hen it was still a heterogeneous trading-post, and had
come up with the miners to prattle "pigeon English," and cook, as it
turned out, for Squire Perkins. When other women came--Americans from
the States--the old man married her. Long since she had adopted
American ways and had joined the Methodist church, and not one of the
neighbors, who always sent for Squire Perkins' wife in time of
trouble, thought less of her because she was a Chinese woman.

The long, white cottage, with its vine-covered walls, its
"hen-and-chicken" bordered walks, and its old gnarled apple tree
hugging the left side next to the stone chimney, became a still
queerer place when Widow Smith, a tall, straight, firm, black-eyed,
dark-skinned Indian woman, the descendant of a long line of natives of
these hills, but withal a refined, womanly old lady, came to board
with Squire Perkins and his wife. Widow Smith was a Presbyterian of
the straitest sort. The Squire's was surely a home of many races and
many creeds.

It was at this house that one Tuesday evening the Methodist class met,
and Andy Malden came and confessed Christ, and all Grizzly county was
startled thereby. It was here that Job often rode up on Bess beside
the kitchen window where Aunty Perkins was making rice cakes, and
heard her say: "Job, heap good, allee samee angel cake. Have some.
Melican boy have no mother. Old Chinawoman, she take care of him."

And she kept her word. She won the boy's heart, till he found himself
more than once going with his troubles down to Aunty Perkins', who
always ended her motherly advice with, "Be heap good, Job, heap good.
The Lord lub the motherless boy. 'He will never fail nor forslake
thee.'"

It was here that Jane also stole with her heart burdens to the
strange, great-hearted woman who mothered the whole county. It was
here she was going one hot July afternoon, as, with blackberry pail on
her arm, she walked slowly down Sugar Pine Hill, thinking of the day
when she had first met Job on that very road. Her black hair was
smoothly braided down her back, she wore a light muslin dress tied
with a red sash, low shoes took the place of the tan and dust of other
days, a neat starched sun-bonnet enfolded her face now showing traces
of womanhood near at hand. As she turned the bend of the road, Job
stood there leaning on the fence with a far-away look. It was he who
was startled this time, as he dropped his elbows and hastened to lift
his faded sombrero.