Nevada. Baker George Melville
to clean white paint; but I've found it out now, for I've been peppered by indignant shot-guns, pounded by angry broomsticks, booted by revengeful brogans, and bulldozed by man's faithful friends, the puppies.
Mother. Then, you're only a pill-pedler, after all.
Silas. A pill-pedler! great Busted!
Mother. You said you were a missionary.
Silas. So I am. What nobler mission than mine, to proclaim to a suffering world, sunk in misery by aches and torments, the advent of the wonderful cure-all that will eradicate the ills with which the body groans, from bald head to bunions? For further particulars see small bills. (Looks off R.) Ah! there's a bowlder I missed; must secure that before Foggarty's Liniment, or some other quack nostrum, defaces the fair face of nature with a lie. (Goes up run, turns.) Good-by, widow. Give the parson's benediction to the boys. (Exit.)
Mother. Well, of all harum-scarum chaps, he's the tongueyist; I couldn't get a word in edgeways.
Vermont. Little one come, widder?
Mother. No: supper's all ready for her.
Vermont. Stage's about due. Widder, I've a little matter on my mind I'd like to pan out afore the little one gets here.
Mother. About her?
Vermont (sits on rock R.). Yes, about her. It's ten years, widder, since your old man passed in his checks, and had a hole scooped for him out there under the hill.
Mother (sighs). Ah, yes!
Vermont. It was jest about that time that I dropped into your ranch one dark night, with a little girl in my arms. She might have been a five-year old —
Mother. Or six: we never could make out. She was burning with fever. You found her in a basket, floating in the creek.
Vermont. Exactly. That's what I told you, and I brought her to you because you was the only female woman in the camp.
Mother. Yes: bless her! she brought luck with her.
Vermont. You bet she did. Those little ones always do. Well, I read a long while ago, while prospecting in the big book, – that's pay-dirt way down to bed-rock, – about that king pin what struck the little game "Faro," and named it arter hisself, how he had a darter what found a baby floating in a creek, and called it "Moses;" and, as I warnt goin' back on scripter, I named our little one Moses too.
Mother. And, as that was not a girl's name, I changed it to Moselle.
Vermont. That was too Frenchy for the boys; so they split the dif, and called her Mosey.
Mother. And Mosey is just worshipped by the boys. I believe, if you would let them, they would cover her with gold.
Vermont (rising). Likely. But, when I washed that nugget outer the creek, I staked a claim in which I wanted no partners. Says I, "Vermont, here's a chance for you to use your dust, and don't you forget it." I believe the angels dropped one of their little sisters into the creek, to make an ugly old sinner ashamed of his wickedness. (Passes his arm across his eyes.) Widder, you've been a mother to her, and a good one.
Mother. And you, the best of fathers. Every year you've sent her off to school, and to-day she comes back to us —
Vermont. With Tom Carew, our Tom, the handsomest and squarest miner in the diggin's. I wouldn't trust the bringin' of her home to any other of the boys.
Mother. Except Dick: she's very fond of Dick.
Vermont. Dandy Dick, as the boys call him. Oh, he's well enough for a short acquaintance. He's only been here six months, and there's something about him – Well, if Mosey likes him, it's all right.
Jube (outside R.). Hi, hi! Mudder Merton, de stage am come, Mosey's to hum.
(Enter Jube, down run, with a hat-box under one arm, a valise in hand, followed by Win-Kye with a valise in left hand, an umbrella spread over his head. Jube comes down L., Win-Kye drops valise on platform, tumbles over it, and mixes himself up with the umbrella.)
Jube. Golly, see dat ar mongo! hist yerself, hist yerself. Want to broke ebery bone in dat ar ambril?
Win-Kye (jumping up and closing umbrella). Umblillee spillee all ligh'.
Jube. Dar's a surprise party comin', Mudder Merton. Golly! such a bobbycue. Smoove yer har, Vermont, smoove yer har, take yer boots outer yer pants; dust de cheers, mudder, dust all de cheers; dar hasn't been sich an arribal since – since the Queen ob Shebang went wisiting ole King Soloman Isaacs, nebber.
Win-Kye (puffing). Jube walkee fast, talkee fast, me no catchee bleath, me puffee.
Vermont. What's the matter, Jube? it's only our Mosey.
Win-Kye. Mosey nice gally, velly nice gally; me chin chin Mosey, Mosey chin chin me; all ligh'.
Jube. Mosey. Yah, yah, she's come, bress her! Jes' as lobely and libely as eber. Why, de boys jes' crowd roun' dat ar stage, and shook her han's, and she shook back, an' laff; golly, how she laff! might heard her a mile off. But dar's anuder.
Mother. Another, Jube?
Jube. Yas indeed, a rale lady; no riff-raff, but de real ting, de dust in de pan, jes a seraphine, hansom', oh, my! an' sweet, sweet – golly! when I seed that lilly foot ob hers creepin' out ob der stage, it jest smashed me.
Win-Kye. She snapee eyes, she smilee so (grins), she smashee me.
Moselle (outside). Never mind me, Tom, help Agnes; my foot is on my native heath, my name's (appears on run) —
All. Mosey?
Moselle. Yes, Mosey, Moses, Moselle, – we three. Ha, ha, ha! that's me. (Runs down into Mother Merton's arms.) O you dear old soul, ain't I glad I'm home!
Mother. 'Tis a happy day for us, darling.
Moselle (breaking away). Where's daddy?
Vermont. Right here, little one.
Moselle (throws her arms about his neck). Here's your nugget, daddy. Ain't you glad to get it back?
Vermont. Glad? that's no name for it (holds her off). Let's have a look at you, – sunshine all over, and as fine as a fiddle in your store-clothes.
Moselle. I'll not be in them long, daddy, so take a good look at them; for I'm just dying to get into my old climbing-suit, and away for a scamper over the rocks. Ah, Jube! there's lots of fun ahead.
Jube. Yas, indeed, honey! jes' waitin' fer yer to touch it off.
Moselle. Ha, ha, ha! I'm a match for it. Ain't I, Win?
Win-Kye. You sclatchee match, blow high-sky, fitt!
Moselle (in front of Win-Kye). Oh, you queer bit of broken China! I'd like to set you on a shelf at school, and set your head a-going to please the boys. (Points forefingers up, and nods head à la Chinese.)
Win-Kye (imitating her). No settee up fol the boys.
Moselle. Ha, ha, ha! but you must go. Ah, daddy! I'm as full of mischief as I was the day I threw the powder-flask into your frying-pan. (All laugh.)
Jube. Dat was rough on de ole man.
Moselle. Jube remembers it; for, while he was helping daddy put a new roof on and patch up the rent, I hid his shovel and pick; and he couldn't find it for a week. (All but Jube laugh.)
Win-Kye (points to Jube). That blakee him all uppee.
Moselle. So look out for yourselves, old folks, young folks: I give you fair warning. Mind that pigtail, Win: I want it for my back hair.
Win-Kye. All ligh'! you catchee, you clippee, you Mosee, me mosee too.
Tom (outside). Be careful of that rock, Miss. Give me your hand. Now you're all right.
Moselle. Oh! what am I thinking of? Mother, I've brought you a visitor, – Miss Fairlee, one of our teachers, and a very dear friend of mine.
Jube.