Rather to her own surprise Beatrice found herself telling not only what she hoped he would do for her aunt, but all about why they had come to Ely, even to her own puzzle as to what Aunt Anna’s special reason had been for insisting so earnestly that she would not go away. She told him of the strike, of her acquaintance with Christina, the visit of Dabney Mills, and her new-found friendship with Hester Herrick. He looked concerned over some portions of her tale and smiled over others. He laughed aloud when she described the midnight departure of Joe Ling.
“You were right to give up when he went away,” he commented. “The Chinamen in these valleys seem to know everything and just when to get out of the way of trouble. I know Joe. He has a little house and truck garden outside of Ely. He will stay there quietly until, in his own strange way, he has found out that the disturbance is over for good, and then he will come back.” He nodded with satisfaction when she spoke of the Herricks.
“I am glad you know them,” he said. “We—we think a lot of Hester ourselves, and John Herrick—there are few men I like and admire as much.”
“I like them too,” agreed Beatrice. “I don’t understand just how they belong to each other; she says he isn’t really her father.”
“I’ll not forget,” Dr. Minturn began slowly; “I’ll not forget in a long time the day I first saw John Herrick. I was up at the edge of the woods where you found me and he came riding down the trail: had been riding all night or longer than that, perhaps. By the look on his face I could see that black trouble rode behind him and that he had not been able to gallop away from it. I didn’t say much to him, but I brought him home—he and the horse were dead tired—and we got him to stay with us for three days, until that strained look began to disappear from his face. I didn’t know what had happened to him and I didn’t dare to ask. That was ten years ago and I know him nearly as well as I know myself, but I have never asked him yet.”
“And did he have Hester with him then?” Beatrice asked.
“Bless you, no. Hester lived with us. She was born at our house and her mother died there; her father had died before. They were some far kin of Miriam’s, and we kept the baby when the others were gone. Our own two children were grown up and married, so we were glad enough to have her ourselves. She was six years old, a fat, merry little thing, and the way she and John took to each other would do your heart good. He would sit on the door-stone and play with her for hours, or they would take walks together, up and down the rows of pine-trees, the first ones that had been planted then. He came back to see us many times, for he rode back and forth among the mountains, looking at mines, buying up ranches. Everything he touched seemed to prosper, but he never looked happy. It was a whole year after, that he came one day and said he wanted Hester.”