks thet it was over yonder in the slope whar I struck the silver lead, thet I first druv a pick. But it warn't. And I sometimes think, Olly, that I've had as much square comfort outer thet first lick ez I'll ever get outer the lead yonder. But come, Olly, come! July will be wonderin' whar you is, and ther's a stranger yonder comin' up the road, and I reckon I ain't ez fine a lookin' bo ez a young lady ez you ez, orter to co-mand.