The Corner Series

THE FOUR CORNERS in CALIFORNIA

By AMY E. BLANCHARD

George W. Jacobs & Company
Philadelphia.

Copyright, 1907, by
George W. Jacobs & Company
Published September, 1907

All rights reserved
Printed in U. S. A.

Up and Down the Parade Passed in Review.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

The Four Corners in California

CHAPTER I

GOING FORTH

There was great commotion in the home of the Corners one day in October. Nan was flying up and down-stairs "like a hen on a hot griddle," Aunt Sarah said. Mary Lee, less excitable, was, nevertheless, nervously putting in and taking out various articles from a leather satchel. Jean was trying to sop up some ink her twin sister, Jack, had spilt on the floor and over her precious self. "I was just going to write a card so as it would be all ready to put on Aunt Helen's trunk," wailed Jack, "and the ink bottle slipped before I could catch it."

"Never mind, never mind," comforted Jean. "It's coming out a little bit, Jack, and there's plenty of time. Unc' Landy has something that will take it out real crick. Now, do be criet and I'll go ask him for it."

Somewhat pacified, Jack's sobs ceased, though she sat mournfully contemplating the spot on the floor. Fortunately the carpet was old, patched and darned in places, so the damage done was less remarked than if it had been a new one. There had been other overturnings of ink, of water, of various other things, in days gone by, so its color was dingy and uncertain. Jack turned her gaze from the carpet to her own stained fingers saturated to the tips with the inky fluid. "They'll look dreadful to travel with," she said ruefully as Jean returned, "and Aunt Helen says ladies never have black fingernails."

"Oh, well, we aren't ladies yet," returned Jean consolingly. "Of course we'll not have when we are ladies, because we'll have time then to sit and use all those little things Aunt Helen has: files and scissors and things. Here's the stuff, Jack. Unc' Landy says this is hosally-assy, and it is very strong; you have to use only a few grains of it in some water."

"I wonder what it's made of," remarked Jack, as Jean carefully poured a few crystals into her hand from the small vial she held.

"I asked him," returned Jean, "and he said he reckoned it was made of horses and mules, like glue. He said the Bible calls mules asses; you remember Balaam's ass that spoke. Unc' Landy said he didn't know what the ally meant, but there was the hoss and the ass. He said they make lots of things out of animals. Rennet is made from the stomachs of calves, and then there's ox-gall, he said, for setting colors."

"He's right knowing for an old darky," returned Jack, wetting her finger and carefully touching a crystal.

"That's not the way to do it," said Jean hastily. "You must put it in water."

"I don't see why this way isn't just as good," returned Jack. "It is coming out, Jean. See, that little spot is nearly clean."

"It would be just as well to do it the right way," persisted Jean. She went over to the washstand, procured a mug half full of water into which she poured some grains of the oxalic acid, and brought it to Jack who plunged her fingers in it and sat comfortably soaking them while Jean attended to the carpet.

They were absorbed in this occupation when Mary Lee came in. "What are you two doing?" she asked.

"Why, Jack spilled some ink and we are getting it all out," replied Jean.

"I should think you were," said Mary Lee, viewing the basin of discolored water. "What is the matter with your hands, Jack? Have you burned them?"

"No, I am soaking off the ink with hossally-assy that Unc' Landy gave me."

"Not hossally, goosey; it's oxalic."

"Oh, then it's oxes and mules, Jean," she said in an undertone to her twin sister.

"It is a good thing mother made you wear that old frock till the very last minute," remarked Mary Lee, opening a closet door and running her eye over the contents. "I believe we have left nothing here that we shall want. You children had better hurry up; Nan wants us to form a procession to make the good-byes. We're going right away." She came and stood near her little sisters. "I don't believe you can get any more out, Jean; it's an old faded carpet, anyhow, and very likely we shall have a new one when we get back. I wouldn't bother over it. Come on down. Time is flying and we must say the good-byes."

Thus admonished the twins arose from the floor, Jack carefully examining her fingers. "They're not crite so bad," said Jean.

"I think they're much better," declared Jack with conviction. "When they're dry they will do very well."

"I promised Unc' Landy that I would take the bottle right back to him," Jean said.

"And tell him it is oxes, not horses," said Jack emptying the contents of the mug. "Wait a minute and I'll go with you, Jean. We shall have to go to the stable to say good-bye to Pete and the cow and chickens. There's Nan calling now."

They ran down to find their two elder sisters waiting for them. "Come on," said Nan. "We shall have to dress pretty soon, and there is no time to lose. We are going to the stable first and the gardens last. Mary Lee has some food for the chickens and I have an apple for Pete."

They started out, Nan leading the procession. At the stable they found Unc' Landy looking glum and unresponsive. It was a sore day for him which saw his "fambly" depart for California.

He shook his head as the children went through the ceremony of making their adieux to the old mule, Pete. "Lak as not yuh-all's don' see dat ol' mewl agin," he remarked, "an' mebbe I git called to glory mahse'f fo' yuh gits back, yuh gwine stay so long."

"Why, aren't you well, Unc' Landy?" chorused the four girls.

"I got tur'ble mis'ry in mah back," he said, "an' I only tollable these days. Lak as not I don' las' th'ough de wintah."

This was distressing, but the practical Mary Lee remembered that Unc' Landy prophesied this calamity at the beginning of each season. In the spring it was a "mis'ry in de haid" which would prevent his living till autumn. In the summer he was "so plumb wo' out" he didn't expect to see another Christmas. In the winter he was "dat oneasy in de jints" he wasn't to be expected to leave his bed again by spring. Yet the prophecies never came true, Mary Lee reflected, so she said cheerfully: "It would be a real low-down trick, Unc' Landy, for you not to wait till we get back. I don't believe you could do us so mean as not to have us here to see to your funeral."

At which speech Unc' Landy chuckled and wagged his head, and when they took up the line of march after having parted from their stable pets he followed in their wake. Before long four others had fallen into line. The first of them was Phil Lewis, then came the Gordon boys, Ashby and Randolph, and lastly came Trouble, the old mongrel dog who had shared many an experience of the Corner family's. As for Phil, he was a "double cousin" because he was related to both the Lees and the Corners. The Gordon boys were cousins, too, though less nearly related. They were going to school in the town and were boarding at the Corners' house which was now overlooked by Aunt Sarah Dent.

"We don't mean to echo your good-byes," said Randolph, as he came up, "but we want your company when you are going to leave us so soon."

Mary Lee turned to Phil. "You will have an eye to poor old Trouble, won't you?" she said. "Doctor him up if anything happens to him. Then the chickens and the ducks and all, I depend on you, Phil, not to let anything happen to them."

"Gracious!" exclaimed Nan. "You certainly are giving Phil a weight of responsibility. As if he could run after the chickens and ducks all day."

"Oh, he knows I don't expect him to do that, but that I hope he will take a general supervision of them." Phil promised to do his best and Mary Lee knew he would not fail her.

Jack slipped her hand into Randolph's. He was a tall, fine looking boy who towered up above the little lass, but who was quite chummy with her. "Won't you sometimes let Baz in when he is shut out in the cold?" she whispered. Baz was her cat of whom she was very fond. "Everybody pays attention to Lady Grey," she went on, "but Baz will get neglected if I am not here."

Ran smiled down at her. "Shall I get a bell for his neck so I can tell when he is around?"

"Oh, no, he wouldn't like that. You named him Maher-shaleel-hash-baz, you know."

"And so as a sort of sponsor I must be responsible for him and try to keep him from picking and stealing, I suppose. I am afraid I can't answer for his misdemeanors, Jack, but I will try to give him a warm corner in my room when I am there."

Jack gave his hand a squeeze. "Oh, thank you," she said. "I knew you would."

Randolph turned to Nan. "And what shall we do for you?" he inquired.

Nan looked sober. "I think I will speak a word for Aunt Sarah. She is going to miss us awfully, and she will get very lonely on Sundays, I'm afraid."

Randolph gave the girl a quick look. He knew that in days gone by Aunt Sarah Dent and Nan had not been the best of friends. "It is good of you to think of Miss Sarah before any one else," he said. "I know you and she weren't always nick-ups."

"Oh, but we are now. Ever since she nursed me last year we have been."

"Well," said Ran, "if she is good enough to come here to keep house and look after the comfort of us boys, I reckon the least we can do is to make her as little trouble as possible and to think of her comfort sometimes."

"Spoken like a true Southern gentleman," returned Nan laughing.

From stable to hen-house; from hen-house to garden; from garden to orchard they had taken their way. Many were the charges Unc' Landy received concerning this hen, that duck; this crop of vegetables, that yield of fruit, and now the final spot was reached and they returned solemnly to the house, a little cast down as they considered how long it would be before they saw each familiar place again.

Leaving the three boys to pass away the time as they should choose till the moment came when they were to escort them to the railway station, the three younger girls hurried up-stairs to make ready for their journey. Nan, however, lingered below for a few moments. She had one more farewell to make. She slipped into the deserted living-room, and going to her piano, her last year's Christmas gift from her grandmother, she opened it, passed her hand lovingly along the keys, and laid her cheek against the shining case. "Good-bye, you precious thing," she whispered. "I wish I could take you with me, but I will come back to you, and there is one good thing about it; you will be exactly the same, no taller, as the boys will be; you will not get rheumatism in your joints, as Unc' Landy may do, and you will seem as young as ever when I come back." After a last loving pat upon the closed lid, she locked the piano and carried the key to Aunt Sarah for safe keeping. Then she went up-stairs to join the others in making ready for their journey.

Mary Lee's bag was neatly packed and Jean had followed her example by stowing away her belongings in an orderly manner, but Jack was pulling open bureau drawers and ransacking every corner for the gloves and handkerchief which she declared she had carefully laid away. "Do help me, Nan," she implored; "the others are so mean and say I am careless and that they will go off without me if I don't hurry. You won't let them leave me behind, will you, Nan?"

"Indeed I will not," said Nan heartily. "Don't fly about so crazily. Sit down for a second and try to think where you last saw the things. What were you doing after you had them?"

Jack plumped herself down on the floor and folded her hands. "I—let me see,—oh, yes, I went down-stairs to see if there were any more caramels. I ate one out of my box and there was a tiny corner that I wanted to fill up."

"Then like as not you left the things in the pantry."

"No, I didn't. I stopped on the way to put them somewhere."

"Have you looked in the living-room?"

"No."

"Then probably that is where they are. Come, let's go down and see if they are there." She led the way to the living-room and there, sure enough, the gloves and handkerchief were found hidden under a book on the table.

"What a place to put them," exclaimed Nan. "That's just like you, Jack. Come along, now. Put your hat on straight; it's over your left ear. The others are all ready. No, don't dive under the sofa for the cat; you'll get all in a mess. Here, you've dropped one of your gloves. Put them both on; it's the only safe way. Of course you'll lose them both before the journey is over, but you may as well start out all right. There are crumbs sticking to your mouth; wipe them off. Coming, mother," and pushing Jack ahead of her she gave one swift glance around the room and joined the group standing on the porch.

The carriage was already waiting at the door. Mary Lee and Jean were seated complacently therein. It was a big, roomy old hack such as the livery stable of the town afforded for the use of the traveling public, and there was space enough for the six of them to be comfortably seated without crowding. Mary Lee leaned back sedately, but Jack and Nan stretched their necks out of the window till the corner was turned, despite the criticism which this performance brought from Mary Lee.

"You look like country jakes," she declared, "as if you had never traveled before. Do take in your heads; people will laugh at you."

"I don't care if they do," responded Nan. "It won't be the first time we have been laughed at, will it, Jack?"

"And it won't be the last, if you are going to keep up this sort of doings," returned Mary Lee with a superior air.

"Oh, don't let's fuss just as we are starting out," put in Jean plaintively; "it takes away all the good taste."

"Well spoken," said Miss Helen. "Do be amiable, you others, and let us go forth with a good taste in our mouths, as Jean says."

In consequence all four smiled sweetly as if to assure one another of their kindly feelings, and even when Nan called to Jack, "Last look, honey," Mary Lee said no word though Jack reached far out to catch a final glimpse of the brown house in its frame of red and yellow autumn leaves.

This last view gave Aunt Sarah on the porch and Unc' Landy leaning on the gate, Trouble at his side looking up wistfully, one ear flopping dejectedly over his eye; it was clear that he understood that something unusual must be the matter when the entire family went off in this stately manner. Their last view of the station showed three lads standing a-row, little Phil craning his neck to look after the departing train, tall Ran waving his hat and Ashby, between the two, shouting something which they did not hear.

"Now, we're really off," said Nan with a sigh of satisfaction. "I have been dreadfully afraid that something would happen to prevent our trip, for it seemed such a tremendously splendid thing for all of us to do. We'll get somewhere, anyhow, even if there should be a railway accident."

"Oh, Nan," said Jean in an expostulatory tone, "what makes you say such a dreadful thing? I didn't want to think about railway accidents and now you've gone and made me."

"Sorry, dearie. I didn't mean to harrow up your sensibilities. There isn't going to be any accident; of course there isn't. Think of how many hundreds and thousands of journeys are taken every day and nobody gets hurt; it is the exception when anything bad happens, and I know it won't this time."

This confidence reassured Jean and she proceeded to unfasten her box of caramels in order to begin the enjoyment of that which was to her an important part of the day's doings.

"Six of us take up a good deal of room," remarked Jack who, as usual, chose to sit by the side of her eldest sister. Mary Lee and Jean were side by side while Mrs. Corner and Miss Helen occupied a third seat. "Just think, Nan, we were never in sleeping cars before," Jack went on.

"In sleeping cars?" exclaimed Nan. "We've scarcely ever been in any cars; I expect we'll get good and tired of them, too, before we get there."

"Oh, but we are to stop off at New Orleans."

"Yes, and other places, too, maybe: Houston and San Antonio, and Mexico, perhaps." She gave Jack a sudden ecstatic squeeze. "Oh, Jack, aren't we lucky to have an Aunt Helen to do all this for us?"

"She ought to do it," said Jack stoutly. "You know she ought to divide with us, for grandmother said it was what grandfather would have wanted her to do."

"Yes, I know that," returned Nan, "but some persons wouldn't have done it."

"She would have been the piggiest kind of a pig to keep it all, when there are five of us and only one of her," insisted Jack.

"All the same," continued Nan, "there are just such human pigs, but Aunt Helen is a darling." Here Nan fell into a fit of dreaming as was a frequent habit of hers, and Jack slipped away to the next seat and squeezed herself in by the side of her twin sister while Nan gazed out of the window and thought of many things. So many changes in one short year. Within that time she had met an unknown grandmother and had encountered her Aunt Helen only a year back, had made her acquaintance without knowing who she was, and had loved her at first sight. Thus had followed the renewal of relations between the old brown house where the Corner girls lived and the big house of Uplands to which the elder Mrs. Corner and her daughter had returned after several years' residence abroad. What a long winter it would have been, Nan reflected, if, while their precious mother was away in the Adirondacks for her health, there had been no Aunt Helen near by. How like a true fairy godmother she had come to them full of gifts which meant so much to a poverty-stricken household. Now Uplands was in ashes and the old brown house, fresh with new paint, was home to all of them except the grandmother whose troubled spirit had left a feeble body the spring before. After long estrangement the sister and wife of John Corner were again dear friends.

Nan looked across at them, at little Aunt Helen's white hair and sweet eyes, at her mother's pale, gentle, lovely face. With a swift movement which she could not resist, Nan rushed across the aisle and bestowed a kiss upon each.

Her mother smiling, turned to Miss Helen. "How like Nan," she said. "I can fancy just what made her do that."

Miss Helen nodded. "So can I." And her gaze fell upon Nan's dark head turned now toward the car window.

It was growing dark, and the landscape dimmed into large forms of purple mountains and russet plains, softly outlined in the October evening light. "Speeding away, speeding away into a new world," whispered Nan as the train rushed along.

But she was aroused from her dreams by Mary Lee's drawling voice in her ear. "Aunt Helen's called you three times, you old drowsy owl. Come along, we're going to the dining-car for supper."

"Oh, Nan," said Jack reproachfully, "how could you be so forgetful? Why, I've just been sitting here aching for the time to come when we could eat our supper. We never did have a real meal in a real dining-car before. I believe you would have sat there all night and dreamed, if we had let you."

"Night is the time to dream," replied Nan laughing as she bumped along the aisle of the swaying train in the wake of the others.

"Not when you haven't had any supper," returned Jack over her shoulder.

CHAPTER II

THE OLD GENTLEMAN

It was Jack who made their stay in New Orleans more memorable than it would otherwise have been, for she became possessed of a frantic love of elevators, and, having made friends with the elevator boy, spent most of her time, when she could escape from the others, in riding up and down from the top floor of the hotel to the basement. In consequence of this fancy she was led into a predicament which gave considerable trouble to the entire party.

Miss Helen was conducting the expedition to California, for she was an experienced traveler, but she confessed that Jack was an element such as she never before had been obliged to consider. The trunks had gone on to the station, the carriage was waiting at the door, the bill had been paid, the servants had received their tips, but no Jack appeared. Nan scurried in one direction, Mary Lee in another, Jean in a third. Had any one seen a little girl in brown hat and coat, wandering about the hotel?

"She was all ready to go, for I put on her hat myself," said Mrs. Corner. "What can have become of the child?"

Miss Helen started off to add her powers of search to the others. "We haven't a great deal of time," she remarked.

"Dear, dear, what could have made the child do so?" exclaimed Mrs. Corner, annoyed by the delay.

In a few minutes Jean came running in. "She's in the elevator," she said, "and it's stuck between the fourth and fifth floors, so she can't go up or down."

Then Nan came along followed by Mary Lee. "We've found out where she is, but we can't get at her. What shall we do?" they asked.

"I'm sure I don't know," said Mrs. Corner. "Go find your Aunt Helen, Nan, and tell her what is the matter. We shall have to wait till another train, I am afraid, though it will upset all our arrangements."

There was no help for it; wait they must, for it required some tinkering to free the elevator and its occupants. "Well, I hope you have had enough of elevators," said Mary Lee, as she, with her sisters, greeted the liberated Jack. "You've made Aunt Helen, and all of us, a lot of trouble, for it is too late for our train and we shall have to wait till afternoon."

To which Jack replied smoothly: "Good! then I can go up and down ever so many times more."

"Indeed, you will do nothing of the kind," returned Nan. "You will not get out of our sight again, for who knows but the next time you may have to stay all night between floors. I wouldn't trust to that elevator again."

This suggestion rather dampened Jack's ardor, and she submitted with rather a good grace to her mother's command to take no more elevator rides that day, and she welcomed Nan's suggestion that they go forth to find some pralines for Aunt Helen. "She is so fond of them," said Nan to her mother, "and it will keep Jack out of mischief if I take her to walk."

"I wasn't in any mischief," objected Jack. "I'm sure it wasn't my fault that the elevator stuck. You all talk as if I were always making accidents happen. Could I help it, mother?"

"No, but you could have helped being in the elevator at a time when you should have been on hand with your sisters; that is where the trouble came in. Do look in my bag, Nan, and get her a clean handkerchief; that one is a sight."

"May I have some smell-sweet on it—the clean one I mean?" said Jack, stuffing into her pocket the soiled little ball she held.

"No, you may not," returned Nan shortly. "I am not going to undo that bottle again. I wish we hadn't brought it; you've badgered me to death every time you have had a clean handkerchief, and we brought that cologne only for headaches. You are as bad as Unc' Landy about wanting to perfume yourself up."

"Is Jean going with us?" asked Jack, turning aside the reproof.

"No, Mary Lee is reading the rest of that story to her."

"Oh, I wanted to hear that, too," said Jack, turning back.

"You can't now, for I am not going to wait for you."

"Oh, Nan, you are so cross," complained Jack. "If you are going to be like this all the time, I wish we didn't have to go to California."

"I was cross," replied Nan contritely, "but I was so put out because we missed that train, Jack, and I haven't gotten over it yet. I'll be nice hereafter, and I will read the rest of the story to you if we get back in time, and if we don't I can read it to you on the train."

Jack's face cleared and she put her hand confidingly in Nan's. It was not often that this eldest sister bore down upon her so heavily, for she generally stood between herself and lectures, and to have Nan fail her in an hour of need seemed a very sorry thing to Jack, little sinner though she was.

They started down the corridor of the hotel but suddenly Jack turned and ran back. Nan followed close upon her heels, grabbing her by the shoulder before she had gone many steps. "I declare, Jack," she cried, "you are just like a mosquito; I think I have you and off you go. What are you going back for?"

"I only wanted to tell Mary Lee not to leave the book with the story in it."

"She won't leave it; she knows we haven't finished reading it. We must hurry or we won't get back for the next train and that would be a sad go."

"I shouldn't care," remarked Jack nonchalantly.

"To tell you the truth, neither should I," returned Nan, "for I am quite willing to see more of this nice old place, but we can't do just as we would like; we must think of mother and Aunt Helen. Don't stop to look at those postal cards, we can do that some other time."

So forth they fared into the streets of the old part of the city where in a certain shop the delectable sweets could be had in their perfection. It was in this same shop that they met the old gentleman. The encounter came about in this wise. Jack dropped a penny on the floor, and after groping for it under the counter, she came up in a dark corner and her head met the rotund middle of an old gentleman standing there. "Good gracious!" he exclaimed, fairly jumping in surprise as Jack crawled out.

"I hope I didn't hurt you," said Jack apologetically.

Then the old gentleman began to laugh, and said Jack afterward, "He was just like Santa Claus, for he shook like a bowlful of jelly. If I had known how far from his feet he stuck out in front I would have come out further along."

The laugh showed that he was not hurt, and Jack was so relieved that she laughed too. "Thought you'd knocked the breath out of me," said the old gentleman. "Well, I find I can breathe yet, though I wonder what made you come butting into me in that way. Are you a goat?"

"No," returned Jack; "I'm only a kid."

"Ho-ho! Ha-ha!" laughed the old gentleman. "That's pretty good. Come here, kid, and tell me which of the candies in those jars you think looks the most eatable."

Jack gravely scanned the jars. "I think that nutty kind looks best, don't you?" she said. "Unless you don't like nuts," she added.

"Very fond of 'em. I'll take a couple of pounds." He designated to the woman in charge the jar Jack had pointed out and when the candy was weighed he handed it to the child.

"But—but——" began Jack in surprise.

"But—but; that's just what you did to me." And again the old gentleman went off into a paroxysm of laughter in which Jack again joined, partly from pleasure at receiving the candy, and partly because the old gentleman's laugh was very contagious.

"I didn't suppose you liked it so well," said Jack when she had regained her gravity. "I didn't think you enjoyed it so much that you would want to pay me for butting you."

The old man's "Ho-ho!" again sounded forth, but he put up a protesting hand. "Here, here, that's enough," he said. "I haven't laughed so much for a month of Sundays. What's your name, kid?"

"Jack Corner."

"Jack Horner? Then you're fond of plums and Christmas pies. You are making fun of me, I'm afraid. Whoever heard of a girl being named Jack Horner. Now if you had said little Miss Muffet or Margery Daw I might have believed you."

"I'd rather be one of those than little Nan Etticoat, for she had a red nose," returned Jack. "But I didn't say Jack Horner. My name is Jacqueline Corner; they call me Jack for short. That's my sister Nan over there."

"Oh, she is Nan Etticoat, then, but I don't see that her nose is red nor her petticoats very short. Tell her to come over here. My name is Nicholas Pinckney."

"I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick," quoted Jack glibly with mischief in her eyes.

Mr. Pinckney pinched her ear. "Oh, you are a little baggage," he said. "Go along and bring your sister."

Jack straightway brought Nan over to where her new friend stood. "This is my sister, Nan," she began gravely, "Mr.—Mr. St. Nicholas——" she laughed merrily.

"Oh, you mischief," said the gentleman shaking a playful finger at her. "I know why you call me that. I am named Nicholas, as it happens, Miss Nan, Nicholas Pinckney. Now, young ladies, I want you to help me select a box of goodies for a lady. She happens to be my daughter, and though it is some time since she was a little girl she likes sweets and I want to take some to her. I am sure she will like what you can select better than any I might choose."

This was a pleasant task, and both girls entered into it with zest, so that the large box looked very tempting when it was filled. "Now send this to me." Mr. Pinckney gave his name and the hotel at which he was stopping.

"Why, that is where we are," said Jack.

"Is that so?" returned Mr. Pinckney. "I am glad to hear it, for now I can have company on the way there."

"We are only going to stay a few hours longer," Jack informed him. "We were going this morning." And then she told him of the reasons of the delay, which tale brought forth more merriment from her listener.

"And where are you going from here?" he asked, and when Nan told him he exclaimed, "Why, bless my soul, I am going to Los Angeles myself; that is where my daughter lives. I believe I will take the afternoon train. I was going to stay over till to-morrow, but I wouldn't miss a journey with the kid for a good deal. Come, let us walk up, you youngsters, so I can get my bill paid and my dunnage stored in my grip." He puffed and blew so that by the time the hotel was reached he could scarce utter a word and disappeared into one of the corridors on the first floor without anything more than a smile and a wave of the hand.

The two girls rushed to find their mother. "We've met the nicest man," they cried as they entered her room. "Just see all this candy he bought us."

"Why, my dears," Mrs. Corner looked half disapproval, "who was it?"

"He is Mr. St. Nick Pinckney," Jack informed her, "and he is a darling if he is fat, isn't he, Nan?"

"Yes, he is," Nan endorsed the opinion, "and he is going just where we are. We met him by accident, mother." And she told the tale of the encounter.

"If that isn't Jack all over," exclaimed Mrs. Corner. "I believe she would find an adventure in the most impossible of places. I don't exactly approve of your picking up acquaintances, children; it isn't always safe when you are traveling."

"Oh, but he is perfectly safe; I know he is," Nan assured her; "he wouldn't hurt a kitten, and you will say so when you have seen him. He is so jolly and has such a pleasant face. You and Aunt Helen will like him, I know. It was an awfully nice way to pass away the time; going for pralines, I mean, not butting over old gentlemen. We saw some more queer streets and Mr. Pinckney pointed out several interesting places to us. Are the pralines good, Aunt Helen?"

"They are delicious. Help yourselves, dearies;" she held out the box to the girls, "and then gather up your belongings, for we must start in season this time and before Jack is spirited away again."

"I'd like to watch for Mr. Pinckney," remarked Jack.

"No, not out of my sight for a second may you go," said Mrs. Corner. "This Mr. St. Nick may carry you off to Snowland for all I know, and I won't see you again till he puts you in my stocking next Christmas."

So Jack remained by her mother's side; but as they passed down the stairs and into the carriage she whispered to Nan: "I don't believe he is coming."

"I'm afraid he isn't," returned Nan in the same low tone. "Perhaps he couldn't get packed up in time."

But when they reached the railway station there he was, his portliness not preventing him from keeping on the trot, sending porters hither and thither, and seeing that the whole Corner party was comfortably established. He settled Jack in a seat by his side and evidently looked forward to being furnished with entertainment by that young person, and, indeed, Jack was quite equal to what was expected of her, though Mr. Pinckney did his share in making himself agreeable to her, and the two chattered away like old friends. What Mr. Pinckney did not learn about the Corner family that day he did before the journey was ended.

"We used to be as poor as church mice," Jack informed him confidentially. "That was before grandmother died. She quarreled with my father and when he died she marched off to Europe and took all her money with her so mother couldn't find a bit of it. Aunt Helen came back first and saw Nan and Nan made friends with her, though Aunt Sarah—you don't know Aunt Sarah Dent, she's mother's aunt and she couldn't bear Grandma Corner. Well, she just made an awful fuss and wouldn't let Nan go over to Uplands at all. Nan snuck off, though, and Aunt Sarah was as mad as hops. She shut Nan up and Nan fell down-stairs and broke her arm and then Uplands burned down and grandmother had to come to our house where she died." Jack took a long breath after her gallop through these annals of family history. Then she went on again:

"Mother was up in the Adirondacks and Aunt Sarah was keeping house and looking after us children, but mother came back and Aunt Helen went shares with us; her mother said she must, so Jean and I don't have to wear Nan's and Mary Lee's old clothes any more. This is a brand new coat and so is the hat. Don't you think they are pretty? Jean's are just the same, only Jean has a blue hair-ribbon and I have a brown one; we are twins, you know. Jean always calls us trins; she can't say twins, nor twice, nor queen, nor any such words. She gets her tongue twisted over them, she says. We are going to dress just alike till we are in our teens, and then mother says we are not to, for she doesn't like to see big girls dress the same. I think, too, I would rather not, then, though I don't mind it now."

"Why not now?" asked Mr. Pinckney to encourage her to keep up her chatter.

"Because," Jack leaned nearer to whisper, "if I can't find my things I can put on Jean's and no one knows the difference."

Mr. Pinckney shook his head. "That's not square, you know," he said.

"Oh, isn't it?" Jack considered the matter carefully, then she asked: "Why?"

"Because it is deceiving, you see. You are making others think it is yours when it isn't, and beside, if your sister came to look for her things and couldn't find them it would give her some trouble and annoyance; we should spare our friends that when we can."

"All right; I won't do it again," said Jack cheerfully. Then hastily changing the subject she said, "Nan's awfully smart. She can do all sorts of things. You ought just to hear her play on the piano and see what she can contrive out of nothing. I just love Nan."

"And don't you love the others?"

"Of course. Jean is my twin and I am bound to love her, but Mary Lee always pushes me on to scrapes somehow and Nan gets me out of them. I am always getting into scrapes like sticking in the elevator, you know. I fell into the pig-pen once."

Mr. Pinckney's "Ho-ho," rang forth at this and he leaned forward to say to Mrs. Corner: "She is a most amusing child, this little Jack of yours."

"Don't let her bore you," returned Mrs. Corner.

"Bore me? Faith, madam, I was never so interested in my life." He turned again to Jack.

"Did you ever get into scrapes when you were little?" asked Jack.

"I got into many and many a one, but I had no sister Nan to help me out."

"What did you do then?"

"I wriggled out the best way I could. You needn't look at me in that speculative way. I wasn't so fat as I am now. I was no bigger than you at the same age."

Jack immediately jumped up and clapped her hands upon that part of her person just below her waist line. "Oh," she exclaimed in alarm, "do you suppose I'll ever—I'll ever—look like St. Nick?"

"Never," returned Mr. Pinckney, his laugh ringing out again. "Don't be alarmed; I'm sure that affliction doesn't run in your family."

"Were your scrapes very bad?" asked Jack sitting down again after this assurance.

"Pretty bad, sometimes," was the reply.

"I'm awfully glad." Jack really looked pleased.

"You little sinner! I suppose you have a fellow feeling."

"Did you have brothers, and were their scrapes never so bad as yours?"

"I must confess to being the one who was generally in a pickle, and my brothers never did manage to get into such holes as I did."

"Good!" cried Jack. "Then you were just like me and I like you better than ever."

"That is some compensation," laughed the old gentleman. "Perhaps if I had known in those long ago days, what the future held for me in the frank liking of Jack Corner I might not have been as disturbed as I often was."

"Did they—did they ever put you to bed without your supper?" Jack asked after some thought.

"Often and often."

Jack snuggled closer to him. "Did they ever—spank you?" she said in an awed whisper.

The answer was whispered back. "Don't tell anybody, but I was spanked at least once a week."

Jack regarded him with increasing interest. "That's more than mine," she told him. "It never happened that often to me, for only Aunt Sarah believes in it; mother doesn't."

"Unfortunately it was my father who did."

Jack gave a long sigh. "That must have been pretty bad, but you don't mind it now, do you?" she said as she cuddled her hand in her friend's.

"Not a bit," he assured her.

"That's nice; I should have felt badly if you did. Let's talk about something else."

"Gladly," returned Mr. Pinckney with a twinkle in his eye.

"I just want to say," Jack went on, "that I shall probably never have any more, for Aunt Sarah isn't here with us and when we get back home mother will be there, too; besides I am too big." Having disposed of the subject in this comfortable way she felt that she had made a frank avowal to Mr. Pinckney and had placed herself above any future suspicions on his part, when punishments might be darkly mentioned.

The presence of the genial old gentleman did much toward adding pleasure to the trip for the entire party, as he was continually buying magazines, and illustrated papers for them all, was always alert in sending the porter for any comfort, had his head out of the window the moment they stopped at the larger stations, ready to hail any passing vendor of commodities in the direction of food or drink, so that they all fell into the habit of calling him Mr. St. Nick, and declared that they were as well off as if traveling with their grandfather.

"You see, unfortunately, I have no grandchildren of my own," he explained to Mrs. Corner, "and I do enjoy these young folks of yours immensely." He dubbed Jack, the Kid, Jean, the Trin, Nan was Zephyr, Zeph for short, and Mary Lee was Prisms, for he said she represented "Propriety, prunes and prisms."

With these newly acquired names they arrived at San Diego where they parted from the old gentleman who was going on to where his daughter lived in Los Angeles, and where they expected to see him later when they had taken their fill of San Diego County.

CHAPTER III

AMONG THE MISSIONS

Miss Helen did not mean that they should settle down at once to work. "I think the children will learn much of history, and many other things as useful, if we see a little of this old California before we set them to work," she said to Mrs. Corner. "Moreover, we must decide upon our own abiding place before we can expect them to put their minds upon study, and besides it is not going to be easy to find just the right teacher for them."

"They are learning fast enough as it is," returned Mrs. Corner, "and we do not want to travel too rapidly. I am not imbued so deeply with the American spirit of hurry that I want to jump from place to place without getting an idea of where I am. It would be well, I think, to examine each locality carefully as we go along."

"That is exactly my idea," replied Miss Helen, returning to the book she was reading while her sister turned to gaze out upon the scene spread out before her. After a little pause Miss Helen spoke again, this time to the children who were gathered together with a story book which they were reading aloud by turns. "What do you girls say to a pilgrimage to the old missions?" asked their aunt.

"I'd love it," cried Nan.

"So should I," echoed Jack who always wanted to do whatever Nan did.

"What are old missions?" asked Jean. "Shall we see the missionaries and the heathen mothers throwing their children to the crocodiles? If we shall I don't want to go; it would make me feel too sad."

"Goosey!" cried Nan. "Of course not. This isn't India and besides people don't do nowadays as they used to when that little old hymn-book of Aunt Sarah's was made. They aren't that kind of missions, are they, Aunt Helen?"

"Not exactly, though no doubt in the early days there were customs among the Indians which would seem very dreadful to us now, and which the mission fathers had to overcome."

"Did they use to throw away their children?" asked Jean upon whose youthful mind this had made a great impression.

"Hardly, I think."

"Then what did the missionaries have to do?"

"They built churches for them and taught them all sorts of useful things. They learned to sew and to spin and weave, that is the women did, and the men were taught to be carpenters and farmers and builders."

"Were they very wicked?" asked Jack. "They were Indians, I thought, and of course they used to scalp people and tomahawk them and dash the babies against the trees to kill them; that is as bad, Jean, as throwing them into the river."

"It's worse," declared Jean.

"Oh, these were nice, kind Indians," said Nan comfortably; "I don't suppose they ever did those horrid things, did they, Aunt Helen?"

"They were gentler than most, I believe, and they responded very lovingly to the teachings of the priests. There is nothing in California more interesting, to my mind, than those old churches founded by the Spanish padres. Most of them are in ruins and the Indians, who labored so faithfully, were scattered far and wide. Their descendants have now so degenerated that there are very few to represent the industrious, gentle people watched over so carefully by Father Junipero and his followers. I must send and get a copy of 'Ramona,' for you older girls; we can read it aloud evenings, and I am sure you will soon be taking a very deep interest in these old missions."

"How many are there?" asked Nan.

"About twenty, but some of them are rather inaccessible and others are quite in a dilapidated condition so we will not visit all. We shall begin with San Diego, for here we are within six miles of the site, then we can go on to San Luis Rey and San Juan Capistrano on our way to Los Angeles, and then we can decide where we shall want to stay for the winter."

"I think it's awfully nice here," remarked Jack.

"Yes, but there might be a still nicer place," said Jean sagely, "and then we'd be sorry when we came to it that we hadn't looked further. You know we have said all along that we wanted to be near Mr. Pinckney," she reminded Jack.

"Oh, yes, that is so; we do want to do that, for then we may get boxes of candy every little while," returned Jack cheerfully.

"That's not the reason," said Nan severely. "It is because he is so nice and will make us all at home. Won't it seem queer to really settle down to live in a perfectly strange place? I wonder how in the world we shall know what to buy and what to pay for it. How shall you manage, mother?" She turned to Mrs. Corner.

"I shall not bother my head over that problem till I face it," her mother made reply. "I should judge from our experiences so far that we shall not want for what we need. It is surely a bountiful country and the marketing will be the least of our difficulties."

"What is the greatest, then?"

"Deciding where it will be best to locate. There are so many charming places described in these pamphlets that I am perfectly bewildered." She laid her hand upon a pile of circulars by her side.

"I think we'd better decide to stay where you feel the best," said Nan.

"But we don't want to stay so long in one place that we can thoroughly test it till we come to the right one, and who is to know which that is?"

"Then try one or two and if you happen to feel fine in any of them there will be no need to try further."

"Quite true, my sapient daughter, we will take your sage advice."

Nan laughed and returned to her reading. She often surprised her mother by a sudden practical suggestion, for, full of sentiment though she was, she nevertheless had a keen insight and a warm sympathy which helped her judgments in matters where her heart was concerned. She adored her mother, and, being the eldest, realized better than the others what this winter meant to her, for on account of her health Mrs. Corner had been obliged to spend the previous winter away from her family and Nan dreaded lest worse should some day come, so California meant not only a place for pleasuring but one which they hoped might bring health and happiness to them all.

The thought of what it meant was upon Nan now and she did not listen to the fairy tale which Mary Lee was taking her turn in reading. The world was full of fairy tales, Nan thought, and they were almost living in one themselves, for was not Aunt Helen the fairy godmother who had made present delights possible. She smiled up at her aunt and left the group to follow the fortunes of sweet Babette while she joined the two who sat a little apart.

"The world is a mighty nice place most anywhere, when you are happy, isn't it, Aunt Helen?" said Nan.

"So you have found that out, have you?" replied her aunt smiling. "Yes, dear, one can be miserable in the loveliest spot on earth, and can be happy in the dreariest. The kingdom of heaven is within you," she added softly.

Nan pondered over this. "I never understood it in that way before," she said after a while. "I am glad I know now."

They were sitting on the porch of their hotel at San Diego. One could not tell that summer had gone, for though there was a slight pallor upon the lower hills, and the green of the chaparral was not so bright, the grass still showed as lively a color in a few moist places and as for the rest it might have been July, save that the days were shorter and the nights cooler. The rains would probably soon commence but Miss Helen thought they might count upon little interruption to their travels, since a rainy day at home did not set aside a journey.

But several rainy days did delay their start and in the meantime Nan and Mary Lee read "Ramona" zealously, becoming more and more fired with indignation at the treatment of the Indians, and more and more interested in the work of the padres.

"I am almost ashamed of being an American," said Nan with vehemence. "I never was before in my life, but when I think of those poor Indians driven out of their homes, and of how those dear old padres worked so hard for them to have their labor for nothing, it makes my blood boil. I am just ashamed of ourselves."

"But you didn't do it," returned Mary Lee, more quiet in her judgments.

"But my country did."

"Well, you couldn't help that."

"I'd like to help it."

"But they say the Indians have become miserable, disgusting, filthy creatures, not at all like they used to be."

"So much the more pity. They might have been kept respectable, and have grown still more so if they had not been robbed of everything."

"We can't tell what they might have been," said Mary Lee, determined to have the last word.

But Nan was equally determined. "If you feel that way about it I shouldn't think you would care to visit the missions," she remarked as she made her exit from the room.

However, Mary Lee was quite as interested as the others when they started out on their pilgrimage to the mission of San Diego, which was the first to be founded by good Father Junipero Serra. The six mile drive to the spot was a pleasant one, for though November winds were wailing through the Virginia woods scattering the brown leaves over the ground, here the sun was shining warm, and the first rain of a week earlier had given place to bright pleasant weather. The dry fields were turning to a vivid green as if it were spring rather than winter which was coming and the landscape was freshening up after the rainless summer.

"It is lovely, lovely," cried Mrs. Corner. "To think there will be no cold snows to chill one to the marrow, and that we shall see fruit and flowers growing the winter long."

"Won't there be any snow at all?" asked Jack wonderingly. "Then how can we go coasting?"

"You can't," said Nan briefly.

Jack looked a little disappointed. She dearly loved a rough and tumble time in the snow.

"And won't there be any Christmas?" asked Jean eagerly.

Nan laughed. "You little goosey, you know there will. You don't suppose Christmas is like a groundhog that only stays out when it doesn't see its shadow. Christmas comes anywhere and in any weather."

This relieved Jean's mind on that score and she settled back in the carriage and began thinking what she would like Santa Claus to bring her while the others looked out upon the road leading by Old Town and thought of the changes which had taken place since Junipero Serra first came that way to plant his mission.

"Shouldn't you like to have been there then?" said Nan to her Aunt Helen. "I wish I could have seen them swinging the bells over a tree and raising the cross while the Indians all stood around looking so surprised." Nan was the first to reach the old church. "I'd salute it with three cheers and a tiger," she said, "if I didn't think Father Junipero would be scandalized."

"You talk as if he could hear you," Mary Lee returned.

"Perhaps he can," said Nan.

Not much of the original church remained, but the portion of the adobe wall and the fachada still standing, gave them an idea of what had been.

"What is the new building?" asked Mary Lee. "It looks queer beside the other, doesn't it?"

"It is a school for Indian children," Miss Helen informed her.

"Can we go in?"

"We will see."

"I hope they will let us in," said Nan to Mary Lee, "don't you? I should like to see what an Indian school looks like."

"I wonder if they know any of the old, old hymns," said Miss Helen musingly. "It would be good to hear them."

To their gratification they were permitted to enter and not only saw the working of the school but heard the children sing some of the old anthems handed down from their forefathers. "Don't allow those old chorals to sink into obscurity," said Miss Helen to the priest who did the honors of the place. "Think, Nan," she went on, as she turned to her niece, "those are the same ancient chorals which were sung in Father Junipero's day."

"I can imagine just how it used to be," whispered Nan in reply.

As they came out they turned their steps toward the old church again. "But where are the flocks and herds, the busy men and women cheerfully working under their good teachers?" said Miss Helen. "Where are the vineyards and the fields of grain?" She looked out over the quiet landscape and sighed. "It was pretty hard," she said, shaking her head.

The good priest who showed them around gave many interesting accounts to which the older members of the party listened attentively. The twins were more interested in the swift little lizards darting in and out the crevices of the church, and in prying curiously into odd corners.

The Good Priest Gave Many Interesting Accounts.

"There is an underground passage from the old well," said Nan in an undertone to her sister. "The priest says it was probably used for storing tallow, but I believe it was made for escape in case of attack. He says that is what some persons think."

"It is more likely to be the tallow," returned Mary Lee, "but of course you would want it to be the other, for it is more romantic."

As they drove away Miss Helen remarked, "The school building certainly does detract from the beauty of the picture, but who would do away with it? Who would not keep alive some of the spirit of those once prosperous days? To think, Mary," she turned to Mrs. Corner, "we cross the ocean to see the old churches and the picturesque in other lands, while at our own doors are these missions which we allow to fall into decay. I really believe that not one half of our countrymen know what is in our own land when they go to Europe. I am sure I didn't know, except in a vague way. Every American who can afford it ought to make at least one pilgrimage to these old California missions. We must see as many of them as we can. They interest me more than big trees or orange orchards. I know one of my lassies who will be always ready to go with me when the others want to stay at home," she added as she glanced at Nan whose starry eyes were fixed on the retreating picture of the old ruin, and whose lips were moving. Leaning forward Miss Helen whispered, "What are you saying, Nan?"

"I was just thanking Father Junipero," she said simply. "Where is the next mission, Aunt Helen, and when shall we go there?"

"You and I will take a little excursion to San Luis Rey if no one else wants to go, and then on our way to Los Angeles we can all stop off at San Juan Capistrano; it is close to the railway station and we needn't lose much time in going there."

The visiting of one mission was quite enough for Mary Lee and the twins, and even Mrs. Corner declared that she was too tired to undertake a like journey soon again, so it was left to Miss Helen and Nan alone to make the trip to San Luis Rey.

"It's kind of nice and cozy for us to go off skylarking by ourselves," said Nan cuddling up to her aunt. "Of course I want the others to have a good time, but they wouldn't care for what we are going to do and would rather gad the streets of San Diego. What are you going in here for?" she asked as Miss Helen stopped at one of the shops.

"To get some chocolate and biscuits. I never undertake an expedition of this kind without laying in some sort of stores, for one never knows what will happen. I don't like to be stranded in a place where there are no resources, and I don't mean that either of us shall get starved out."

"It would be nice to have some oranges, too."

"We can get them along the way. They will be heavy to carry, and we'd better not try for them till we really need them."

"It will be lots of fun," said Nan contentedly. "Oh, me, Aunt Helen, I am having such a good time. Just think what a real fairy godmother you have been. When I think of how much we missed before you came into our lives I feel so satisfied at the change."

"I don't think the lack was any detriment, dear, for, after all, it is by contrast that we enjoy. If you had always been dragged around the world sight-seeing you would be tired out by this time; now everything is fresh and new and you are capable of much more enjoyment than if you had been pampered all your life. I believe in your having new and broadening experiences, but I don't think we shall insist upon your traveling all the time; this trip to California will have to do you for a while, but we will not look ahead."

"Let's not, though it is very temptatious."

"What a word."

"It is much better for what I mean than tempting; that sounds as if you meant something to eat, but temptatious, to my thinking, refers to your mind."

"Oh, you funny Nan," laughed Miss Helen.