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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Mr. Jack Hamlin's Mediation"

She, from some obscure sense
of imitation, stared at the treetops and the sky as the second man had
done. But the first man now laid his hand kindly on her shoulder and
said, "Sit down."
Then they told her there had been an earthquake so strong that it had
thrown down a part of the hillside, including the wagon trail. That a
wagon team and driver, such as she had described, had been carried down
with it, crushed to fragments, and buried under a hundred feet of rock
in the gulch below. A party had gone down to examine, but it would be
weeks perhaps before they found it, and she must be prepared for the
worst. She looked at them vaguely and with tearless eyes.
"Then ye reckon dad's dead?"
"We fear it."
"Then wot's a-goin' to become o' me?" she said simply.
They glanced again at each other. "Have you no friends in California?"
said the elder man.
"Nary one."
"What was your father going to do?"
"Dunno. I reckon HE didn't either."
"You may stay here for the present," said the elder man meditatively.


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