Children's Book Classics - Kate Douglas Wiggin Edition: 11 Novels & 120+ Short Stories for Children. Kate Douglas Wiggin

chief of the commissary department!’ cried Geoffrey, with mock salute. ‘Have you despatched the team?’

      ‘Yes; everything is all right,’ said Phil, breathlessly, delivering himself of his information in spasmodic bursts of words. ‘Such a lot of work it was! here’s the list. Pancho will dump them on the ground and let us settle them when we get there. Such a load! You should have seen it! Hardly room for him to sit up in front with the Chinaman. Just hear this,’ and he drew a large document from what Polly called ‘a back-stairs pocket.’

      ‘Forty cans corned beef, four guns, three Dutch cheeses, pickles, fishing-tackle, flour, bacon, three bushels onions, crate of dishes, Jack’s banjo, potatoes, Short History of the English People, cooking utensils, three hair pillows, box of ginger-snaps, four hammocks, coffee, cartridges, sugar, Macaulay’s Essays, Pond’s extract, sixteen hams, Bell’s guitar, pop-corn, molasses, salt, St. Jacob’s Oil, Conquest of Mexico, sack of almonds, flea-powder, and smoked herring. Whew! I packed them all myself.’

      ‘In precisely that order?’ questioned Polly.

      ‘In precisely that order, Miss Oliver,’ returned Phil, urbanely. ‘Any one who feels that said packing might be improved upon has only to mount the fleet Arabian yonder’ (the animal alluded to seized this moment to stand on three legs, hang his head, and look dejected), ‘and, giving him the rein, speed o’er the trackless plain which leads to San Miguel, o’ertake the team, and re-pack the contents according to her own satisfaction.’

      ‘No butter, nor eggs, nor fresh vegetables?’ asked Margery. ‘We shall starve!’

      ‘Not at all,’ quoth Jack. ‘Polly will gracefully dispose a horse-blanket about her shoulders, to shield her from the chill dews of the early morn, mount the pack mule exactly at cock-crow everyday, and ride to a neighbouring ranch where there are tons of the aforesaid articles awaiting our consumption.’

      ‘Can you see me doing it, girls? Does it seem entirely natural?’ asked Polly, with great gravity.

      ‘Now hear my report as chairman of the committee of arrangements,’ said Geoffrey Strong, seating himself with dignity on a barrel of nails. ‘The tents, ropes, tool-boxes, bed-sacks, blankets, furniture, etc., all went down on Monday’s steamer, and I have a telegram from Larry’s Landing saying that they arrived in good order, and that a Mexican gentleman who owns a mammoth wood-cart will take them up to-morrow when we go ourselves. The procession will move at one P.M., wind and weather permitting, in the following order:—

      ‘1. Chief Noble on his gallant broncho.

      ‘2. Commander Strong on his ditto, ditto.

      ‘3. Main conveyance or triumphal chariot, driven by Aide-de-Camp John Howard, and carrying Dr. and Mrs. Winship, our most worshipful and benignant host and hostess; Master Dick Winship, the heir-apparent; three other young persons not worth mentioning; and four cans of best leaf lard, which I omitted to put with the other provisions.

      ‘4. Wood-cart containing baggage, driven by Señor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega from Dead Wood Gulch.

      ‘5. One small tan terrier.’

      ‘Oh, Geoff, Geoff, pray do stop! it’s too much!’ cried the girls in a fit of laughter.

      ‘Hurrah!’ shouted Jack, tossing his hat into a tall eucalyptus-tree in his excitement, ‘Tent life for ever!’

      ‘Good-bye, ye pomps and vanities!’ chanted Bell, kissing her hand in imaginary farewell. ‘Verily the noisy city shall know us no more, for we depart for the green forests.’

      ‘And the city will not be as noisy when you depart,’ murmured Jack, with an impudence that luckily passed unnoticed.

      ‘If Elsie could only come too!’ sighed Polly.

      Wednesday morning dawned as bright and beautiful as all mornings are wont to dawn in Southern California. A light mist hung over the old adobe mission church, through which, with its snow-white towers and cold, clear-cut lines, it rose like a frozen fairy castle. Bell opened her sleepy eyes with the very earliest birds, and running to the little oval window, framed with white-rose vines, looked out at the new day just creeping up into the world.

      ‘Oh dear and beautiful home of mine, how charming, how charming you are! I wonder if you are not really Paradise!’ she said, dreamily; and the marvel is that the rising sun did not stop a moment in sheer surprise at the sight of this radiant morning vision; for the oval window opening to the east was a pretty frame, with its outline marked by the dewy rose-vine covered with hundreds of pure, half-opened buds and swaying tendrils, and she stood there in it, a fair image of the morning in her innocent white gown. Her luminous eyes still mirrored the shadowy visions of dreamland, mingled with dancing lights of hope and joyful anticipation; while on her fresh cheeks, which had not yet lost the roundness of childhood, there glowed, as in the eastern skies, the faint pink blush of the morning.

      The town is yet asleep, and in truth it is never apt to be fairly wide awake. The air is soft and balmy; the lovely Pacific, a quivering, sparkling sheet of blue and grey and green flecked with white foam, stretches far out until it is lost in the rosy sky; and the mountains, all purple and pink and faint crimson and grey, stand like sentinels along the shore. The scent of the roses, violets, and mignonette mingled with the cloying fragrance of the datura is heavy in the still air. The bending, willowy pepper-trees show myriad bunches of yellow blossoms, crimson seed-berries, and fresh green leaves, whose surface, not rain-washed for months, is as full of colour as ever. The palm-trees rise without a branch, tall, slender, and graceful, from the warmly generous earth, and spread at last, as if tired of their straightness, into beautiful crowns of fans, which sway toward each other with every breath of air. Innumerable butterflies and humming-birds, in the hot, dazzling sunshine of noonday, will be hovering over the beds of sweet purple heliotrope and finding their way into the hearts of the passion-flowers, but as yet not the faintest whirr of wings can be heard. Looking eastward or westward, you see either brown foot-hills, or, a little later on, emerald slopes whose vines hang heavy with the half-ripened grapes.

      And hark! A silvery note strikes on the dewy stillness. It is the mission bell ringing for morning mass; and if you look yonder you may see the Franciscan friars going to prayers, with their loose grey gowns, their girdle of rope, their sandaled feet, and their jingling rosaries; and perhaps a Spanish señorita, with her trailing dress, and black shawl loosely thrown over her head, from out the folds of which her two dark eyes burn like gleaming fires. A solitary Mexican gallops by, with gayly decorated saddle and heavily laden saddle-bags hanging from it; perhaps he is taking home provisions to his wife and dark-eyed babies who live up in a little dimple of the mountain side, almost hidden from sight by the olive-trees. And then a patient, hardy little mustang lopes along the street, bearing on his back three laughing boys, one behind the other, on a morning ride into town from the mesa.

      The mist had floated away from the old mission now, the sun has climbed a little higher, and Bell has come away from the window in a gentle mood.

      ‘Oh, Polly, I don’t see how anybody can be wicked in such a beautiful, beautiful world.’

      ‘Humph!’ said Polly, dipping her curly head deep into the water-bowl, and coming up looking like a little drowned kitten. ‘When you want to be hateful, you don’t stop to think whether you’re looking at a cactus or a rosebush, do you?’

      ‘Very true,’ sighed Bell, quite silenced by this practical illustration. ‘Now I’ll try the effect of the landscape on my temper by dressing Dicky, while he dances about the room and plays with his tan terrier.’

      But it happened that Dicky was on his very best behaviour, and stood as still as a signpost while being dressed. It is true he ate a couple of matches and tumbled down-stairs twice before breakfast, so that after that hurried meal Bell tied him to one of the verandah posts, that he might not commit any act vicious enough to keep them at home. As he had a huge pocket full of apricots he was in perfect good-humour, not taking his confinement at all to heart, inasmuch as it commanded a full view of the scene of action. His