The Children's Portion Part 13

When she had done speaking, she turned to her closet, where all these years she had kept the simple russet gown which she had worn on the day Duke Walter wooed her, and laying aside her velvet robes, her laces, and jewels, she put it on, went before the duke again, ready to depart from the palace forever. But he had one request to make of her. It was that she would stay to superintend the bride's coming, to see that the feast was prepared, the wedding chamber ready, and the guests made welcome, because none so well as she knew the management of the affairs in the palace.

Then Griselda went among the servants and saw that the feast was made, and all things were in order, concealing her aching heart under a face which tried to smile. When at evening she heard the fickle people shouting in the streets, and saw the roses strewn as they had been on her wedding-day, then the tears began to fall, and her soul sank within her. But at that moment the duke called, "Griselda, where is Griselda?"

On this, she came forth into the great feast chamber from whence he called. At the head of the room stood the duke, still handsome and youthful; and on each side of him a n.o.ble youth and maiden, both fresh, blooming and beautiful.

A sudden faintness overcame Griselda at the sight. She grew dizzy, and would have fallen, if Duke Walter had not quickly caught her in his arms.

"Look up, Griselda, dear wife," he cried, "for thou art my dear wife, and all I shall ever claim. I have tried enough thy faith and patience. Know, truly, that I love thee most dear; and these are thy children returned to thee, whom for so many years I have cruelly kept hid from thee."

When Griselda heard these words, as one who hears in a dream, she fell into a deep swoon, from which for a time neither the voice of her husband, nor the tears and kisses of her children, could rouse her.

But when she was brought back to life, to find herself in the arms of her lord, and meet the loving looks of her children, she was speedily her calm and gentle self again.

Then they led her to her chamber, and put on her richest robes, and a crown of jewels on her head; and, radiant with happiness, all the beauty of her girlhood seemed to come back to her face. Nay, a greater beauty than that of girlhood; for, softened by heavenly patience, her face was sweet as an angel's. From that time forth the duke strove, by every look and deed, and tender word, to make amends for her hard trials. And to all ages will her story be known, and in all poetry will she be enshrined as the sweet image of wifely patience, the incomparable Griselda.

LET IT ALONE.

BY MARY E. BAMFORD.

"Hold him tight, Sid!"

"I'm a-holding, Dave!"

The two-year colt, Rix, lay on the ground. Sid was holding tightly to the la.s.so, while Dave was trying to put the points of a pair of small nippers into Rix's right eye. Rix had objected very much, but Dave was determined; he knew something was wrong with that eye.

"There!" said Dave at last, holding up the nippers. "See? Fox-tail, just's I thought. Got it in his eye."

Dave jumped up, holding the piece of fox-tail gra.s.s yet in the nippers.

Sid relaxed the la.s.so, and Rix rose slowly to his feet. The colt shut his eyes, and shook his head, as if wondering whether the agonizing fox-tail was really out at last.

"Poor fellow!" said Sid.

"I knowed that was it," a.s.serted Dave. "I see something was the matter with his eye when he come in this noon."

Rix, released, trotted away.

"Guess he'll stay out of fox-tail after this," said Sid.

"I dunno," said Dave. "Critters walk right into trouble with their eyes wide open. I'm going to make bread now."

Sid followed into the shanty, and watched Dave stir together sour milk and soda for bread. The ranch was away in the hills, much too far from any town for visits from the baker's wagon. The treeless hills were the ranging-place of cattle and horses. Far away in the valley Sid could see the river-bed. It was dry now, but Dave said that if one dug down anywhere in the sand, one could find a current of water a few feet below the surface. Dave always knew things. Sid liked to hear him talk. All this country was new to Sid.

"Does your bread always rise?" he asked.

"If it don't I give it to the chickens," said Dave, putting in some more soda. "Tried yeast-cakes, but I couldn't make them work."

"Is fox-tail gra.s.s much bother to folks?" questioned Sid, seeing Rix from the door.

"Awful!" said Dave. "Gets in the hogs' eyes, and the sheep's too.

Sheep-men try to burn the fox-tail off the pasture land, and the fire runs into the farmers' grain, lots of times. That's what makes farmers hate sheep-men so. Folks down 'n the valley round up the hogs every June to pick fox-tail out of their eyes. If they didn't, half the hogs'd go blind."

"Round up?" questioned Sid.

"Drive 'em together," explained Dave. "You'll see a round-up of my cattle 'fore long. Got to go out and hunt the hills for 'em, and drive 'em away down to the railroad. The other men are going to do it on their ranches too. Takes about a day for us little cattle-men to round up, and then about two days more to drive them down to the railroad.

Big cattle-men it takes longer."

"You like it?" asked Sid.

Dave laughed.

"Well 'nough," he said. "We stop, you know, and have a good time on the road every little while."

"What do you do?" questioned Sid.

"Oh! drink--some," answered Dave.

"You don't though--do you?" asked Sid.

"Oh! well--some," said Dave slowly, as he poked the fire. "Have to drink with other men, you know. They wouldn't think I was friendly if I didn't."

Sid looked troubled. Dave never used to drink when he worked for Sid's father two or three years before, on the fruit ranch up country.

Dave's bread was done. There were yellow streaks in it, but Sid ate it.

"The princ.i.p.al thing's to get something to eat when your [Transcriber's note: you're?] ranching," apologized Dave.

About a week after this the round-up began.

"You take Rix," said Dave. "I'll take another horse, and we'll hunt the cattle up."

In and out of the gullies they rode, here and there through the hills.

Late in the afternoon all the cattle that were to be s.h.i.+pped were together. The moon rose full and bright, making the hills almost as light as day. Sid and Dave stood by the shanty, looking back at the corral, where the cattle were.

"We'll start early to-morrow morning, Sid," said Dave. "Guess we'll meet some of the other ranchers on the road, most likely. You tired?

Musn't let one day's riding use you up. We'll be two days going down, and one coming back. We can ride nights some, maybe. It'll be pleasant."

Next night they were part way down the hills, far enough so that they were leaving the bare portions behind, and entering the live-oak districts. Sid stood in the moonlight by an oak, and watched some of the men. They sat around a little fire, and played cards and drank.

Out in the moonlight were other men, taking charge of the droves of cattle. Sid could see horns and heads, and once in a while a man would come to the fire and drink and joke with the others. Dave came after a time. He saw Sid with Rix by the tree. Sid had tied the horse there.

"Come over to the fire, and get warm," said Dave.

Sid went. One of the men held out a bottle to Dave. He took it, and drank.

"Give some to the youngster," said the man good-naturedly. "He's tired driving cattle, I reckon."

Dave looked at Sid, but Sid shook his head.