Nelly's Silver Mine: A Story of Colorado Life

by Helen Hunt Jackson

CHAPTER XVI

"GOOT-BY AND GOOT LUCK"

When Nelly heard that they were to set out in three days, she exclaimed:—

"Why, I didn't bid Ulrica good-by, or Mr. Kleesman, or Billy and Lucinda. I thought we weren't going for two weeks. Mayn't I go up to-morrow, mamma? I can sell some eggs, too, even if it isn't the regular day. Ever so many people ask me for them always. Hardly anybody keeps hens in Rosita."

Mrs. March said she might go. So, very early the next morning, Nelly set off on her last trip to Rosita. Billy was standing in his doorway as she passed.

"Hullo, Nelly! Where's Rob?" he said.

"Rob's at home with Arthur," she replied. "He didn't want to come. I only came to bid everybody good-by. We're going day after to-morrow."

"Be yer?" said Billy, slowly. "Be yer glad, Nelly?"

"Why, yes, Billy, I can't help being glad; and for all that, it makes me cry when I think about going away from mamma and papa. Isn't that queer?" said Nelly: "I'm glad, and yet it makes me cry."

"No, 'tain't queer," said Billy: "'twould be queerer if ye didn't. Ain't Rob goin' to bid anybody good-by?"

"Oh, he'll have time when we go by, the day we go," said Nelly. "We're all coming up to Rosita to sleep to-morrow night at the hotel; and then papa and mamma and Rob and I are going in the stage to Canyon City. There isn't room for any more in Mr. Cook's carriage. Perhaps Rob'll go in the wagon with Ralph and Thomas. He wants to; but mamma wants to see all of him she can.

"That's just the difference between them two children, Luce," said Billy, after Nelly had walked on: "Rob he's all for himself, without meanin' to be, either; he jest don't think: but Nelly she's 's thoughtful 's a woman about everybody."

"I donno why you say 's thoughtful 's a woman, Billy," said Lucinda. "I've seen plenty of women that was as selfish as any men ever I see."

"Well, I expect that's so, Luce," said Billy. "You ought to know, bein' a woman."

Nelly went first to Ulrica's. Ulrica listened with wide open mouth and eyes to the news that she would see Nelly no more all winter. At first, her face was very sad; but in a few moments she said:—

"Bah! shame me to be sorry. It are goot! goot! Ulrica vill be glad. Ven you come back?"

"Early next summer," replied Nelly. "Mr. Cook always comes to Colorado in June."

Ulrica ran to the big oak-chest, and opening it took out the blue skirt and red bodice she had been making for Nelly.

"See! it are not done: that goot-for-not'ing Sachs he promise, promise, all de time promise to make buttons."

"What is it, Ulrica?" asked Nelly.

"Oh, you not know? It are gown,—Swede gown for you: like mine child." And she ran for the picture-book of costumes, and pointed to one like it.

Nelly was much pleased.

"Oh! how good of you, Ulrica!" she said. "Mrs. Cook would love to see me put that dress on, I am sure. I will wear it sometimes in the house, when I am in New York, to remind me of you."

"I get buttons to-day!" said Ulrica, fiercely. "I stay by dat Sachs till he cut dem. It are not work: he do it in five minnit. You come again to-night: it are done."

Mrs. Clapp and Mr. Kleesman were both very much pleased to hear that Nelly was going away with Mr. and Mrs. Cook. Mrs. Clapp kissed her, and said:—

"Good-by, dear! You are a brave little girl, and deserve to have a nice, long play-spell; and I am glad you are going to have one. Wait a minute, and I will give you something to wear on your journey." Then she ran upstairs, and brought down a nice leather belt with a pretty little leather bag hanging from it, just big enough to hold a purse. "There, that is to keep your purse in, and your railroad ticket," she said, and fastened it around Nelly's waist.

Mr. Kleesman also kissed Nelly, and said he was glad she was going.

"You haf earn that you haf playtime," he said. "You haf vork all summer like von voman more as von little girl."

"I wonder why they all say such things to me," thought Nelly. "I am sure I don't know what I have done. If they mean selling the eggs, that was only fun."

"Do you mean selling the eggs, sir?" asked honest Nelly. "That was not work: it was just fun. Rob and I never had such a good time before. We would have liked to come every day."

Mr. Kleesman nodded.

"I know! I know!" he said. "You are not like American childs." Then he asked:—

"And vat do become of the Goot Luck mine? I not hear not'ing since."

"Oh!" said Nelly, "we have almost forgotten about the old mine. It wasn't 'good luck:' was it? But Mr. Scholfield keeps on working at it now. He will not give up that it is not good for any thing."

"I say not, it are wort not'ing," replied Mr. Kleesman: "I say it not pay to work it. It cost too much for so little silver as come out."

"Yes, sir; papa understood that," said Nelly; "and he was very much obliged to you indeed; and so we all were."

Then Mr. Kleesman said:—

"Come in! come in! Can you to vait von little? I make for you silver rose, that you carry viz you."

"Oh, thank you!" said Nelly; and followed him in, wondering much what he meant by a silver rose.

Then he took out of the glass box, where the brass scales were, a little saucer, full of tiny silver beads like pin-heads. These he folded up in a bit of paper, shaped like a little cocked hat. This he put into one of the little clay cups, and set it in the glowing red-hot oven. Pretty soon Nelly looked in. The silver was boiling and bubbling in the little cup; the bubbles looked like shining silver eyes on the red; then there came beautiful rainbow colors all over it.

"See you it haf colors like rainbow?" said Mr. Kleesman: "ven dey come it are almost done."

In a second more he took out the cup: set it on the iron anvil: there was a fiery line of red around the silver button: the button was about the size of a three-cent piece.

"Vatch! vatch!" cried Mr. Kleesman: "in one second it burst."

Sure enough, in one second the round button burst in the middle, and the hot silver gushed up like a little fairy fountain of water, not more than quarter of an inch high: in the same instant it fell, cooled, and there was a sort of flower, not unlike a rose, of frosted silver.

"Dere! ven you are in New York, you can take dis to jeweller, and he put pin on it; and you shall vear it, and tell to all peoples you haf seen it ven it vas made by old man in de Colorado mountains."

Nelly took the pretty thing in her hands and looked at it with delight. She had never had any thing so pretty, she thought; and she thanked Mr. Kleesman again and again, as she bade him good-by.

"Oh, I see you again: I see you ven you go in stage. I not say good-by to-day," he said, and looked after her lovingly as she ran down the steps.

Ulrica had a stormy time of it with Sachs, the tin-man, before she could get him to cut out the make-believe buttons for Nelly's gown. He was at work on a big boiler, and he did not want to stop. Ulrica's broken English grew so much more broken when she was angry, that hardly any one could understand her; and William Sachs, who was a German, knew English very little better than Ulrica: so between them they made sad work of it.

"I stamp my foot at him," said Ulrica, telling Nelly the tale: "I stamp at him my foot, and I take out of his hand his big hammer vat he pound, pound viz all time dat I am speak, so dat he not hear my speak. I take out his hand, and I frow down on floor; and I say, 'I not stir till you my buttons haf cut for mine child;' and ven he see I not stir, he take tools and he cut, cut, cut, and all the time he swear at me; he call me 'tam Swede woman;' but I not care. And here are gown: now you come in and put on."

So Nelly went in, and Ulrica helped her to undress. When she saw Nelly's white neck, she stooped down and kissed her, and said.—

"Mine child haf white skin: like your skin."

The red bodice fitted Nelly very well; and she looked lovely in it. It had a low collar, all covered with the shining tin buttons; and in the front there was a square space of white muslin, and the tin buttons were sewed on all round this. The blue petticoat was too long: it lay on the ground two inches or more. Ulrica looked at it dismayed.

"Ach!" she said: "ach! you haf not so tall I tink. I make him now in von little more as short." And down on the floor she sat, and hemmed up the skirt in a wonderfully quick time.

"Ach! if you vait till Jan see you in dis," she said, looking imploringly at Nelly, with tears running down her face. "You are mine child, mine child!"

But Nelly knew that Jan would not be at home till six o'clock, and she could not stay so long. So she took off the pretty costume, and kissed Ulrica, and thanked her many times over; and set off for home with all her presents safe-packed in her basket.

When Rob saw the presents, he said:—

"Oh, my! I wonder if they'd all have given me things too, if I'd gone up. Did they say any thing about me?"

"They asked why you didn't come," replied Nelly; "and I told them you meant to bid them good-by to-morrow, when we started on the journey."

"All right!" said Rob: "if they've got any thing for me they can give it to me then."

"I never thought of their giving me any thing," said Nelly: "I wonder what made them."

"Because they all know that you love them, Nelly," said her father: "don't you?"

"Yes, I think so," said Nelly, hesitatingly: "almost love them,—not quite, I guess: except Ulrica. I love her dearly."

"And Lucinda and Billy," added Rob. "I love them best of all. I don't love any of the rest. You can't love everybody."

At sunset the next night, the March house was shut up; the tents were all gone; the whole place looked deserted and silent. Everybody had gone: Mr. and Mrs. Cook and Flora and Arthur in the carriage: Ralph and Thomas and Rob in the white-topped wagon; and Mr. and Mrs. March and Nelly in Mr. Scholfield's buggy, which he had lent them. They drove up to Rosita in time to see the sunset from the top of the hill. Nelly looked at the mountains as they changed from blue to purple, and from purple to dusky gray: she did not speak. At last her mother said:—

"You won't forget how the mountains look: will you, Nelly?"

"Not a bit more than I'll forget how you and papa look!" said Nelly: "not a bit!"

After tea, Rob went to bid Mrs. Clapp and Mr. Kleesman and Ulrica and Jan good-by. Everybody spoke very cordially to him, and hoped he would have a good time; but nobody gave him any thing, and Rob was a good deal disappointed. He said nothing about it when he came home: he was ashamed to. But Nelly knew how he felt, just as well as if he had told her; and in her good little heart she was very sorry for him.

"Mamma," she said, "isn't it too bad that none of them gave Rob any thing, when they gave me all those nice things?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," said Mrs. March; "but he has not been here so much as you have,—that is the reason: and he is so happy in the prospect of his journey, he will not mind it."

The stage from Rosita to Canyon City set off at seven o'clock in the morning. When it drove up to the hotel door, Mr. and Mrs. March and Rob and Nelly were all ready, sitting on the piazza. While they were getting in, Mr. Kleesman's door opened, and he came running up, with his red cotton cap still on his head: in his hurry he had forgotten to take it off. He looked so droll that even Nelly laughed; and this reminded him of his nightcap.

"Ach!" he said, and snatched it off and crammed it into his pocket.

In a moment more, who should come hurrying up the hill but Jan and Ulrica; and, behind them, Billy and Lucinda. Billy and Lucinda had come up to town the night before, and slept at Lucinda's father's house, so as to be on hand to see Nelly and Rob off.

None of the Cook family were up. Their horses would go so much faster than the stage horses, they were not going to set out until noon. Ralph and Thomas had started with the heavy wagon at daylight.

There were no other passengers to go in the stage except the Marches: so the driver did not hurry them; and, after they had taken their seats, Jan and Ulrica and Billy and Lucinda all crowded around, saying last words.

Ulrica had brought two great bouquets of purple and white asters and golden-rod, the only flowers that were then in bloom.

"Dese are for you," she said to the children; but, when they reached out their hands to take them, she shook her head, and said: "No, I frow dem: it haf luck to frow dem."

Lucinda had brought a little parcel in which were two knit scarfs, which she had knit herself: one white and one red. The red one was for Rob and the white one for Nelly, she said. They were very pretty. Billy brought a knife for Rob: a capital knife, one with four blades. Rob's face flushed with pleasure.

"Why, Billy," he said, "how'd you know I'd lost my knife?"

"Oh, I found out," said Billy. The truth was, that Billy had walked all the way down to the tents, a few days before, and asked Ralph and Flora if they knew of any thing Rob wanted; and Flora told him how Rob had lost his knife that very day,—had dropped it in the creek, while he was cutting willows to make whistles of. After Billy had given Rob the knife, he pulled out of his pocket a little parcel done up in white paper, and handed it to Nelly, saying:—

"I dunno 's it'll be of any kind o' use to yer; but I thought 'twas kind o' putty."

Nelly opened the paper. It held a queer little scarlet velvet pincushion, in a white ivory frame, which was made so that it could screw on a table.

"Oh, how pretty!" said Nelly. "Thank you, Billy. I'll keep it on my table all winter."

Mr. Kleesman stood behind the others. He smiled and bowed, and said to Mr. March:—

"You haf goot day. The sun shine on your journey."

"Yes," said Mr. March. "I'm afraid it will not shine so bright when we come back without these little people."

"No, dat it vill not," said Mr. Kleesman. "Dat it vill not."

"Well," said the driver, gathering up the reins in his left hand, and lifting his whip, "I guess we'll have to be movin' along, if you're ready, sir."

"All ready," said Mr. March.

The driver cracked his whip, and the horses started off on a run, up the hill.

"Good-by! good-by!" shouted Rob and Nelly, leaning out.

"Goot-by!" cried Ulrica, and flung her bouquets into the stage, into Mrs. March's lap, and Nelly's.

"Good-by! good-by!" cried Billy and Lucinda.

"Goot-by!" cried Mr. Kleesman; "and goot luck go with you."

"That's jest what will go with that Nelly wherever she goes," said Billy, turning to Mr. Kleesman.

"You haf known the child?" asked Mr. Kleesman.

"Well, yes," said Billy, leisurely, "I may say I know her. I brought 'em here, three years ago last spring; an' me 'n' my wife we lived with 'em goin' on a year. Yes, I know 'em. There ain't any nicer folks in this world; but Nelly she's the pick o' the hull on 'em. She ain't no common child; she ain't, now. She hain't minded no more about that mine o' hern,—that mine she found,—I suppose you've heered all about it—"

"Yes, I know," said Mr. Kleesman.

"Well," continued Billy, "nobody but me knows how that little gal's heart was set on to thet mine. She'd come an' stand by the hour an' see me work in it. I worked there long o' Scholfield some six weeks: we was all took in putty bad. She'd come an' stand an' look an' look, and talk about what her father 'n' mother could do with the money; never so much 's a word about any thing she'd like herself; an' yet I could see her hull heart was jest set on it. And yet's soon 's 'twas clear an' sartin that the mine wan't good for any thing, she jest give it all up; and there hain't never come a complainin' or a disapp'inted word out o' her mouth. 'Twas her own mine too,—and after her namin' it and all. I've seen many a man in this country broken all up by no worse a disappointment than that child had. She's been jest a lesson to me: she has. I declare I never go by the pesky mine without thinking o' the day when she danced up and sez she, 'I'll name it! I'll name it "The Good Luck!"'"

"Ach, veil!" said Mr. Kleesman, "she haf better than any silver mine in her own self. She haf such goot-vill, such patient, such true, she haf always 'goot luck.' She are 'Goot Luck mine' her own self."