I would know she was being forgiven, though I could hear only the sounds of his deep, low tones between the chirping to—birdie, of course. Neither my husband nor I meant to listen to these chirpings to—birdie, of course, and I always put my fingers in his ears at the sound of them.
After our breakfast was over and baby had been made comfortable, I usually sent him out for his walk with Annie McCarthy, his new nurse, who was delighted at having him all to herself.
"Shure, and I'll not be having the interfarence of so many others whose rasponsability I don't be a-wanting; for the bairn, God save him, was afther being that kissed, his dinner wouldn' agray with him at all, at all. There was the cook and John's wife and John and the coachman and that ugly French Lizette (sorra a bit am I to be rid of her, the vain prig) would be all afther kissing him until he'd be that sick his milk would curdle in him, and for the loife of me I couldn't be kaping the clothes clane on him with all their crumpling and handling; and it's glad that I am entirely, the saints save us, having him to mesilf, the blissed child!"
The rooms were comfortable, and we found the long veranda, where we spent our evenings and most of our mornings, not only a very pleasant change, but a source of amusement as well. My curiosity was greatly excited concerning our neighbors on the left. I was uncertain how many there were of them, though I put them down in my mind as not less than half a dozen.
The first morning these "Left-handers," as I called them, were as silent as the grave till about noon, when, all at once, without any premonitory noises, they began a most animated conversation, interspersed with laughter, mirthful and scornful. The tones of their voices would change from anger to reproach and then to grief, so that at one time I was so full of sympathy with the poor man who was being driven out into the cold world that it was all I could do to refrain from going in and pleading for him; but while I was hesitating the trouble ceased. I supposed he was gone and all was over with him, and involuntarily offered up a prayer—the only help I could give.
Imagine, if you can, my surprise when the next morning at a little later hour I heard a repetition of the same painful scene. The poor man had returned, I reasoned. Taking them all together, I thought they certainly were a most peculiar family, and I determined to enlist my husband's interest when he returned. Something had prevented my telling him the day before. That evening as we were sitting on the veranda I carried my resolution into effect and, though he listened with his usual sweet patience, my description of the disturbance, to my surprise, excited in him more mirth than sympathy.
Just as I had finished telling my story, our baby was brought in to be enjoyed and put to sleep. "The little pig went to market," "the mouse ran up the clock," "the cock-horse" was ridden "to Banbury Cross," and after innumerable "Hobble-de-gees," baby was ready, and so were we, for his "Bye Baby Bunting."
When his sweet little "ah-ah-ah" accompanying ours grew fainter and fainter, we began to sing in the Chinook jargon the Lord's Prayer, which my husband had taught the Indians on the Pacific coast, and which we always sang at the last to make baby's sleep sound. At the words, "Kloshe mika tumtum kopa illahie, kahkwa kopa saghalie" (Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven), from through the open door of the room to our left a voice clear and sweet joined in the same jargon with ours to "Our Father," and as the last invocation was chanted, "Mahsh siah kopa nesika konaway massachie—Kloshe kahkwa" (Send away from us all evil—Amen), a handsome stranger stepped out and, with outstretched hand, said to my Soldier, with great cordiality, "Klahowya sikhs, potlatch lemah" (How do you do, friend; give me your good hand). Then followed a conversation between them about the Pacific coast, Fort Vancouver, San Juan Island, Puget Sound, the Snohomish tribe and their many mutual friends of the Salmon Illehe.
All the while I was wondering what could have become of the other family—if they had gone—and yet now and then I caught a tone in our visitor's voice as he talked to my Soldier, that sounded very similar to the tones of the man in trouble belonging to them, though I did not see how it would be possible for any one to drive, or wish to drive, him out of one's home. When, after awhile, I came in for the compliments of the season, my astonishment knew no bounds when I learned that he had been the sole occupant of that room since Sunday night.
The clock in the court struck seven. Rising hastily, and with many apologies, this strange-family man wrote something on his card, and handing it to my husband, said, "I am playing at the theater here to-night—come and see me," and was gone.