The Little Gold Miners of the Sierras and Other Stories — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
The Little Gold Miners of the Sierras and Other Stories
John Stuart Mill · en
"_Me_, a hero! Haw! haw!" roared the engineer, letting fall his knife
and fork in his merriment. "_I'd_ cut a figger at the head of an army,
or speakin' in Congress, or a-setten' on a gold throne, wouldn't I? No!
no! my man!" sobering down suddenly, into a sort of sad dignity. "Yer
father ain't got the brains nor the eddication for nothin' of that kind!
All he ken do is to live clean an' honest in the sight o' the Lord, an'
to run his ingine 'cordin' to the best o' his lights."
"The Lord's too reasonable to expect more of you'n to do your duty in
the place where's He's put you," said the wife gently.
"I hope he is, Mother! Ef he looked for more--or for any big thing 's
fur as that goes, the chances are He'd be disapp'inted. I hev plenty o'
time fur thinkin' while we're scootin' 'cross the level country an'
creepin' up steep grades, an' I've worked it out to my own satisfaction
that somethin' else I've got to be thankful fur, is that my way in
life's been marked down so plain. 'Seems if I he'd been sot onto rails
pretty much's She is, an' 's long ez I do my level best on that 'ar
line, why, it's all I _ken_ do. That's the hull of it! I ain't no
speechifier, you see, Junior"--with an embarrassed laugh at the boy's
evident discontent--"I'll hev to depen' on you fur to say it--or maybe,
write done ship-shape, some o' these notions o' mine, some day. I'd git
better holt o' them myself ef I was to hear somebody what knowed how to
put things go over 'em. Mother! eddication wouldn't learn no woman how
to make better bread'n yourn. Fact is, there's nothin' ekal to home, an
home-vittles an' home-folks! With such a livin' ez I've took in, I
sha'n't need a bite at the Agapolis deepo. We're half an hour there, but
I hate the very smell o' them eatin' houses! An' please GOD!
I'll bring Her in at twelve--sharp!"
He pulled on his overcoat and felt in the pocket for his gloves. "I'm
main proud o' them fellers!" he said, fitting one to a hand half the
size of a leg-of-mutton and not unlike it in shape.
He had said the same thing every time he put them on since Christmas.
They were a holiday gift from the conductors on the line between the two
cities which was his semi-daily beat.
"I take a world o' comfort in them, this freezin' weather. Fact is,
Mother, this world's been pretty full o' comfort, all the way through,
for us--a nice easy grade--ef yer father _ain't_ a Hero, Junior!
Six-twenty! I mus' be off! I like to be there in time to see thet Stokes
is on han' an' all right. Ef you don't min', Mother, we'll hev him to
dinner nex' Sunday. I want to do somethin' t'wards savin' Stokes.
'Specially ez he's on _my_ line!"