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Updated: June 5, 2025
Her reserve during the interview contrasts with the vivacity of her mother as though they had changed respective places in relationship. Mr. Gray is troubled by this, and as he rises to go, he takes M'liss's hand in his. "Have you nothing to say to me before I go?" he asks. "Good-by," answers M'liss. "Nothing more?" "That's enough," rejoins the child simply. Mr. Gray bites his lips.
"Hadn't you better take some one with you?" said Mrs. Morpher. "By all means. I 'll go!" said Mr. McSnagley, with feverish alacrity. The master looked inquiringly at M'liss. "He can go if he wants to, but he'd better not," said M'liss, looking directly into McSnagley's eyes. "What do you mean by that, you little savage?" said McSnagley quickly. M'liss turned scornfully away.
"You're safe enough now till daylight," said M'liss, when she had recovered her breath, "but you must make the best time you can through these woods to-night, keeping the wind to your back, until you come to the Wingdam road. There! do you hear?" said M'liss, a little vexed at her companion's apathy.
The image of M'liss rose before him with flashing eye and long black hair, and seemed to beat down and resist defiantly the suspicion that crept slowly over his heart.
The sigh was quite as sincere in its way, however, and after a moment of serious silence he asked about her father. Her father. What father? Whose father? What had he ever done for her? Why did the girls hate her? Come, now! What made the folks say, "Old Bummer Smith's M'liss" when she passed? Yes; oh, yes. She wished he was dead she was dead everybody was dead; and her sobs broke forth anew.
But the lines of the copybook thereafter faded into long parallels of never-ending road, over which childish figures seemed to pass sobbing and crying to the night. Then, the little schoolhouse seeming lonelier than before, he shut the door and went home. The next morning M'liss came to school.
That was just the way with my John afore he was married. I suppose you'll see M'liss and her before you go. They say that she is going to San Francisco soon. Is it so?" Mr. Gray understands the personal pronoun to refer to Mrs. Smith, a title Mrs. Morpher has never granted M'liss's mother, for whom she entertains an instinctive dislike.
At sunrise the next morning he was picking his way through the palm- like fern and thick underbrush of the pine forest, starting the hare from its form, and awakening a querulous protest from a few dissipated crows, who had evidently been making a night of it, and so came to the wooded ridge where he had once found M'liss.
"There's been a row down to Smith's old Pocket a fight a man killed." "Who?" shouted M'liss from the stairs. "McSnagley shot dead." THE PEOPLE vs. JOHN DOE WATERS. Before Chief Justice LYNCH. The hurried statement of the messenger was corroborated in the streets that night. It was certain that McSnagley was killed.
The handsome outlines at the windows peered further into the schoolroom, and a saintly, Raphael-like face, with blond beard and soft blue eyes, belonging to the biggest scamp in the diggings, turned toward the child and whispered: "Stick to it, M'liss! It's only a big bluff of the parson."
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