on the frontier-第6章

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yourselves　of　the　house　and　its　poor　hospitality；〃　said　Don　Juan；

with　time…honored　courtesy；　producing　the　rustic　key　of　the　gate　of

the　patio。　　〃It　is　at　your　disposition；　caballeros；〃　he　repeated；

leading　the　way　as　his　guests　passed　into　the　corridor。



Two　hours　passed。　　The　hills　were　darkening　on　their　eastern

slopes；　the　shadows　of　the　few　poplars　that　sparsedly　dotted　the

dusty　highway　were　falling　in　long　black　lines　that　looked　like

ditches　on　the　dead　level　of　the　tawny　fields；　the　shadows　of

slowly　moving　cattle　were　mingling　with　their　own　silhouettes；　and

becoming　more　and　more　grotesque。　　A　keen　wind　rising　in　the　hills

was　already　creeping　from　the　canada　as　from　the　mouth　of　a　funnel；

and　sweeping　the　plains。　　Antonio　had　forgathered　with　the

servants；　had　pinched　the　ears　of　the　maids；　had　partaken　of

aguardiente；　had　saddled　the　mules；Antonio　was　becoming

impatient。



And　then　a　singular　commotion　disturbed　the　peaceful　monotony　of

the　patriarchal　household　of　Don　Juan　Briones。　　The　stagnant

courtyard　was　suddenly　alive　with　peons　and　servants；　running

hither　and　thither。　　The　alleys　and　gardens　were　filled　with

retainers。　　A　confusion　of　questions；　orders；　and　outcrys　rent　the

air；　the　plains　shook　with　the　galloping　of　a　dozen　horsemen。　　For

the　acolyte　Francisco；　of　the　Mission　San　Carmel；　had　disappeared

and　vanished；　and　from　that　day　the　hacienda　of　Don　Juan　Briones

knew　him　no　more。





CHAPTER　III





When　Father　Pedro　saw　the　yellow　mules　vanish　under　the　low

branches　of　the　oaks　beside　the　little　graveyard；　caught　the　last

glitter　of　the　morning　sun　on　Pinto's　shining　headstall；　and　heard

the　last　tinkle　of　Antonio's　spurs；　something　very　like　a　mundane

sigh　escaped　him。　　To　the　simple　wonder　of　the　majority　of　early

worshipersthe　half…breed　converts　who　rigorously　attended　the

spiritual　ministrations　of　the　Mission；　and　ate　the　temporal

provisions　of　the　reverend　fathershe　deputed　the　functions　of　the

first　mass　to　a　coadjutor；　and；　breviary　in　hand；　sought　the

orchard　of　venerable　pear　trees。　　Whether　there　was　any　occult

sympathy　in　his　reflections　with　the　contemplation　of　their

gnarled；　twisted；　gouty；　and　knotty　limbs；　still　bearing　gracious

and　goodly　fruit；　I　know　not；　but　it　was　his　private　retreat；　and

under　one　of　the　most　rheumatic　and　misshapen　trunks　there　was　a

rude　seat。　　Here　Father　Pedro　sank；　his　face　towards　the　mountain

wall　between　him　and　the　invisible　sea。　　The　relentless；　dry；

practical　Californian　sunlight　falling　on　his　face　grimly　pointed

out　a　night　of　vigil　and　suffering。　　The　snuffy　yellow　of　his　eyes

was　injected　yet　burning；　his　temples　were　ridged　and　veined　like　a

tobacco　leaf；　the　odor　of　desiccation　which　his　garments　always

exhaled　was　hot　and　feverish；　as　if　the　fire　had　suddenly　awakened

among　the　ashes。



Of　what　was　Father　Pedro　thinking？



He　was　thinking　of　his　youth；　a　youth　spent　under　the　shade　of

those　pear　trees；　even　then　venerable　as　now。　　He　was　thinking　of

his　youthful　dreams　of　heathen　conquest；　emulating　the　sacrifices

and　labors　of　Junipero　Serra；　a　dream　cut　short　by　the　orders　of

the　archbishop；　that　sent　his　companion；　Brother　Diego；　north　on　a

mission　to　strange　lands；　and　condemned　him　to　the　isolation　of　San

Carmel。　　He　was　thinking　of　that　fierce　struggle　with　envy　of　a

fellow　creature's　better　fortune　that；　conquered　by　prayer　and

penance；　left　him　patient；　submissive；　and　devoted　to　his　humble

work；　how　he　raised　up　converts　to　the　faith；　even　taking　them　from

the　breast　of　heretic　mothers。



He　recalled　how　once；　with　the　zeal　of　propagandism　quickening　in

the　instincts　of　a　childless　man；　he　had　dreamed　of　perpetuating

his　work　through　some　sinless　creation　of　his　own；　of　dedicating

some　virgin　soul；　one　over　whom　he　could　have　complete　control；

restricted　by　no　human　paternal　weakness；　to　the　task　he　had　begun。

But　how？　　Of　all　the　boys　eagerly　offered　to　the　Church　by　their

parents　there　seemed　none　sufficiently　pure　and　free　from　parental

taint。　　He　remembered　how　one　night；　through　the　intercession　of

the　Blessed　Virgin　herself；　as　he　firmly　then　believed；　this　dream

was　fulfilled。　　An　Indian　woman　brought　him　a　Waugee　childa　baby…

girl　that　she　had　picked　up　on　the　sea…shore。　　There　were　no

parents　to　divide　the　responsibility；　the　child　had　no　past　to

confront；　except　the　memory　of　the　ignorant　Indian　woman；　who

deemed　her　duty　done；　and　whose　interest　ceased　in　giving　it　to　the

Padre。　　The　austere　conditions　of　his　monkish　life　compelled　him　to

the　first　step　in　his　adoption　of　itthe　concealment　of　its　sex。

This　was　easy　enough；　as　he　constituted　himself　from　that　moment

its　sole　nurse　and　attendant；　and　boldly　baptized　it　among　the

other　children　by　the　name　of　Francisco。　　No　others　knew　its

origin；　nor　cared　to　know。　　Father　Pedro　had　taken　a　muchacho

foundling　for　adoption；　his　jealous　seclusion　of　it　and　his

personal　care　was　doubtless　some　sacerdotal　formula　at　once　high

and　necessary。



He　remembered　with　darkening　eyes　and　impeded　breath　how　his　close

companionship　and　daily　care　of　this　helpless　child　had　revealed　to

him　the　fascinations　of　that　paternity　denied　to　him；　how　he　had

deemed　it　his　duty　to　struggle　against　the　thrill　of　baby　fingers

laid　upon　his　yellow　cheeks；　the　pleading　of　inarticulate　words；

the　eloquence　of　wonder…seeing　and　mutely　questioning　eyes；　how　he

had　succumbed　again　and　again；　and　then　struggled　no　more；　seeing

only　in　them　the　suggestion　of　childhood　made　incarnate　in　the　Holy

Babe。　　And　yet；　even　as　he　thought；　he　drew　from　his　gown　a　little

shoe；　and　laid　it　beside　his　breviary。　　It　was　Francisco's　baby

slipper；　a　duplicate　to　those　worn　by　the　miniature　waxen　figure　of

the　Holy　Virgin　herself　in　her　niche　in　the　transept。



Had　he　felt　during　these　years　any　qualms　of　conscience　at　this

concealment　of　the　child's　sex？　　None。　　For　to　him　the　babe　was

sexless；　as　most　befitted　one　who　was　to　live　and　die　at　the　foot

of　the　altar。　　There　was　no　attempt　to　deceive　God；　what　mattered

else？　　Nor　was　he　withholding　the　child　from　the　ministrations　of

the　sacred　sisters；　there　was　no　convent　near　the　Mission；　and　as

each　year　passed；　the　difficulty　of　restoring　her　to　the　position

and　duties　of　her　sex　became　greater　and　more　dangerous。　　And　then

the　acolyte's　destiny　was　sealed　by　what　again　appeared　to　Father

Pedro　as　a　direct　interposition　of　Providence。　　The　child　developed

a　voice　of　such　exquisite　sweetness　and　purity　that　an　angel　seemed

to　have　strayed　into　the　little　choir；　and　kneeling　worshipers

below；　transported；　gazed　upwards；　half　expectant　of　a　heavenly

light　breaking　through　the　gloom　of　the　raftered　ceiling。　　The　fame

of　the　little　singer　filled　the　valley　of　San　Carmel；　it　was　a

miracle　vouchsafed　the　Mission；　Don　Jose　Peralta　remembered；　ah

yes；　to　have　heard　in　old　Spain　of　boy　choristers　with　such　voices！



And　was　this　sacred　trust　to　be　withdrawn　from　him？　　Was　this　life

which　he　had　brought　out　of　an　unknown　world　of　sin；　unstained　and

pure；　consecrated　and　dedicated　to　God；　just　in　the　dawn　of　power

and　promise　for　the　glory　of　the　Mother　Church；　to　be　taken　from

his　side？　　And　at　the　word　of　a　self…convicted　man　of　sina　man

whose　tardy　repentance　was　not　yet　absolved　by　the　Holy　Church。

Never！　never！　　Father　Pedro　dwelt　upon　the　stranger's　rejection　of

the　ministrations　of　the　Church　with　a　pitiable　satisfaction；　had

he　accepted　it；　he　would　have　had　a　sacred　claim　upon　Father

Pedro's　sympathy　and　confidence。　　Yet　he　rose　again；　uneasily　and

with　irregular　steps　returned　to　the　corridor；　passing　the　door　of

the　familiar　little　cell　beside　his　own。　　The　window；　the　table；

and　even　the　scant　toilette　utensils　were　filled　with　the　flowers

of　yesterday；　some　of　them　withered　and　dry；　the　white　gown　of　the

little　chorister　was　hanging　emptily　against　the　wall。　　Father

Pedro　started