"This kind of livin' ain't goin' to do for you, nor me nuther, Nathanel," was the statement with which she one day interrupted a fit of coughing on the part of her husband.
Too much absorbed with the suggestion she was about to offer to observe his surprise at the first expression of dissatisfaction he had heard from her lips, she continued: "We've got to git out er this place in a little less nor no time, unless we wait till we're tuk out, and that's all there is about it." Mrs. Parkenson emphasized her remarks with decided jerks of the head, which set in motion the half-dozen black, pipe stem curls that hung on either cheek.
Nathaniel recognised this swaying of his wife's ringlets as a sign of deep emotion, which only served to increase his surprise.
"But, Marthy, how's it to be managed?" he inquired in a gentle, deprecating tone. "Surely yer wouldn't go back East to set the folks there to makin' fun of us, would yer, arter what they said agin our comin' so far away?"
"Who spoke of East or West or any other p'ints of the cumpis, I should like to know?" asked Mrs. Parkenson, in a tone that indicated the uselessness of reply. "Ef you think I'd be satisfied jest to settle down here and cook for the fellers in this camp for the rest of my natural existence, you don't know the stuff Martha Gummidge Parkenson is made of."
Nathaniel gazed at his wife with admiration and pride, while she laid before him, in her peculiarly convincing manner, the project that had long occupied her thoughts. This was that he should obtain the agency for a stage company; and, encouraged by the expression of his countenance, she explained how she had already begun negotiations which it would be easy for him to complete.
And this is how it came about that Nathaniel Parkenson purchased the establishment in Nevada City which he called "The Pioneer Home." It did not take long for travellers to find out that here pies, biscuits, corn-bread, and Indian pudding of a superior order were to be had; for Mrs. Parkenson had profited by her New England training, and cooking was in her eyes a fine art not to be despised. Besides, she was ably assisted in her labors by Mary Jane, a niece who had joined the Parkensons shortly after their removal to Nevada City. Mary Jane was a dark-haired, brown-eyed, well-grown Yankee girl, who delighted in styling herself "Aunt Marthy's right bower," which she did with an air of unmistakable appreciation of her own importance.
The dining-room was Mary Jane's special charge; and as the stage-drivers, accompanied by the passengers they had brought, filed in with an expectant air (for they knew what good cheer was sure to await them at this station), the girl received each with a friendly nod, some cheerful remark, or other token of kindly recognition. It is needless to state that she had her favorites amongst those whom she knew best, for, being a woman and young, she had dreamed of her beau ideal in the opposite sex. Ample opportunity was at hand to study the male character in certain circumstances, and Mary Jane did not neglect it.
The bar-room was simply a part of the dining-room, a red calico curtain, almost always drawn aside, forming the line of division between the two apartments. Here the men employed in the stables, the drivers, and whatever passengers waited over for the morning stages congregated to pass the evening; and the smoking, drinking, and card-playing were interspersed with many a thrilling, blood-curdling story of the road.
Mary Jane's ideas of propriety would not permit her to cross the curtain line at such times, but standing within its folds, partly concealed, she would strain her ears to catch every detail of the narrative, oblivious of work or of Aunt Marthy's displeasure, until warned by Nathaniel to "Git along, Mol, and do up yer chores."