“Aunt Sally! Aunt Sally, wait for me!”

At the shrill cry and the clatter of Buster’s feet the crawling vehicle came to a standstill, and from under its canvas cover peered the smiling face of a hale, elderly woman, whose gray head was bare save for its abundant crown of curling hair. A straw Shaker bonnet, with green curtains, hung over her shoulders. Her print gown was of brilliant pink and her capacious apron of blue gingham. She was collarless and her sleeves were tucked above her round elbows, but she was clean, as if just from a laundry. Indeed, at that moment, her conveyance suggested such an institution on wheels, for well-strung clotheslines were taut against its sides, and from these fluttered freshly washed garments and scraps of cloth.

Aunt Sally saw Jessica’s eyes, fasten upon these articles and explained:

“Met a little water comin’ along and used it. Never know where you’ll be when you need water next–in Californy. How’s all?”

“Well, thank you. I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“That’s a word to cure deafness. Here.”

The woman pulled a gigantic cookie from her apron pocket and held it toward the girl, who had now come alongside. The cake was in the shape of a doll, with flaring skirt, and was promptly nibbled.“Well, I declare! Eat your playmates, do you?”

“Yes, indeed, when you make them!”

“Who’s that loping along behind?”

“Ephraim, of course. Oh! yes. A Mr. Hale, from New York.”

“What’s he at here?”

“Just staying. Lost his way and making a visit.”

“H-m-m! Don’t look wholesome. Needs picra.”

“I doubt it. He has a great row of bottles in his room and takes medicine every time he eats, or doesn’t. That is, since he’s been at Sobrante, which isn’t long.”

When the wagon had halted on the road before them Ephraim had turned to his companion, with a whimsical smile, suggested:

“Better ride along as if we was glad to see her. It’s like a dose of that bitter stuff she makes everybody take, whether or no–get it over with. And she isn’t so bad as–H-m-m.”

Mr. Hale was not sorry to do this, for his curiosity was roused. The wagon box was long and narrow, and contained as many articles as would have sufficed a family “crossing the plains” in the olden times. A kerosene cooking stove, a cat in a parrot cage, a hencoop, with mother and brood inside it, a trunk, a blanket and pillow, a pail for watering the animals, and a box of tin dishes. The cover, like a small “prairie schooner,” was patriotic in extreme, shining with the national colors, newly applied by Aunt Sally herself, and with no stingy hand. The arrangement was also her own, and as she considered, an improvement upon the flag; for she made the whole top a field of stars, and the sides of the stripes.“Instead of a little weeny corner full of stars, that you can count on your fingers, I’ve made a skyful right overhead. I always thought if I’d had the designin’ of Old Glory, I’d have made it regular, like a patchwork quilt–and nobody ever pieces a ‘block’ that way. Things must compare even, and so they would be if women had had a hand in the business.”

This decorative turnout was drawn by a tandem team, consisting of a milch cow and a burro, with the cow in front. Which, after due introduction to the stranger, she explained, regulated the behavior of both animals.

“With Balaam in the middle, and him inclinin’ to balk, and Rosetty in front, it works double-action. Them that use their wits is twice served. If he stops, the wagon runs onto him, and if she’s in a movin’ mood, that drags him. If she gets lazy, he butts her and thus, why–I’ve tried it both ways, changing their places more’n once. This is the best. How you like Californy?”

“Very much.”

“Come for your health?”

“Partly, for that.”

“H-m-m. Folks with you?”

“No. I’m alone.”

“Maybe you’ve got no folks. Some hasn’t. Ephraim, yonder, is one. He’d be in a fix if ’twasn’t for Jessie and me. I come about once in so often and straighten out all the crooks. Took them pills, Ephy?”

Mr. Hale tried to repress a smile and failed, but “Forty-niner” burst into a loud laugh, and replied:

“No, Aunt Sally, and what’s more I’m not going to. Why should I? Who never have an ache or pain–that medicine will cure,” he added, looking tenderly upon Lady Jess and remembering his grief of the past night.

“Well, you ought to have. ’Tisn’t human nature to live to eighty and not have. I’m twenty years younger’n you are and I ache from head to foot, some days.”

“Asking questions sort of wears you out, I reckon.”

“Now, Ephy, don’t get playful. Not at your age. It’s not a good sign. Besides, my hen chicken’s been crowing more’n once this trip. That’s a sign of death–somewhere.”

“Giddap, Stiffleg!”

Ephraim urged his horse forward, meaning to forewarn the “boys” of who and what was coming. Jessica comprehended and quickly followed, but her object was to bespeak a different kind of welcome from that he intended. Neither knew, then, just how heartily glad they would be before many hours were over of the helpful, yet disturbing, presence of this same masterful woman.

The Easterner was left to jog alongside the curious team and its more curious mistress, who, even, while she held the rope reins in one hand, was threading her needle and sewing that patchwork which was as characteristic of her as the ceaseless knitting was of Elsa.

In fact, when one came to look at her closely, there were seen assorted bits of cloth, fragments of some “block,” pinned here and there about her person; and as he watched her nimble fingers fly from one seam to another the gentleman’s amazement found expression.

“How can you manage to drive and sew at the same time? And is it necessary?”

“I guess you’re a Yankee yourself, aren’t you? Well, if I hadn’t been able to manage how do you s’pose I’d ever have got my quilt done in time for the State fair? Fifty-five thousand five hundred and fifty pieces there’s in it, and I’ve willed it to Jessica Trent when I’m done exhibitin’ it. None of ’em bigger ’n a finger nail, and all done over paper. That’s a piece of work, I ’low. What’s your complaint?”

“I–I don’t know as I have any. They’ve made me very comfortable and welcome.”

“Dare say. They couldn’t do otherwise. Giddap there, Balaam. Rosetty smells alfalfa, and you’ll have to step out to keep up with a cow ’at does that. I mean what’s your disease?”

“Oh! well–it’s of no consequence.”

“Man alive, don’t neglect yourself. You’re yallar. You’ve got the janders. Sure’s I’m a living woman that’s what it is.”

“I think not. I hope not,” said the poor man, but rather feebly.

“Sure. Or shingles. I’ve never seen a real likely case of shingles, and if it should be that, I’d just admire to nurse you. What victuals you been eating?”

The dyspeptic winced. This sounded truly professional, for all his numerous physicians had prefaced their treatment by a similar question.

“I’ve been able to eat almost anything and everything since I came into this country of open-air living. The last thing was some of Elsa Winkler’s swiebach and honey-sweetened coffee.”

“You don’t say! Oh! oh! Poison, sir, rank poison. You may as well count yourself dead and laid out––”

The unfortunate stranger shivered and turned pale. For some half hour past, he had been suffering various qualms which he had attributed to Elsa’s hospitality, but to tell a nervous invalid that he has been poisoned is to increase his misery a hundredfold. If Aunt Sally had desired a patient she was now in a fair way to secure one; but her words were without any significance to herself beyond the fact that she favored neither Elsa nor her cookery. Elsa’s knitting work had crowded her own patchwork pretty closely at that famous fair, and the handsome money prize, which she felt belonged of rights to herself, had been halved between the pair. Because, though their skill lay along different lines, they had both signed their exhibits: “From Sobrante,” and, manifestly, the judges could not give two first premiums to one estate.

This memory served to change her thoughts from disease to a detailed history of the wonderful quilt, during which they arrived at Mrs. Trent’s cottage and dinner.

But this could not yet be served. Aunt Sally must needs first see her son, and after the fondest of greetings, cautiously consign to him the care of her personal outfit. She even ran after him–as he walked away, grinning and leading the now obstreperous cow–with a vial in her hand, begging:

“Now son, please me, before you eat that ‘mess’ of men’s cooking by taking one spoonful of this dandelion relish. Made it myself, purposely for you, and I’ll warrant no alcohol in it, either.”

Experience had proved that protestation was worse than useless; so, with another grin, but a really affectionate “Thank you,” John accepted the vial and once more started stableward.

“Now, Aunt Sally, come! You must be hungry yourself, after your long ride,” urged Mrs. Trent, hospitably, and with sincere pleasure lighting her gentle face. Living so far from other women made the presence of even this uncouth one a comfort, and experience had proved that Mrs. Benton was, in time of need, that “rough diamond” which she claimed herself to be.

“All right, honey; in a minute. I’ll just step out to the kitchen and pass the time of day with Wun Lung. Besides––”

Jessica caught Aunt Sally around her waist–as far as she could reach–and tried to prevent her leaving the room, but was lightly set aside, with the remark:

“Face is next door to the mouth. Guess I want to see what sort of food that heathen’s got ready for us, ’fore I touch it!”

“Oh, Aunt Sally! In my house–can’t you trust me?” asked the hostess, with mild protest. Though she knew before she spoke that her will as opposed to Mrs. Benton’s, at least in minor matters, was powerless. So she quietly brought a book and offered it to Mr. Hale, with the suggestion that he make himself content for the present.

“The dinner will be delayed and there will be a rumpus in the kitchen. But the dinner will be all the better for waiting and the rumpus will end in Wun Lung taking another rest while Aunt Sally does his work. Fortunately, she is a prime cook, and we shall fare sumptuously every day. I’d be glad to keep her here, always, if I could.”

“Old Ephraim Marsh did not appear to share your sentiments,” and he described “Forty-niner’s” behavior and remarks at first sighting Mrs. Benton’s wagon.

“Then you found him. He’s come back with you? Oh! I am so thankful. Sobrante wouldn’t seem itself without that straightforward, honest old man.”

“You are certain he is that?” asked, rather than asserted, the other.“As certain as that there is honesty anywhere. What can you mean? Why do you seem so doubtful?”

“I don’t wish to be a talebearer, but another of your adoring proteges is in dire trouble. Elsa has been robbed and accuses this unfortunate person of being the culprit.”

“Such a thing would be impossible.”

“So it seemed to me. Yet that old Wolfgang finally got it through his head–he appeared duller of wit than his wife–that to lose sight of Ephraim was to lose the money forever. Your little daughter promised to produce him when needed, and after considerable opposition they allowed him to come away. I fancy they began to suspect me even. I fear, madam, I have visited Sobrante at an unfortunate time.”

Mrs. Trent was paying but slight attention to his words. Her mind was already disturbed by many inexplicable things and would revert to Antonio’s insinuations which, without Jessica’s knowledge, she had also overheard. After a moment, recalled by high voices in the kitchen, she rallied, and apologizing for so doing, hastily left the dining-porch.

There were several gleaming pots and pans upon the oil cooking-stove and behind these stood Wun Lung, tenaciously grasping a meat dish and glaring unutterable things out of his beady eyes upon the excited woman who faced him, demanding:

“Give me that platter, monkey-face! Suppose I’ll put your dirty victuals into my clean mouth or anybody else’s? I’ve tasted your stuff before. A burnt bairn dreads the fire. Hand it over. I’ll see if it’s fit. There! That rice is boiling over.”

The dish of savory lamb stew had been most daintily and carefully prepared after his mistress’ own minute directions, but Wun Lung now slammed it upon the table with much violence and seized the pipkin of rice from the stove. With undue emphasis he placed this beside the stew and, advancing toward Mrs. Trent, made several profound salaams.

“Lat m’loman come–me glo. Good-by.”

And for many a day thereafter Wun Lung served no more in that, his own beloved kitchen.

Not a whit disturbed was Aunt Sally. Revolution had become as the breath in her nostrils. Wherever she went old orders were reversed and all things became new. At a little town, with an unpronounceable Spanish name, which it suited her to call “Boston,” she had her home-room in the house of a long-suffering woman cousin, whose ill-health afforded her infinite employment, therefore enjoyment. The invalid endured these ministrations because Aunt Sally also supported her, as well as ruled her; but she appreciated the rest which followed whenever the itching of Mrs. Benton’s feet called their owner elsewhere. Between “Boston” and Sobrante the patriotic wagon vibrated, like a long-distance pendulum, and departing from either point carried everything belonging to its proprietor within it. “Boston” having become wearisome it was now Sobrante’s turn.

“I haven’t been so happy since I first trod shoe leather. Now, honey, you’ll have good, clean fixings, with no opium nor rat tails in ’em,” she gleefully announced, returning to the table.

“Aunt Sally, hush! What an opinion you’ll give our guest of my housekeeping!” laughed Mrs. Trent.

“Pooh, child! Anybody that looks at you’ll know you hate dirt. Now, eat, all. Only–you, Mr. Hale, I must insist you take a dose of this saffron tea. I steeped it while I was having that set-to with the Chinaman, for I thank my stars I can always do two things at once. And if I know the signs–Gabriella Trent, if that man hasn’t got the janders or shingles, or malary fever, don’t you tell me a thing!”

“I certainly shall not tell you any such thing as that, dear soul. The trouble is, Mr. Hale, Aunt Sally is never so happy as when she has a sick person to nurse. If nobody is ill she does her utmost to make somebody so, with her uncalled for doses and stews. But–once be ill! Ah! dear Aunt Sally, I know how tender is your touch and how faithful your watch. God bless you!”

Not often was the gentle mistress moved to such emotion, and Mrs. Benton now put on her spectacles and regarded her hostess over them with a critical air.

“Land, honey! You must be coming down with something yourself! I never heard that janders was catching, but, heart of grace, it might be! Yes, in-deedy, it might be!”

The delight of her tone was equaled only by the sparkle of her eye. To have come to Sobrante, guided merely by the itching of a foot and to find two patients ready to hand, what mortal could ask more?

Possibly, with the intention of helping on their timely disorders, she heaped her neighbors’ plates with the savory dinner, which was wholly due to Wun Lung’s skill, and not, as she fancied, to her brief supervision.

When the meal was over, Aunt Sally retreated to the kitchen, after forcing Mrs. Trent to lie down and rest, “whether or no;” and to aid the lady’s slumbers, there presently arose from without the lusty cries of two small lads who had returned from some prank, late as usual, and as usual, desperately hungry.

“I will have my dinner, so there, you old Aunt Sally! I will go tell my mother–I won’t be spanked–I won’t I–I–I––”“Wonbepanked!” screamed another childish treble.

“Yes, you will, the brace of you. Spare the rod and spoil the child. That’s what Gabriella does, all the time, soft-hearted dear that she is. A good, sound spanking once in six months is all that keeps you in a state of salvation. If it wasn’t for me I don’t know what in reason you little tackers would grow up to be. One thing I do know, though, and so do you, and that is–that while your old Aunt Sally is at Sobrante ranch you’ll never be late to your victuals again.”

In this events proved that the speaker was right, as, indeed, she had often been before on similar occasions.

Knowing that this little family jar would result in no serious harm to her idolized son, Mrs. Trent lay still and thought, but did not sleep. How could she? What a subtle thing is suggestion!

Poor, overburdened Gabriella Trent had known and trusted old Epbraim Marsh for many years; yet the words of Antonio, and now of this stranger within her gates, lingered in her memory and would not then leave.

Up in his pleasant guest chamber Mr. Hale felt within himself the increasing vigor of returning health, tempered for the moment, it may be, by a little indiscretion of diet; yet the assertion of that noisy old woman below stairs, that he was, despite all, on the verge of some serious illness, so worked upon his still weakened nerves that he could neither sleep nor forget them.

The result in both cases was unfortunate.

That evening Mrs. Trent forbade her daughter the rifle practice for which, promply on his return, Ephraim had made special preparation. Her refusal hurt the old fellow, already sensitive from a previous injury, and he reflected, bitterly, as he once more sought his monkish chamber:“After all, whoever dismissed me was right. I’m too old for use. I’d better never have come back.”

As for Mr. Hale, brooding and an unwise exposure to the night air on the previous evening, did bring on a slight fever. Worriment increased this and, like many men, he was impatient under suffering; so that when his bell rang sharply, demanding attention, he was in a fair way to require all that Aunt Sally or any other had to give.

Meanwhile, down at the adobe quarters, other suspicions were rife.

“What is that man doing here, any way? He don’t tell his business, and he’s asked a power of questions. He’s wormed out of one and another of us all there is to learn about this ranch, and he hasn’t let on a single thing about himself, except that he’s a lawyer from New York. New York’s a big village and all lawyers can lie. I’m bound to sound that chap before I’m many hours older,” said Joe Dean, bringing his hands down heavily upon the table.

“I know a trick worth two of that. Set mother on him!” cried John Benton, gayly. “She’ll ask more questions to the square inch than any other human being I ever met, and she’ll have all his business, family history, and present undertakings out of him before he can say Jack Robinson. Lucky for us she got that itching foot just when she did.”

So it was agreed; and thus, primed to the fullest investigation, Aunt Sally and her curiosity established themselves within their victim’s sickroom. When they emerged from it, at daybreak, the one had been fully satisfied–with horror; and the ruddy face of the other had grown white and heartbroken as no single night of watching should have left it.