The San Rosario Ranch

by Maud Howe Elliott

"I know little of the modern scientific theories, which Mr. Graham thinks have stripped religion of much that used to belong to it; but to me the denial of a Creator is the most illogical and ignorant act of which the human mind is capable. Look at that house we are just passing. If I should tell you that it never was built, that no architect or workman ever planned and executed its design, you would say that my talk was too idle to require contradiction. And yet you will tell me that the pleasant earth on which the house stands, the very trees which furnished its wood, the metals and stone which are wrought into it, exist, and yet knew no Maker."

"Barbara, do not let us talk any more about it; it is impossible for you and me to speak understandingly to each other on these subjects. Mr. Graham stands midway between your conventional faith and my unbelief; he can understand us both. Now let us talk about love and roses."

"Apropos of love and roses, here comes Ferrara, laden with both of those fragile commodities, which he will straightway lay at Miss Barbara's feet. If you like, Miss Almsford, we will make the next stage of our journey on the engine. I spoke to the engineer, at the last station, of your desire to see the mechanism of his locomotive. You will find the man quite clean and intelligent."

Ferrara joined the party at this moment, having come up to meet the train at this station. He carried a handful of great yellow roses, which he presented to Barbara with a low bow. The girl looked beseechingly at Millicent, who laughed rather heartlessly, and, escorted by Graham, proceeded to the engine. She was pleasantly received by its presiding genius, a hatchet-faced, sharp-voiced Yankee, who made a place for her on his little cushioned seat at one side of the locomotive. As soon as she was comfortably ensconced here, Graham sitting at her feet, the engineer rang the bell and allowed Millicent to pull the lever, which set the panting creature of iron and wood a-screaming. With a guttural shriek the engine pulled itself together and started off down the track at a good speed. Once in motion, the breeze, blowing through the windows, cooled the intense heat. Millicent looked straight down the narrowing steel rails with that keen sense of pleasure which every novel experience gave her. Presently she asked the small Yankee to explain the use of the steam gauge and of the various appliances crowded into the small space where she sat. The fireman, a hideous giant, black and grimy, occasionally opened a door and fed the furious fire with great lumps of coal. When it was well filled he varied his occupation by watering the wooden parts of the engine with a long rubber hose, lest they should ignite from the great heat. On a little shelf above her seat Millicent espied a book, toward which she instinctively stretched her hand. Books always acted on Millicent like magnets. The volume proved to be a Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, lately published in a cheap edition. She asked the sharp-faced engineer if he found the matter interesting, and was somewhat astonished by his astute remarks on the work and the personage of whom it treated. She looked at Graham in some astonishment, but he seemed in no-wise surprised at the phenomenon of a working-man in a blue blouse who could intelligently read and understand the seriously written biography of the great conqueror. The steam gauge rose higher and higher, while the engine tore along at a quicker speed in order to please the delicate visitor, who was now allowed to move the lever, and to pull the bell when they passed the signals requiring them to do so. The engineer was an interesting person, Millicent thought; he told her many humorous stories of his experiences, and some tragical ones. His wife had on one occasion accompanied him on a trip, sitting on the very place where Millicent now reposed. An accident had occurred, a broken rail throwing the cars down a high embankment, while the weight of the engine had saved them both from the terrible fate of many of the passengers. From that day his wife had refused ever to travel in any part of the train save in the small cabin where her husband sat. In a collision, Millicent learned, the dread fate of the engineer could only be avoided by desertion of his post; and the speaker bore witness to the steadfast bravery of more than one of his mates who had preferred death to such an act. As he talked he kept his eyes fixed on the two shining rails stretching before them. Sometimes, when interested in his own story, or their remarks, the engineer would look for a moment into Millicent's face; and she, with a terrified consciousness that her eyes were the only ones which could see any obstruction before the train thundering along at a great speed, would strain her vision to the utmost down the narrowing line of track. What an awful responsibility lay upon the shoulders of this cheerful little man, with his twinkling gimlet blue eyes, and how lightly he seemed to carry his burden. She grew quite white and silent at the thought; and when her hand, guided by the engineer, brought the panting locomotive to a standstill at the next station, she gladly stepped down upon the narrow platform, steadied by Graham's arm. They parted from the engineer with many expressions of pleasure for the ride they had enjoyed, and joined Barbara and Ferrara in the car.

San Real is one of the pleasantest sea-side towns to be found on the coast of California. It has become quite lately a fashionable summer resort, and boasts two large hotels, a colony of boarding-houses, and half a dozen private residences. All of these are of modest dimensions, with the single exception of the pretentious mansion of Mr. Patrick Shallop, which stands at the distance of a mile from the little village composed of one long street of shops and saloons.

At the station the party found a handsome carriage awaiting them, drawn by two prancing gray horses and decorated with sprawling coats-of-arms. The groom and driver were dressed according to the latest English fashion, and the tidy cart for the luggage was driven by a liveried menial. Millicent noted these details with surprise as she sank back on the satin cushions of the landau, and Graham laughingly commented upon her evident astonishment at the smart equipage.

"It appears, O fair Venetian, that you are surprised at this grandeur. Did not Miss Barbara prepare you for it?"

"No," answered the young woman quietly; she did not like to be laughed at. As the carriage rolled along the village street, Millicent gave a little cry of joy: "I smell the sea!" she cried.

Soon after they emerged from the shadow of the houses and struck the road which led to the brow of the cliffs. There, for the first time since she had left New York, Millicent looked out over the salt waves. The cool sea breeze twisted the curls which clustered about her forehead into tighter rings, and fanned a color into her marble cheek. She kissed her hand toward the great gray ocean as if gladly greeting the Pacific. Below the cliffs stretched the white beach, with its rows of bathing-houses, and booths hung with gay-colored wares. They had but time to glance at the view when the carriage turned from the road and entered a long avenue bordered with good-sized trees. Marble statues gleamed through the dark green of the luxuriant gardens, and odorous flowers made the air heavy with sweetness. Before the door of an enormous house the horses were drawn up, and Barbara and Millicent, followed by Graham and Ferrara, entered the wide hall. The exterior of the house was far from attractive. The material used was exclusively wood, which in California is almost universally employed in private dwellings. The fear of earthquakes always lurks in the mind of the Californian, and houses of brick or stone are very rare. The model adopted by the architect was a novel one, and seemed a combination of the Ionic, Corinthian, and Queen Anne styles. Stucco and lath represented decorations and columns which would have been appropriate in marble or granite. The massive style and the flimsy material gave an incongruous appearance to the great building. The wide terrace which surrounded the house, with its bright parterres of flowers, and the pleasant piazza, with roof and pillars like a Norman cloister, were, however, wonderfully attractive. Beyond the close-clipped emerald lawn was seen the ocean, whose white curling waves danced merrily in the unbroken sunshine.

The guests found Mrs. Shallop awaiting them in a long dim drawing-room. She was a skimpy pattern of feminality, with a pitiful, pinched face, great sad-looking eyes, colorless, sandy hair, and a thin, angular body. Though it was early in the afternoon, the elegance of her dress would have been suitable to a ball room. The heavy folds of rich blue brocade stood out from the poor little figure whose emaciated lines its rich fabric refused to indicate. She advanced toward her guests with something of an effort, as if the burden of dress which was laid upon her were greater than she could bear. Her welcome was, however, very cordial; and her bony little hands, with their weight of jewels, clasped Barbara's strong fingers affectionately.