Sandy (excitedly). At Poker Flat?

Miss Mary. Ah, perhaps you know the story,--at Poker Flat. He traced him to the Mission of San Carmel.

Sandy. Yes, miss: go on.

Miss Mary. He was more successful than he deserved, perhaps. He found him. I see you know the story.

Sandy. Found him! Found him! Miss, did you say found him?

Miss Mary. Yes, found him. And today Alexander Morton, the reclaimed prodigal, is part of the household I am invited to join. So you see, Mr.

Sandy, there is still hope. What has happened to him is only a promise to you. Eh! Mr. Sandy--what is the matter? Are you ill? Your exertion this morning, perhaps. Speak to me! Gracious heavens, he is going mad!

No! No! Yes--it cannot be--it is--he HAS broken his promise: he is drunk again.

Sandy (rising, excited and confused). Excuse me, miss, I am a little onsartain HERE (pointing to his head). I can't--I disremember--what you said jus' now: ye mentioned the name o' that prodigal that was found.

Miss Mary. Certainly: compose yourself,--my cousin's son, Alexander Morton. Listen, Sandy, you promised ME, you know, you said for MY sake you would not touch a drop. (Enter cautiously toward schoolhouse the d.u.c.h.eSS, stops on observing SANDY, and hides behind rock.)

Sandy (still bewildered and incoherent). I reckon. Harkin, miss, is that thar thing (pointing towards rock where d.u.c.h.eSS is concealed)--is that a tree, or--or--a woman? Is it sorter movin' this way?

Miss Mary (laying her hand on SANDY'S). Recover your senses, for Heaven's sake, Sandy,--for MY sake! It is only a tree.

Sandy (rising). Then, miss, I've broke my word with ye: I'm drunk.

P'r'aps I'd better be a-goin' (looking round confusedly) till I'm sober.

(Going toward L.)

Miss Mary (seizing his hand). But you'll see me again, Sandy: you'll come here--before--before--I go?

Sandy. Yes, miss,--before ye go. (Staggers stupidly toward L. Aside.) Found him! found Alexander Morton! It's a third time, Sandy, the third time: it means--it means--you're mad! (Laughs wildly, and exit L.)

Miss Mary (springing to her feet). There is a mystery behind all this, Mary Morris, that you--you--must discover. That man was NOT drunk: he HAD NOT broken his promise to me. What does it all mean? I have it.

I will accept the offer of this Alexander Morton. I will tell him the story of this helpless man, this poor, poor, reckless Sandy. With the story of his own son before his eyes, he cannot but interest himself in his fate. He is rich: he will aid me in my search for Sandy's father, for Sandy's secret. At the worst, I can only follow the advice of this wretched man,--an advice so generous, so kind, so self-sacrificing. Ah--

SCENE 4.--The same. Enter the d.u.c.h.eSS, showily and extravagantly dressed. Her manner at first is a mixture of alternate shyness and bravado.

The d.u.c.h.ess. I heerd tell that you was goin' down to 'Frisco to-morrow, for your vacation; and I couldn't let ye go till I came to thank ye for your kindness to my boy,--little Tommy.

Miss Mary (aside. Rising abstractedly, and recalling herself with an effort). I see,--a poor outcast, the mother of my anonymous pupil.

(Aloud.) Tommy! a good boy,--a dear, good little boy.

d.u.c.h.ess. Thankee, miss, thankee. If I am his mother, thar ain't a sweeter, dearer, better boy lives than him. And, if I ain't much as says it, thar ain't a sweeter, dearer, angeler teacher than he's got. It ain't for you to be complimented by me, miss; it ain't for such as me to be comin' here in broad day to do it, either; but I come to ask a favor,--not for me, miss, but for the darling boy.

Miss Mary (aside--abstractedly). This poor, degraded creature will kill me with her wearying grat.i.tude. Sandy will not return, of course, while she is here. (Aloud.) Go on. If I can help you or yours, be a.s.sured I will.

The d.u.c.h.ess. Thankee, miss. You see, thar's no one the boy has any claim on but me, and I ain't the proper person to bring him up. I did allow to send him to 'Frisco, last year; but when I heerd talk that a schoolma'am was comin' up, and you did, and he sorter tuk to ye natril from the first, I guess I did well to keep him yer. For, oh, miss, he loves ye so much; and, if you could hear him talk in his purty way, ye wouldn't refuse him anything.

Miss Mary (with fatigued politeness, and increasing impatience). I see, I see: pray go on.

The d.u.c.h.ess (with quiet persistency). It's natril he should take to ye, miss; for his father, when I first knowed him, miss, was a gentleman like yourself; and the boy must forget me sooner or later--and I ain't goin' to cry about THAT.

Miss Mary (impatiently). Pray tell me how I can serve you.

The d.u.c.h.ess. Yes, miss; you see, I came to ask you to take my Tommy,--G.o.d bless him for the sweetest, bestest boy that lives!--to take him with you. I've money plenty; and it's all yours and his. Put him in some good school, whar ye kin go and see, and sorter help him to--forget---his mother. Do with him what you like. The worst you can do will be kindness to what he would learn with me. You will: I know you will; won't you? You will make him as pure and as good as yourself; and when he has grown up, and is a gentleman, you will tell him his father's name,--the name that hasn't pa.s.sed my lips for years,--the name of Alexander Morton.

Miss Mary (aside). Alexander Morton! The prodigal! Ah, I see,--the ungathered husks of his idle harvest.

The d.u.c.h.ess. You hesitate, Miss Mary. (Seizing her.) Do not take your hand away. You are smiling. G.o.d bless you! I know you will take my boy.

Speak to me, Miss Mary.

Miss Mary (aloud). I will take your child. More than that, I will take him to his father.

The d.u.c.h.ess. No, no! for G.o.d's sake, no, Miss Mary! He has never seen him from his birth: he does not know him. He will disown him. He will curse him,--will curse me!

Miss Mary. Why should he? Surely his crime is worse than yours.

The d.u.c.h.ess. Hear me, Miss Mary. (Aside.) How can I tell her? (Aloud.) One moment, miss. I was once--ye may not believe it, miss--as good, as pure, as you. I had a husband, the father of this child. He was kind, good, easy, forgiving,--too good for me, miss, too simple and unsuspecting. He was what the world calls a fool, miss: he loved me too well,--the kind o' crime, miss,--beggin' your pardon, and all precepts to the contrairy,--the one thing that women like me never forgives. He had a pardner, miss, that governed him as HE never governed me; that held him with the stronger will, and maybe ME too. I was young, miss,--no older than yourself then; and I ran away with him,--left all, and ran away with my husband's pardner. My husband--nat'rally--took to drink. I axes your pardin', miss; but ye'll see now, allowin' your larnin', that Alexander Morton ain't the man as will take my child.

Miss Mary. Nonsense. You are wrong. He has reformed; he has been restored to his home,--your child's home, your home if you will but claim it. Do not fear: I will make that right.

Enter SANDY slowly and sheepishly, R.; stops on observing the d.u.c.h.ess, and stands amazed and motionless.

Miss Mary (observing SANDY--aside). He HAS returned. Poor fellow! How shall I get rid of this woman? (Aloud.) Enough. If you are sincere, I will take your child, and, G.o.d help me! bring him to his home and yours.

Are you satisfied?

The d.u.c.h.ess. Thank ye! Thank ye, miss; but--but thar's a mistake somewhar. In course--it's natural--ye don't know the father of that child, my boy Tommy, under the name o' Alexander Morton. Ye're thinking, like as not, of another man. The man I mean lives yer, in this camp: they calls him Sandy, miss,--SANDY!

Miss Mary (after a pause, coming forward pa.s.sionately). Hush! I have given you my answer, be it Alexander Morton or Sandy. Go now: bring me the child this evening at my house. I will meet you there. (Leads the d.u.c.h.eSS to wing. The d.u.c.h.eSS endeavors to fall at her feet.)

The d.u.c.h.ess. G.o.d bless you, miss!

Miss Mary (hurriedly embracing her). No more, no more--but go!

[Exit d.u.c.h.eSS. MISS MARY returns hurriedly to centre, confronting SANDY.

Miss Mary (to SANDY, hurriedly and excitedly). You have heard what that woman said. I do not ask you under what alias you are known here: I only ask a single question.--Is SHE your wife? are you the father of her child?

Sandy (sinking upon his knees before her, and covering his face with his hands). I am!

Miss Mary. Enough! (Taking flower from her bosom.) Here, I give you back the flower you gave me this morning. It has faded and died here upon my breast. But I shall replace it with your foundling,--the child of that woman, born like that flower in the snow! And I go now, Sandy, and leave behind me, as you said this morning, the snow and rocks in which it bloomed. Good-by! Farewell, farewell--forever! (Goes toward schoolhouse as--)

Enter COL. STARBOTTLE.

Miss Mary (to STARBOTTLE). You are here in season, sir. You must have come for an answer to your question. You must first give me one to mine.

Who is this man (pointing to SANDY), the man you met upon the rocks this morning?

Col. Starbottle. Ahem! I am--er--now fully prepared and responsible, I may say, miss--er--personally responsible, to answer that question. When you asked it this morning, the ordinary courtesy of the--er--code of honor threw a--er--cloak around the--er--antecedents of the--er--man whom I had--er--elected by a demand for personal satisfaction, to the equality of myself, an--er--gentleman! That--er--cloak is now removed. I have waited six hours for an apology or a--er--reply to my demand. I am now free to confess that the--er--person you allude to was first known by me, three months ago, as an inebriated menial,--a groom in the household of my friend Don Jose Castro,--by the--er--simple name of "Diego."

Miss Mary (slowly). I am satisfied. I accept my cousin's invitation.