“And your home, lassie? Where’s that at?” queried this stranger with friendly curiosity. “And be you, too, travelin’ by your lone in these steam cars? Why for and where to? Sure, if so be, and our roads lie together a bit we might bear one another company. ’Twould do me old heart good to keep your bonny face alongside till the pain of this partin’ from Barney eases up a trifle. A good lad, is he, and forehanded enough, Heaven prosper him! Free with the gold to pay the toll of my journey—Whisht, alanna! I’ve five hundred dollars sewed in me petticoat! Mind that, Jessica Trent, and mintion it to none!”
The last information was given in a sibilant whisper, that might have been heard by other ears than Jessica’s, and was to her so wonderful that she stared in astonishment. This plainly-dressed old lady carrying so much money? Who would have dreamed it?
“Me own name is Dalia Mary Moriarty. Me son Barney, he come to Ameriky when but a tiny bairn, along with Dennis me man. To Californy Dennis went, to a place called Riverside, an’ a gardener by trade went into oranges an’ olives. The blessin’ of Heaven was on him an’ he prospered, even as Barney himself has done. But ’twas not till Dennis stepped into another world, the world beyant this, me dear, that I left Connemara an’ follyed here. A nice town, ’tis to be sure, but not like Ireland. There’s no land that ever I see can match old Ireland for richness an’ greenness, me dear. Here in Californy ’tis all the talk of ‘irrigatin’,’ ‘irrigatin’!’ Nought grows without that costly ‘irrigatin’,’ but in me own true land the water is given with the crops by the same free Hand above. Sure, I’ll be glad to get me home to a spot where I’ll be let toss out a dipper of water without bein’ bid: ‘Don’t waste it, mother! Remember the garden!’ As if I was ever let to forget it!” The old lady paused for breath, then added: “But ’tis kind they was, each and ivery one. Now, all about your own self, me dear, if so be there’s none waitin’ you to leave me an’ tend them.”
Jessica turned her head and saw that Mr. Hale had settled himself for a nap, so replied:
“Mr. Hale has gone to sleep so he will not need me for a time. He is the lawyer gentleman who is taking me across the continent to my mother’s cousin in New York. I am to live with her till I am educated enough to go back to Sobrante ranch, my home. My father is dead. My mother is the most beautiful gentlewoman in—in the world, I guess. I have the dearest little brother Ned—Edward, his real name is. Besides him, we have a little adopted one, Luis Maria Manuel Alessandro Garcia, and his father is dead too.”
“Saints save us! So will the bairn be soon if he has to shoulder that great name! Sounds like some them old Spaniard folkses that crop up, now an’ again, round Riverside way! But go on, me dear. ’Tis most interestin’ to hear tell of your folks, and so be as that you’re travelin’ to that same city of Ne’ York, where I take ship for home, we’ll be pleasin’ company for one another, so we will.”
Jessica was not so sure of that. By the jolting of the car the new gum shoes had again fallen to the floor and disappeared beneath the seat; and again she was bidden, rather peremptorily to:
“Seek them, child! seek them quick! If we should come to one them meal-stations, an’ they not in hand, however could I leave the car?”
Overshoes were articles the little Californian had rarely seen and never owned and, glancing out of window at the sunny landscape, she exclaimed:
“Why, what can you want of two pairs of shoes on your feet at one time? Besides, it’s past the rainy season and——”