"Ther's nothin' more interestin' than marryin', excep' mebbee the courtin'," she replied softly, "an' a gift is, so ter speak, a message o' love an' tenderness from one human heart t' another. With poor folks, who ain't experts in the use o' words, a gift means more 'n tongue kin tell. I'm sot myself on makin' things. Every st.i.tch I put into a piece o' fancy work fer--a friend makes me feel the happier.

Sech sewin' is a reel labour o' love, an' I kinder hate ter hurry over it, because, as I was sayin', it means so much that I'd like ter say, but bein' ignorant don't know how. A present fer a middle-aged bridegroom? Well, now, if 'twas me, I'd make him a nice comfortable bed-spread, with the best an' prettiest o' st.i.tchin."

We both laughed. Uncle Jake under a gorgeous counterpane would make a graven image smile. Gloriana laughed with us.

"It'd be most too dainty fer some," she said, with a surprising sense of humour, "but I was thinkin' ye wanted a gift fer one o' yer high- toned relations in the old country. No? Well, take yer time: a gift ain't lightly chosen."

"I shall tackle Uncle Jake," said Ajax, as he rode over the ranch.

"Gloriana is too discreet, but she bought that bonnet for her own wedding."

Uncle Jake, however, was cunning of fence.

"I don't feel lonesome," he declared. "Ye see I'm a cattle man, an' I like the travelled trails. I ain't huntin' no quicksands. Many a feller has mired down tryin' a new crossin'. No, sir, I calkilate ter remain single."

"He's very foxy," commented Ajax, "but he means business. It really bothers me that they won't confide in us."

The November rains were unusually heavy that year, and confined us to the house. Gloriana had borrowed a sewing-machine from a neighbour, and worked harder than ever, inflaming her eyes and our curiosity. We speculated daily upon her past, present and future, having little else to distract us in a life that was duller than a Chinese comedy. We waxed fat in idleness, but the cook grew lean.

"You're are losing flesh, Gloriana," said I, noting her sunken cheeks and glittering eyes.

"In a good cause," she replied fervently. "Anyways, ther ain't a happier woman than me in the state of Californy! Well, I'm most thro'

with my sewing, an' I'd like ter show ye both what I've done, but----"

"We've have been waiting for this, Gloriana," said Ajax, tartly. "As a member of the family you have not treated my brother and myself fairly. This mysterious work of yours is not only wearing you to skin and bone, it is consuming us with curiosity."

"Ye're jokin', Mr. Ajax."

"This is no joking matter, Gloriana."

She blushed, and glanced indecisively at two solemn faces.

"Ye've bin more 'n good ter me," she said slowly, "but a secret is a secret till it's told. I hate ter tell my secret, an'--an' yer both young unmarried men. It's really embarra.s.sin'."

"Your secret is no secret," said my brutal brother. "Somebody, Gloriana, is about to get married--eh?"

"Good land! How did ye come ter guess that?"

"Uncle Jake has not said a word."

"Well--why should he?"

"He's as close as a clam--the old sinner. So we can congratulate you, Gloriana?"

"Ye kin indeed."

We shook hands, and she led the way to her own room. There, spread upon her bed, lay some dainty garments, exquisitely fashioned,--a regular trousseau! Even to our inexperienced eyes the beauty of the workmanship was amazing.

"A woman," she murmured, "likes ter look at sech things. An' I do think these air good enough."

"Good enough!" we repeated. "They're fit for a queen."

"An' a queen is goin' ter wear 'em," said Gloriana proudly--"a queen o' beauty."

We stared blankly at each other. Had Cupid robbed his victim of her wits?

"They air fer Miss Miriam Standish, who was queen o' beauty at the San Lorenzy carnival. Miss Standish is the granddaughter of Doctor Standish. Ye've heard o' him--of course?"

She glanced keenly at Ajax, who rose to the occasion with an alacrity that I trust the recording angel appreciated.

"Of course," he said hastily. "Doctor Standish is a man of mark; as a physician, he----"

"He ain't a physician," said Gloriana. "He's a doctor o' divinity--a learned, G.o.dly man."

"And his granddaughter is about to marry----"

"Mr. Hubert Leadbetter. I should say _Professor_ Leadbetter, who keeps the biggest drug-store in town."

We had bought drugs from the Professor, and were happily able to testify to his personal charms. Gloriana beamed.

"Ther ain't a finer young man in the land, Mr. Ajax: he's jest as good as his own sarsaparilla."

"You are going to attend the wedding?" said I, thinking of the wonderful bonnet.

"If you please," said Gloriana. "I jest couldn't stay away. Why, I've made things fer Miriam Standish ever since she was born. That is how I learned ter sew as few women kin sew."

Ajax touched one of the garments lightly, as became a bachelor.

"This work will bring you many shekels, Gloriana. I had no idea you were such a needlewoman."

"What!" she cried, her face crimson. "Do you think I'd take money from Miriam Standish? Why----"

She stopped short in confusion, and covered her poor face with trembling hands.

"I beg your pardon," said Ajax gravely, "I wouldn't hurt your feelings, Gloriana, for the world."

She looked up, irresolutely.

"I reckon I've said too much or too little," she said slowly. "Ye're both gen'lemen, an' ye've bin awful kind ter me. I kin trust ye with my secret, an' I'm goin' ter do it. The Standishes, are New England folk--high-toned an' mighty particler. It's as easy fer them ter be virtuous as ter eat punkin pie fer breakfast. I come from Wisconsin, where we think more of our bodies than our souls; an' 'twas in Wisconsin that I first met Dr. Standish. He had a call to the town, wher I lived with--with my sister. She, my sister, was a real pretty girl then, but of a prettiness that soon fades. An' she hired out as cook ter the Doctor. He was a good man, an' a kind one, but she paid back his kindness by runnin' off with his only son."

"Surely," said Ajax gently, "the son was also to blame?"

"No, sir, my sister was ter blame, an' she knew it. We was common folk, Mr. Ajax, what they would call in the South--white trash, an'

the Standishes was real quality. My sister knew that, an' refused to marry the young man, tho' he asked her on his bended knees. Then he died, an'--an' my sister died, an' nothin' was left but the sorrow an'

the shame, an'--Miriam."

The name fell softly on a silence that we respected. Presently she continued--

"Doctor Standish offered to take the child, an' I dared not keep her.

His terms were awful hard, but just: the scandal'd broke up his home, an' his heart. He tole me he'd take Miriam ter Californy, an' that she must never know the story of her mother's sin. That was right, Mr.