Mliss :: :: University of Virginia Library

Mliss was too young to thoroughly comprehend
the scheme of the woman she had been taught
to accept as her mother. She understood, however,
that her liberty was threatened. She understood
that the theft of her little fortune was
a part of the plot. She had read of the Magdalen
Asylum as the place of refuge of bad and unfortunate
women, and knew that a certain disgrace
was attached to residents of such institutions;
but she was not wise enough to understand the
nature of the degradation embraced in Mrs.
Smith's designs.

Through the night the little waif lay revolving
in her mind plans of rescue. She was so ignorant
and so utterly friendless that the danger
assumed a threatening form. Betrayed by her
mother, how could she resist the law when its
force should be brought against her? What
could a little girl do against so many powerful
and experienced enemies? It was useless to
wish that she had never been born. She was a
fact, an unfortunate and unhappy fact, who
had known little but suffering, but still a fact.
She could not die because she wished to. She
might kill herself, but that would be wicked;
and, what weighed more in her mind, it would
please Mrs. Smith too well.

Flight seemed the only way of escape. Her
old habit of taking to the woods when things
went wrong suggested this method of extricating
herself from the grasp of her enemies. She
might possibly find her way back to Smith's
Pocket, where every man was her friend, though
no one she had encountered in the city knew
such a place as Smith's Pocket existed. There
would be danger in going aone on board a
steamboat, as she might be arrested and taken
to jail as a vagrant. Still, flight in some way
was the only means of escape that occurred to
her. If Mr. Gray had not quite forgotten her,
he might tell her what to do. At this point in
her reflections her stout little heart succumbed,
and she began to weep—weep silently, without
hope and without relief.

When she arose in the morning Mr. Waters
had disappeared. Mrs. Smith was alone She
seemed as coldly placid as ever. She only vouchsafed
a look at Mliss when she saw her dark face
and gleaming eyes before her.

“I want some money,” said Mliss, simply.

Mrs. Smith deliberately took her purse from
her pocket, opened it, and took out two half
dollars, which she handed to Mliss without a
word.

“That is not enough. I want twenty dollars.”

The lady opened her eyes at this demand.
The magnitude of the sum startled her into a
reply.

“Twenty dollars! What do you want with so
much money?”

“No matter. I want it.”

The pale lips of the child compressed over her
white teeth in a way that denoted a storm if her
demand was not complied with. Mrs. Smith
understood that Mliss had some project in view,
and reflected that this twenty dollars might be
the means of accomplishing it. After a moment,
therefore, she took four five dollar pieces
from her purse and gave them to Mliss.

The remainder of the day Mliss sat in her
room. She wrote five letters to Mr. Gray and
tore them up, one after the other. When the
last one lay in shreds at her feet, her head sank
upon the tabe and her fragile form shook with
mingled emotions of wounded pride and grief.
It seemed so unkind in him to forget her when
he was the only friend she had.

The next morning, long before the other lodgers
were astir, Mliss crept stealthily along the
shadowy passage, descended the broad stairs and
gained the street. The city was still wrapped
in sleep. Now and then a wagon rattled harshly
over the stone pavement, and a few early pedestrians
were abroad. Here and there were curling
volumes of smoke issuing from chimneys high

up the sky, and still more rarely open shutters
disclosed faces at the windows.

The controlling idea of Mliss was to get out
of the city. In the country they had no industrial
schools, no Magdalen Asylum, no such heartless
men as Mr. Gray.

As she trudged along the genial sunlight of a
glorious morning made her way more pleasant.
She met men who looked like working men, and
blithe, handsome sewing-girls going to the scene
of their daily labors. Children were playing on
the sidewalk, and sometimes, through mere
craving for human sympathy, she would stop
and join in their sports. She had no fear of being
followed. Oftener than otherwise she was
gone the entire day, and no one asked where she
had been. Her ultimate destination was Smith's
Pocket. She thought it must be about two hundred
miles away. She remembered passing
through Stockton on the way to the city, and
reasoned, not without sense that, in that city she
might find some one who had heard of the famous
Red Mountain, in which so many men
were seeking their fortunes.

The high ridge lying to the west of Bay View
seemed to offer a favorable point of observation.
From the highest point in the ridge the waters
of the ocean and the bay could be plainly seen,
and on a clear day the outlines of the Sierra Nevada
loomed up dark and grand. Perhaps her
Indian's eye might recognize the locality she
desired to find. The young traveler idled away
so much time that it was nearly noon when she
reached the spot from which a part of the city
was still visible. The sea-breeze came fresh
from the ocean, and there was a power in its motion
that almost took her off her feet. But it
was brave fun to face it, and its freshness was
so invigorating that she forgot her cares and
gamboled along like a child at play. Thus occupied,
happy for a time because she forgot herself,
she was startled by the voice of some one
calling:

“I say, sis, what are you doing up there?”

Mliss turned and beheld, at a little distance
down the hill, the figure of a young man. He
was dressed in coarse but well-fitting garments,
cut in a style that indicated a residence in the
city.

Mliss returned no answer. She was old enough
to feel shy of meeting the other sex so far from
human habitation. There were houses in sight,
but the place was lonely, and perhaps for the
first time in her life she felt afraid.

The young fellow approached. It was useless
to run, so Mliss faced him with a look of defiance.

“What's the matter, little one? Have you
run away?”

“No,” replied Mliss.

“Looks like it. Who's here with yer?”

“Nobody.”

“That's odd. Like being alone?”

“Yes.”

“Queer taste—for a girl. Most of them run
in droves.”

There was nothing sinister or menacing in the
young man's regard, and Mliss soon recovered
her usual composure. He was a rather good-looking
young man of nineteen or twenty, and
he had a frank, winning smile, in keeping with
his free, off-hand manner.

“See you from down yonder,” the young man
continued, after a pause, “and thought I'd
come and see if you was lost.”

“I'm all right,” responded Mliss.

“Where yer going?”

Silence on Mliss's part.

“What yer doing?”

More silence.

“Won't talk, eh? Needn't be so uppish.”

“Go away, please.”

“Couldn't think of it. Wouldn't be right
Some feller worse than I'll come and run off with
ye.”

“No, there won't,” replied Mliss, showing her
teeth.

“Little savage, eh. Don't like the fellers?”

“No.”

“Rather young yet. Come to yer bimeby.
Where do you live?”

“In San Francisco.”

“What street?”

“Kearny.”

“Number?”

“Don't know.”

“That's a go. Don't know where yer live.
Get a pop?”

“What's that?”

“A poppy, governor, daddy. You know what
I mean.'

“No.”

“Look nice. Got on pretty good clothes.
What's your name?”

“Lissy Smith.”

“Lissy Smith. Good name to travel on.
Lots of Lissy Smiths.”

“Well,” said Mliss, “I am going. Goodby.”

“I'm going too. Won't be shook.”

The young fellow walked a few yards by her
side. Mliss stopped.

“I don't want you to go with me,” she said.

“Suppose, then, you come with me. There's
lots of fellers and girls down yonder and they'll
give you welcome.”

At this moment two or three rather pretty
young girls appeared coming up the hill, doubtless

in search of their truant escort. They were
chatting and laughing, and to the lonely Mliss
seemed very happy. She paused involuntarily
and waited their approach.

The young man with his easy, jaunting air,
advanced to meet them

“Come, girls,” he said, “here's the little
runaway. She one of us. Miss Lissy Smith,”
he continued, assuming a formal manner. “permit
me to present to you two of my dearest
friends, Miss Hattie Brooks and Miss Lou Chambers.
Now girls, you know each other. If you
don't pitch in and have a good time I'll trounce
the lot of you.”

The girls laughed and greeted Mliss cordially.

“It's his way,” said one of them, thinking
the threat might require some explanation,
“but he's a dear good fellow. We all love
him.”

Mliss warmed at once to these free-spoken,
open-hearted girls. It was a new and pleasant
experience.

“We were out here picnicking,” said Miss Hattie
Brooks, “and we saw you dancing on the
hill. You did not look much larger than a grasshopper,
and we all thought of Miss Kings bury's
Fanchon. Have you seen Miss Kingsbury's
Fanchon?”

“No; I have never been in a theatre in my
ife.”

“Never been in a theatre in your life. How
I envy you. You've got something to live for.”

Mliss laughed.

“Is it nice?” she asked.

“Nice is no name for it. Some night you
shall go with me and Bob.”

“Who is Bob?”

“My sweetness. Didn't he tell you his
name?”

“No.”

“Well, his name is Robert Shaw. His father
is a greatlawyer. His mother and sister are
what you call fine ladies, but Bob is—well, they
call us all hoodlums.”

An idea flashed into Mliss's head.

“His father is a lawyer, did you say?”

“Yes, and a big gun at that. You should see
the house they live in. Bob don't stay at home
much, but he drops down on them once in a
while just to rouse them up. His sister is awful
pretty, but she's a high stepper. She won't look
at one of us. You should have seen her one day
when Bob introduced me. Such airs as she put
on. But Bob laughed and so did I.”

“I think,” said Mliss, thoughtfully, “I would
like to see his father, that is, if he is not too
grand.”

“O, he's nice. He likes fun, too, though he's
fifty. Such a handsome man, too. But what do
you want with him?”

“I want,” said Mliss, gravely, “I want to
find a lawyer—one that won't steal.”

“Well, that is not so easy. But Mr. Shaw
won't steal from a little girl like you. He's
above that sort of thing. But tell us, has anybody
done anything to you?”

“No” replied Mliss; “but I've got some
money and can't get it.”

The form of expression still adopted by Mliss
would not always bear critical analysis, but it
was intelligible to her new friends. They plied
her with a thousand questions, and at last arrived
at something like the truth.

“My eyes, what a romance! And you are
just as nice as you can be, as if nothing out of
the way had happened. An heiress! A wronged
heiress! What a title for a novel! Bob! Bob!'

The young lady danced off, and soon came
back with the handsome Bob, a willing captive.

Mliss repeated the outlines of her story. She
told how she had fallen heir to a rich claim in
Red Mountain, how a woman had appeared at
that time and represented herself as her father's
widow, how they had left Red Mountain where
she had friends, and come to San Francisco
where she knew no one, and how the woman
now proposed to have her sent to the Industrial
School.

“Don't worry, little one,” said Bob. patronizingly,
after he had duly weighed the statement,
“Ill see you through We'll have the old
woman indicted for—”

It did not occur to him at that moment what
charges to bring against the woman, so rather
than disappoint his hearers, who had great confidence
in his legal opinion, he added:

“Being a swindler. That'll cover the whole
ground.”

Mliss thought the term appropriate. Miss
Nellie was so well pleased with the manner in
which her “sweetness” had responded, that she
put up her rosy lips before all the company for a
kiss. The young man, however, did not seem
in the least overcome by this demonstration, but
proceeded deliberately to cull the proffered
sweets.

“Now, Miss Smith,” said Miss Chambers,
who watched this proceeding with jealous eyes,
“you must go with us to the camp and see the
rest of us.”

Mliss complied. She had suddenly given up
for a time her projected trip to Red Mountain.
The hearty welcome of her new friends made
her feel at home, and she reflected that if nothing
came of her consultation with the lawyer,
Smith's Pocket was a refuge always available.

The “camp” was a large tent in a sheltered
spot between two hills, on the Bay side of the

ridge, and was evidently a place of frequent
resort. The turf in front of the tent had the
appearance of being used as a play-ground, and
various cooking utensils suggested that the jolly
picnickers were not unmindful of the requirements
of nature. In fact, when they arrived at
the camp, some eight or ten young ladies were
busy preparing lunch. An equal number of
well-grown boys from sixteen to twenty years of
age were lounging about, some lying at full
length on the turf, others teasing the girls, or
pretending to help, as the case might be

Miss Hattie Brooks took Mliss n her especial
charge. It seemed proper that she should do so,
as she had at that time the enviable position of
chief favorite of the President of the Free and
Esy Social Club, which honorable office had
been held since the first organization of Club
club by Mr. Robert Shaw. It seemed proper
also, in view of the fact that the said Mr. Robert
Shaw was going to “see Mliss through,”
whatever that might mean.

The son of the great lawyer was not only president
of the Free and Easy Club, but a personage
of great importance among the class of which
this club was a representation. The social position
which was his by virtue of his family added,
doubtless, to his prestige, but his personal
traits of chcracter were such as to insure popularity
on his own merits. He possessed a fresh,
ruddy, boyish countenance which pleased the
girls, and his inexhaustible animal spirit was
the life and soul of the company. He was also
reputed to be the best fighter, and never gave in
whether whipped or not. His pluck had given
him such a reputation that such of his associates
as were really physically his superior were
disinclined to a trial of skill and endurance. A
combat with him in any form was a serious matter,
since he could never be made to acknowledge
when he was fairly whipped. And then he
enjoyed a fight for its own sake. His readiness
n this respect inspired his associates with a
profound regard for whatever opinion he might
advance, or whatever position he might assume
He was, withal, the best-natured lad in the
club. He bore no ill will to those who disputed
with him. He would simply thrash them until
they cried “enough,” and be as good friends as
ever. His enmity was reserved for those who
would not fight when, in his opinion, it was
their duty to do so. Physical law was the only
law he recognized. He was a bully from instinct.
His favorite pastime was to win the affections
of an associate's girl, holding himself
morally acquitted if he offered the aggrieved
party a chance to win her back in a fair fight.
Nothing in his estimation could be fair r than
this His qualities were thoroughly accepted by
the young ladies of his circle. Not one could be
found, however devoted to another admirer, to
resist his advances. The distinction of being
sought and won by one so abundantly able to
maintain his right to her affections was a triumph
none could forego. His attentions brought
a young lady into the front rank at once. The
place of favorite was, therefore, difficult to
maintain. Many had gained it. There was always
a score striving to supplant the favorite.
His associates realized that they held their
places in the affections of the young ladies who
accepted their attentions only on sufferance.
Their chief had only to throw his handkerchief
and scores would fly to pick it up.

The young man wore his honors with a tolerable
grace. He sometimes abused his power, and
what mortal does not. He was always ready,
however, to give ample satisfaction. He claimed
no privileges of rank. “If you don't like me,”
he would say, “just say so. It won't take long
to settle the little affair.” Very often the party
thus challenged would feel himself compelled
to accept the issue, though pretty certain to
come out second best. But it was better to be
soundly whipped than to be jeered at for showing
the white feather. Should he adopt the latter
course the girls would turn him the cold
shoulder. If he took the whipping like a man,
enough would be found to solace him with their
smiles.

The one trouble which neither the genius nor
the power of the President of the Free and Easy
Social Club could overcome, was a scarcity of
funds. But few of its members had any steady
occupation. Several, like Bob Shaw, had good
homes to go to, but their fathers were chary of
their coin. The girls had homes of some sort,
and could generally provide provisions for a
picnic, but their cash resources were limited.
So severe was the pressure of the money market
at times that car-tickets for their excursions
were the subject of serious consideration for the
whole club. It may be imagined, therefore,
that the advent of a little girl, who was entitled
to a fortune in her own right, was hailed with
delight. There was not a mercenary heart in
the club, but means of enjoyment were essential.
Work was voted a slow and depressing
way of getting money. They could not work
and play at the same time, and play was so
pleasant that they could not lose time in work.
Their wits were ever exercised to raise means
for enjoyment without descending to tedious
toil. In this case, the means seemed to be
thrown in their way.

Mr. Robert Shaw was too clever to impart the
information he had gained to his associates.
He would share with them the spoils, but not
the honor of supplying them. The time had
been when he could draw upon his father but
of late money had been less plentiful at home
than formerly, and his supplies were incontinently
cut off Something had turned up at
last. He contemplated no wrong to his charge,
but if through his influence her fortune was restored
to her, she could not be otherwise than
generous

“Mum's the word,” he had whispered to the
girls, and his command had such weight with
them that they even restrained their propensity
to gossip. Mliss was kept between the two
while preparations went on for lunch.