While we were still living in our little house in San Miguel, I had seen one or two camping parties returning after an absence of ten days or a fortnight in the mountains, and had wondered, with dismay, what could have happened to the women and men of the party, that they should look as though their persons and clothes had been rolled, and soaked, and stewed in the grey dust. Now I understood only too well. Soon, all the plastering was finished, and we were looking for the painters, who arrived, unfortunately, in the midst of another desert wind.
The head painter was a Norwegian, and though a very good workman, he was absolutely dense about colour. All day, in the midst of that howling hot wind, we struggled with him to get the tones we wanted, he becoming more and more depressed and obstinate, and we more feverish and anxious. The carpenters looked on with amused interest, expecting, so they said afterwards, “that someone would have to be pulled off somebody!” However, before the twilight came down on us, we had evolved some delicate shades that would pass, and were thankful to creep into the barn and rest if we could, knowing that we must be up betimes to-morrow, to see that the Norwegian did not make any mistake.
On Sundays, when the men were free, they generally went off hunting for honey. They were very clever at finding the nests of the wild bees, and were very much in earnest on these expeditions, having fashioned for themselves extraordinary headgear and gauntlets, like armour in a comic opera, as a protection against stings. They made, too, quite an ingenious contrivance for running the clear honey out of the comb, and sold this and the wax for a nice little sum. Liza used to look after them with longing, envious eyes; they were so much more successful than she in their hunting. But then they used dynamite when the nest was behind some great rock, and she with all her savage strength could not remove the stones unaided. But though they were kind, friendly fellows, and almost all men in this wild West are particularly nice to women, they never asked her to join them.
The architect who came out regularly from town, during the building of the house, and closely superintended every detail, was a more welcome comrade to them. He joined them in their expeditions, and lent us too a helping hand.
Our ranchman was absent on some business connected with his land, and we were very much puzzled as to who was to milk the cow; we ourselves had not yet learned, and none of the carpenters could help us, though they would have been very willing. When our friend the architect heard of our difficulty, he at once exclaimed that he would milk the cow. And so he did in the most business-like and thorough manner.
The carpenters were very like boys when working hours were over, and I remember one evening, when the building of the house was almost finished, and they were to return to town in a few days, we were all startled by hearing a terrific report, somewhere quite close at hand. Everyone rushed out into the beautiful starlight to know what disaster had happened, and then we found Mr. Scott gravely remonstrating with the men, who were looking very sheepish. It seems that finding they had quite a store of dynamite over from their bee-hunting, they determined to set it all off together for their own amusement. They had not expected quite so much noise, and were apologetic. Mr. Scott turned to my husband and said with a disgusted air, “Some of them carpenters has more powder than brains!”
The day had come at last, when we were to move into our house. I sent my darkey back to town, and was delighted to see the last of her, even though I had failed to find anyone to replace her. I had, however, the help of a young Englishman, who had left a clerkship in the Corporation offices at Liverpool, and come out to rough it in California, glad of the open air life, and glad too of the change of work, though it happened, as at present, to include such jobs as digging out a rain water cistern, and acting as temporary scullery maid.
However inexperienced he was at this last work, he was willing and pleasant, which was a delightful change from the “gorilla.”
The carpenters helped us to move in the heaviest pieces of furniture, and I think I shall never forget the luxury of that first night when we slept in the house—it was so airy, and fresh, and cool.
We were very busy for many days after, putting all in order, but it was delightful work to us, however tiring, for the house was lovely and comfortable beyond all our expectations, and now that all the old furniture was standing about us, dusted and polished, and almost smiling, it felt so homelike and friendly that we seemed no longer like strangers in a strange land.