Me an' Babby [pp. 58-70]

"Me an' Babby."
slowly crept down lower and lower,
and in a moment was no longer to be
seen.
For the instant I was tempted to spur
my horse towards the slope and from its
crest gain one more look. Yet to what
purpose now? The life-parting had been
made,- no protracting of it could avail
to alter fate or bring back any of my late
illusions. And so drawing my rein to
the right instead, I turned to descend
into the valley and bury my dead.
Leonard Kip.
[THE END.]
"ME AN' BABBY."
I DO not know when I had thought of
the child, until today I accidentally unrolled the long curl of hair I had cut from
the little dead head. It must be twelve
years ago, and yet the shining thing
coils and clings to my fingers in a sentient way that makes me shiver.
They were a strange pair, this mother
and child. I can recall every circumstance of that terrible night. John and
I were living in San Fernando, where
he was agent for the Company. This
was then the terminus of their road,
which was fast being extended northward. We were not there altogether
more than one year; but what a year it
was, all joy and sunshine! We were
just married, and two happier hearts than
ours did not beat in all California.
In those days San Fernando was
hardly a town, as it consisted of little
more than the depot, "Railroad Hotel,"
and saloon, the latter being the general
social center of the crowds of men working on the new road. Aside from a few
Spanish and Indian ranchzerias scattered
throughout the valley and mountains,
the country was uninhabited from the
Camulos to Los Angeles.
Our three-roomed cottage was of the
roughest pattern, and furnished in the
simplest manner; but to me it was luxurious in its appurtenances, for we shared
it together, and I often declared to John
that no scent of Eastern sandalwood was
half as delightful as the resinous odor of
its redwood walls, hinting of forest
groves afar on mountain summits.
Having so few neighbors we were not
troubled with frequent callers, and I
found plenty of time to walk or ride over
the vast blossoming plains, whose interminable gardens overlapped each other
as far as eye could trace. Such brilliant
fields of poppies - the gorgeous copas
de oro of the Spaniards - and purple
slopes of thistle blooms, with vivid borderings of scarlet pinks that steeped in
fragrance the warm winds blowing in
from the distant sea! And then the
meadow larks! I never heard such
birds before or since. In the early morning and far on toward noon they reveled
in the glorious sunlight, pouring out a
flood of joyous melody that shook the
pointed caps from off the poppy buds,
whose silken petals slowly unfolded a
cup of gold half filled with dews that the
hot sun drained with burning lips.
The change from spring to summer
58
[Jan.