The four Corners in California

by Amy Ella Blanchard

HOMEWARD BOUND

As happy a party as ever gathered around a table sat down to dinner that night. Mr. Pinckney had telegraphed to his daughter and had received an answering telegram which brought the promise of her speedy arrival with her husband. Although overshadowed utterly by the señorita, whose importance to their beloved Mr. St. Nick was such an evident fact, none of the children felt anything but pleasure in her discovery of this new relative. To be sure once during the evening Jack climbed wistfully to her old friend's knee, but though he put his arm around her, he did not take his eyes from his granddaughter's face and did not cease to make her the subject of his talk.

Carter received the news with as much surprise as the girls expected and to him they now turned for entertainment since their older friend was so engrossed in his own affairs.

With his inclination to give pleasure, Mr. Pinckney could not rest till he had taken Miss Dolores forth on a shopping expedition, and was ready to buy her such an array of things as would have quite burdened her down, but Miss Helen came to her rescue.

"I think New York still has some good shops," she reminded him, "and what will be the use of taking such a lot of extra luggage east?"

Mr. Pinckney looked a little abashed at first reminder. "I am an old idiot," he said laughing; "I never thought of that. I'll open up the old house in New York and set her at the head of it. We'll get a good housekeeper so Dolores won't have too many cares," he patted his granddaughter's hand. "We'll come this way every year to see your Aunt Jennie," he went on, "and you'll make friends there at home who won't mind going shopping with you. In fact I'd like to show you the shops, myself," and Miss Helen knew that he was only putting off the pleasure which she had nipped in the bud.

The news that Mr. Pinckney meant to take his granddaughter to his New York home made Mary Lee very happy. She would not be so far from the señorita after all, and could hope to see her sometimes.

"We'll all go back together," said Mr. Pinckney. "What do you say, good people? Shall we? I'd like my little girl, here, to see something of the country and you won't mind having a man along, will you?"

"We shall be only too glad," Miss Helen told him. "I have just been telling Carter that we shall miss our masculine element very much."

Mr. Pinckney rubbed his hands and looked around with a pleased smile upon the group. His face was beaming all the time now, for Jo Poker's letter was considered conclusive proof and Miss Dolores was accepted without a question. She insisted, however, upon writing to her uncle to corroborate facts and was now waiting for a reply.

Mr. and Mrs. Roberts appeared shortly and gave a loving welcome to the newly discovered niece. Every one thought it was adding better to good to have these two friends with them, since they had all enjoyed such happy days together during the winter.

"There's one thing I've set my heart on," said Mr. Pinckney one day; "I want you all to spend Christmas with us next year. Will you?"

Mrs. Corner looked at Miss Helen. "I'm afraid I can't promise that," she said. "My sister and I will probably be too far away, but I shall be happy to accept for my girls."

"Why, mother!" Mary Lee looked up surprised. "Where are you going to be next winter?"

"In the south of France or in Italy, dear. Aunt Helen and I have made our plans for that. I must be in some mild climate, you know."

"Then are we to stay at home with Aunt Sarah?"

"No."

"Where then? Where?" clamored the twins. "Oh, mother, are you going to take us with you?"

She put an arm around each. "No, darlings, not this time, but some day I hope to. My four girlies are going to school." She turned to Mrs. Roberts. "I have had very satisfactory letters from Mrs. Morrison and if, after we have visited the place, it seems as attractive as it promises, we shall send the girls there."

"Oh, mother, where is it? I don't want to go to boarding-school," said Jack rebelliously. "It will be horrid."

"This one will not be, I hope. It is near Boston and it is not a big school; there are only twelve boarders admitted and there are pretty grounds and I should think it must be a very homelike place from the description. Charlotte Loring will be one of your schoolmates during the week, though she goes home from Friday till Monday, and I am sure you will meet other very nice little girls. If you are not happy there after one year's trial, you shall not stay, and we will make some other arrangement."

"How long shall you be away, mother?" asked Jean wistfully.

"Until May or June, I think."

"That's very long," sighed Jean.

Mary Lee cuddled her to her side. "But you will have your two big sisters," she said, "and we are to spend Christmas in New York, think of that, with Miss Dolores and Mr. St. Nick."

This was something to look forward to and Jean brightened up.

All this time Nan had not said a word. She had heard all these plans before, but though she had approved them at the time her mother confided in her, she had hoped against hope, and now that she faced the actual fact she felt a lump in her throat and despair in her heart. No mother, no Aunt Helen for all those long months. Even the exciting present could not shut out this picture of a motherless winter. She sat with hands tightly clasped and looked out the window with a set face. Jack stole up and put an arm around her neck. "Oh, Nan," she whispered, "you feel just as I do. Don't let's go to that horrid school; let's run away."

Nan smiled. "What a goosey thing to do that would be. Where could we run to?"

"To Mrs. Roberts; she would take us in and make us have an awfully good time."

The idea of running all the way from Boston to California was too much for Nan, and she laughed outright. Then suddenly she faced the future bravely; it was her part to bolster up these younger sisters of hers, and she would do it if possible. "Oh, we'll make the best of it," she said. "No doubt we shall have awfully good times even if they do feed us on baked-beans and cod-fish. We shall have lots of snow so we can go coasting, and skating and perhaps we shall have some sleigh-rides. Then there'll be Saturdays, you know, when we can go to see Charlotte. Who can tell what good times are ahead, anyway? Sometimes the very meanest prospects turn out finely. Look at your being stuck in the elevator, for instance; see what it has brought about."

"What are you talking about over there?" said Mr. Pinckney from the other side of the room.

"I was just telling Jack that nobody knows what good a day may bring forth," said Nan in unconscious imitation of her Aunt Sarah Dent. "Just think of it, a year ago we didn't even know you all. We all were snoozing away in Virginia and you never dreamed of there being four Corners in the world. Then because Jack stuck in the elevator we stayed over in New Orleans, and because we stayed over we went to the candy shop and there we got acquainted with you, Mr. St. Nick. Then, because Aunt Helen dropped her handkerchief she found the señorita—I beg your pardon, I mustn't say that any more; she's always to be Miss Dolores to us. So things just happen all the time without our planning and who knows what lovely things are ahead of us."

"That's my little philosopher," said Mr. Pinckney approvingly. "It was a happy accident that threw you all in my way, indeed; but for that I should probably never have known my granddaughter."

"Mail for Miss Dolores Garcia," said Carter coming in with a letter in his hand.

"Pinckney, sir, not Garcia," corrected Mr. Pinckney.

"Of course. I beg pardon, Miss G-Pinckney. Oh, bother, I'll say Miss Dolores and then I'll make no mistake."

"It is from my uncle," remarked Miss Dolores. "I will read it if you all will excuse."

She took the letter to the window and ran over its contents. "It is just as you already know," she said at last. "I am truly Dolores Pinckney. My uncle acknowledges that it is my right name and he is very glad that I have found out without his having broken his oath. He is pleased that I have found so kind and good a relative as this dear grandfather. He sends greetings to, you, sir." She bowed slightly to Mr. Pinckney, "and to all the friends who have been so kind to me," again that little foreign manner of bowing. "He is a good man, that poor uncle," she went on, "and he is happy for me. Now, my dear grandfather, I belong to you and to my dear aunt. Beso a ustedes la mono, señor y señora," she said with a little laugh and dropping a pretty curtsey.

"I never doubted for one moment that you belonged to us," returned Mr. Pinckney, "but I am glad, for your sake, that you have this further testimony. Now, then, good people, all, when do we start? Ho, for the Yellowstone! Will you go with us, Jennie?" he asked his daughter.

"No, thank you, father," she replied. "I've seen the Yellowstone, you remember, and I think I'll stay at home with my old man." She turned with a smile to her husband.

"But you'll come to us at Christmas."

"Perhaps. I will not promise, but I will try to come."

"You'd better," remarked Mr. Pinckney. "We must have a family party, and it wouldn't be complete without my daughter. And you, Mr. Carter Barnwell, how about you?"

"I'm not in it, sir. You know I'm an exile and shouldn't dare to risk a New York blizzard." He spoke lightly, but he looked grave. "I can tell you," he added, "it breaks a fellow up to have all this cutting out of the best part of the crowd. Can't you adopt me as a sort of nephew, Mrs. Roberts? I don't know what I shall do when all the others leave. Couldn't you give me a horse stall in your stable or somehow let me hang on to you?"

"Oh, Mrs. Bobs," cried Jack, possessing herself of Carter's hand, "you don't know how nice and jolly and kind Carter is. Won't you let him come live with you when we are gone? He'll be so awfully lonely away from his mother and all of us." Jack was really concerned for the welfare of this comrade of hers.

Mrs. Roberts's kind eyes rested compassionately upon the lad. "Would you really like to come to us?" she said.

"Would you take in a 'no-count' boarder like myself?" he asked, eagerly. "I'll take you out in my car, if you like, and when Mr. Roberts must be away I'll play protector, and I'll even go down town and match worsteds for you. Now that you have a niece, don't you want a nephew?"

"What do you say, Ben?" said Mrs. Roberts, turning to her husband.

"It's just as you say, my dear. For my own part I should like nothing better than young life about the house."

"Then, Carter, your Aunt Jennie will take you in and mother you to the best of her ability," Mrs. Roberts told the boy.

For answer Carter bent and kissed her hand with an old-fashioned gallantry. There were actual tears in his eyes when he lifted his head and it seemed that he could not speak his thanks except to say: "You don't know what that means to me." Then he walked away to the window and no one followed.

Miss Helen drew her chair closer to Mrs. Roberts. "My dear," she said, "you've done a real deed of charity for which his mother will bless you. That is a real mother boy, and no one knows better than I how he misses his home. I don't believe you will ever regret befriending him." And Mrs. Roberts never did.

In another day the trunks were all packed, the boxes to be sent home direct had been started on their way, and California would soon be a place only of remembrance to the Corners. Falling in with Mr. Pinckney's plans they had decided to return east by Yellowstone Park and the Great Lakes rather than to take a route carrying them further north. "Let the young folks see the Yellowstone and Niagara," said Mr. Pinckney; "they will be worth more to them than any other places we could strike on our way back, for then they will have seen two of the greatest wonders of their own country and will be ready for Europe when you want to take them. Now that we have in the family such a linguist as my granddaughter, I shall feel like crossing the ocean again myself. I've never been to Spain and some day she shall go there with me."

It was good to see the dear man's happiness. It was my granddaughter this and my granddaughter that, all the time. As for Miss Dolores herself, the worried lines were leaving her face and a sunny expression was coming in place of the sad, pained look she often wore. The future held home, love, protection, and freedom from galling poverty, a doting grandfather to lavish gifts upon her and to turn to in difficulties. What more could she ask? On her part she was all woman, and had begun already to exercise a pretty solicitude for him which pleased him mightily and which promised well for the days when he should need a ministering hand.

Nan looking at her one day as she was hovering over her grandfather said: "And so the princess came into her own and lived in great state ever after at the castle."

Miss Helen nodded understandingly. "Until——" she suggested a continuation.

Nan took up the tale: "Until a prince came that way and asked her hand in marriage. This would not the old king bestow until the prince had promised three things; one was that he should become as his own son and live in the castle; the second was that he should prove his manhood by some knightly deed; the third one—what was the third, Aunt Helen?"

"The third was that he should show himself able to support a wife without aid of the treasure in the king's coffers and that he must be a knight par excellence, of good name, stainless reputation, and educated in those things which do make a gentle knight ready to hold his own in kings' courts."

"Lovely," said Nan; then after a pause, "I hope the prince will not come too soon for the sake of our dear old St. Nick. Aunt Helen, I wonder if the next year will be as full as this. If it is and exciting things pile up this way year after year, I shall not be able to stand it at all by the time I am thirty or forty."

"Don't give yourself any uneasiness," replied Miss Helen; "the quiet days will come and you will be glad that memory holds so much in store for you to live on in days of famine."

Nan nodded. She and her Aunt Helen often had this sort of talk and it was dear to Nan's heart. "What shall I do without you next winter?" she sighed. "That will be a time of famine, for I shall be starving for you and mother."

"You will have new influences, my dear, that will fill your life and give you new inspiration. The bees do not feed on one kind of flower alone, and so must you, my honey, and my honey-seeker, stick your proboscis into every flower you find. You must seek your sweets all along the way of life."

"You're my sweet," said Nan, kissing her; "you and mother are my very sweetest sweets. Now I must go, for I hear the clock striking that tells me to get ready for dinner, our last dinner here, Aunt Helen."

And the last breakfast was the next morning when all appeared in traveling dress, for before the morning was over they had turned their backs upon the Sunset Land and were facing the east where the hopes of youth were still rising for them.

Mr. and Mrs. Roberts and Carter stood on the platform to see the last of them. Jack and Jean waved handkerchiefs from the window. "Good-bye, Mrs. Bobs! Good-bye, Mr. Bobs! Good-bye, Carter!" they shouted; "we're coming back some day." Miss Dolores, very pale, bent forward, her eyes fixed on the vanishing city. Mary Lee leaned over the back of the seat and reached down a sympathizing hand to clasp the señorita's. From her place in front, Nan smiled over her shoulder. "The sun rises where we are going," she said.