“No, chicken,” corrected Abby, forgetting her awe of the height, and moustache of the stranger, in his funny ways. It was a mistake “made on purpose,” and they were good friends from that moment, though it took Hannah much longer to get over her shyness.
“Well, now, let us have a plate, and a knife and fork,” Mr. Hadley went on, “two of them, Hannah; I shouldn’t wonder if your mother would have some goose pie too;” and late as it was, a capital supper was soon set forth, in which Mrs. Gilman did join him. Hannah told Abby that she did not believe her mother had tasted a mouthful before, all day, and she was quite right.
“Good-night,” Mr. Hadley said, taking up his overcoat, when they had all talked, and laughed, and wondered, until the old clock struck ten. “Our friend, Mr. Mooney, has promised me a bed, but I shall come and help you to finish that pie in the morning. Oh, Sam said you’d be wanting some new travelling frocks, or something, and here’s a couple of slugs or so, to get them with. Do all your shopping before you start; our Sonoma stores haven’t the best assortment of calicoes.”
Abby picked up the “slugs,” as Mr. Hadley called them, six there were instead of a couple; three hundred dollars, they found next day.
She never had seen any California gold before, and thought they looked very like ugly, heavy brass medals. “Small cakes of maple sugar,” Hannah suggested, trying to describe them to Julia Chase. They did not “glitter,” it is true, but were excellent gold, for Squire Merrill readily gave Mrs. Gilman three hundred dollars in new ten-dollar bank bills in exchange.
Mr. Hadley came early the next morning, in Mr. Mooney’s best sleigh, full of buffalo robes, to give them a sleigh-ride. He wanted to go over to the Deacon’s, he said, and see Ben, and Julia, and Mrs. Chase. He knew them all very well by Sam’s account, and had something in charge Sam had sent. Abby had half a mind to be jealous at first, when a heavy ring of Yuba-river gold came out for Julia, whose eyes sparkled not so much at the gift as the remembrance of the giver. Ben had given up all idea of going to sea, and “settled down into a real stiddy hand,”—his father said, bidding fair to occupy the Deacon’s seat one day. The Deacon took a great fancy to Mr. Hadley, and they had a long talk about crops, and California farming, with a great many “deu tell’s,” and “jus’ so’s,” on the Deacon’s part. He “tackled up,” and went over to Mrs. Gilman’s that afternoon, to tell her, that he and his wife thought the best thing she could do, was to “take up with the offer of this ere Californy chap, who seemed to be doing first rate by Sam, and was real likely, if he’d only shave that hair off his face.”
ARRIVAL OF THE MAJOR.
Squire Merrill’s opinion, a little more elegantly expressed, agreed with the Deacon’s, when he had seen and talked with Mr. Hadley. His visit to the Gilmans, and their affairs, made a great noise in Merrill’s Corner, which Abby was not slow to take airs upon. He was the first real Californian that had ever been in the village, and the President, himself, would hardly have had a greater crowd than gathered around Mooney’s tavern to see him off. He was to come back again in a month for Mrs. Gilman, whose preparations and leave-takings would not take more than that time.