Neither the guests of the Rio Vista nor the inhabitants of Ysleta were as much disturbed over Uncle Sid's illiterate speech as was his sister. None of these knew what Mrs. MacGregor knew, that a lifetime spent before the mast and on the quarter deck is apt to counteract, in forms of speech at least, even a careful early education. Not all Mrs. MacGregor's polished manners and studied words could move a human heart to a single throb, nor could Uncle Sid's uncouth motions and clipped speech chill the loyalty of his many friends. His quaint humor that touched lightly, though unerringly, upon the foibles of humanity, blinded no one to the shrewd eyes that looked with no uncertain light upon the line that divided right from wrong. In short, Uncle Sid was sought after and welcomed where his polished sister was shunned, avoided, and heartily disliked.
Thus it happened that when Helen had named a date for the long talked of trip to the dam a goodly number of Uncle Sid's admirers were ready to go with them. Winston had been duly notified and was ready for their entertainment.
Helen was nearly if not quite as popular as Uncle Sid, though on different grounds. Her air of reserve was wholly apart from the spirit of camaraderie that welcomed Uncle Sid, but there was yet a kindly and humane atmosphere surrounding her that was good to breathe. Her reserve, instead of repelling, attracted and inspired a confidence and loyalty that needed but an occasion to arouse it to open manifestation. Contrary to her fears, had every secret which she was trying to bury in the chambers of her heart been published, this loyalty would have stood forth in fierce array between her and condemnation.
Early on the morning of the appointed day a jolly party formed in line at the doors of the Rio Vista, and, reinforced by carriages from the town, streamed out into the desert, along the banks of the Sangre de Cristo, and paused where the last aqueduct of the great canal was nearly completed. Here all was bustle and hurry, but confusion was absent. Unshaped timbers came to men with squares and saws, ready hands took them, and when squares and saws had done their work, passed them to other hands that raised them on squeaking derricks; the groaning ropes delivered their burdens to trestles where they were swung and fastened in position. There were no misfits. This had been provided against by keen-eyed, eager-faced youths with blue prints and transits, who directed the squares and saws and plumbed the groaning trestles.
There were exclamations of surprise, of admiration, of approval from the visitors. Helen was profoundly moved. Winston's name was on every tongue, while Elijah was hardly mentioned. Back of the blue prints where the cut of every timber had been clearly drawn, where the position of every spike and bolt had been accurately defined, back of every spider-line in transits that unerringly fixed every placed timber, back of every motion of busy hands that moved out and in with no collision, Helen saw the engineer who had traced the drawings and had organized the work. Back of the engineer, she saw the man who had made this possible.
Helen was standing apart from the visitors. She was dumbly conscious that among these, like was gathering to like, even as she, though alone, was gathered to herself and apart from them all. One cluster, linked together by the common hope that this great work would even yet redeem their fallen fortunes; a second group, building other castles of cards from their former ruin; still another, unthinking, uncaring, unseeing, dancing, chattering, alive to the sunlight, alive to the bustle, alive to the enveloping spirit like particles of iron in the presence of a magnet, and as little conscious of the influences that were playing upon them. Every clink of hammer, every rasp of saw, every voice, exuberant or subdued, was speaking of the triumph of one man, the possible disgrace of another.
The clusters broke and, led by Uncle Sid, regathered about Helen.
"Look here, Miss Lonsdale," said one, "if you will allow a suggestion, just fold your arms and hump your shoulders and the picture will be complete—Napoleon before the pyramids of Egypt."
"I didn't suppose that basking in reflected glory made one a subject for cartooning; if it does, we'll all pose together."
"Don't be too modest, young woman," Uncle Sid broke in reprovingly, "a fog bank may hide the sun but it gets its back blistered doin' it."