Mistress of Monterey
VIRGINIA STIVERS BARTLETT
© Virginia Stivers Bartleh . .. " WNU <,ervle*
CHAPTER XV—Continued
—12—
‘‘Then wnat happened?”
"Well, in the meantime I had qui
etly moved to the table, picked up
this letter, and slipped it into the
sleeve of my habit. But the father
did not notice. He seemed quite
distressed, and dismissed me, say
ing he would call for me again. And
here is the letter.”
••Read it”
•‘There is the usual preamble.
Then it goes on thus: ‘Upon reach
ing here these padres withdrew
themselves. They passed the day
in sleep and idleness and the night
in outrages, disturbing the repose of
those who, having spent the day in
work, must needs sleep at night.
They behaved, indeed, like sons of
darkness; breaking the jars where
the chocolate of the community is
, kept, stealing the chocolate-pots to
beat them for drums, and appropri
ating the balls which were kept by
the community for the recreation of
the religious, bowled them through
the dormitories at unseasonable
hours of the night, with result to
the religious of terror and confu
sion. And they scaled the walls of
the mission establishment by night,
(scarcely on deeds of virtue
bent . . "
“Scarcely!” crowed Fray Mari
ano, sitting up on the edge of his
cot and rocking back and forth.
“Scarcely! Ai, por Dios, that is fine!
Brother, you did a noble deed to
get that letter!”
The other rose and walked over
to the table, and poured wine for
both of them.
“Now 1 want to speak of something
else seriously to you. The other day
when the Governor and his party
were here at the mission for the
confirmation of his spoiled little Ex
cellency, young Pedro, I overheard
many things. One of them was that,
because you and I had not turned
out to be the shining lights Junipero
Serra had hoped us to be, the found
ing of the Mission Santa Barbara
could not take place.” He gazed
sternly at the other.
“Oh, tut, tut, tut Aren’t you
ashamed, Brother?”
“Stop it, hypocritical wretch! So
I have been thinking that if we
mended our ways, things might turn
out so that we could be, if not
actually the founders of that mis
sion, at least those in charge of it.
Is that not worth thinking about?”
Fray Rubi gazed open-mouthed in
admiration.
“Splendid! Oh, what a brother
have I! What a mind, what a soul!
Yes, let us do that. I shall be Fa
ther Superior, and you shall be my
subordinate.”
“Oh, no! I shall be Father Supe
rior, and you the subordinate ... I
am ... .”
“No, I shall be superior, you mis
begotten dog!”
Fray Rubi dashed his wine-cup
at Gili’s face.
The other screamed, and reached
blindly before him, but Rubi had
retreated to a corner, for in the
doorway stood the Father President,
looking in at them, shielding with a
protective gesture, the Indian youth,
Pio.
For a moment the padre stared
at the two, then covering his eyes
with his hands, stumbled away,
limping painfully to his own cell.
As though his legs could not support
him, he sank on his knees beside
his bed, and resting his head on
the rough uncovered planks, wept.
Pio stood awkwardly beside him,
watching compassionately the thin
heaving shoulders.
“Padre mio," he said at last very
softly. “Padre mio, come, Pio is
here beside you. Do not grieve,
Father.” He laid a timid brown
hand on the priest.
Junipero Serra raised his ravaged
face to the Indian.
"Yes, Pio, you are beside me.
Thank God for that. Thank God
for you, my own, my true little
son.” He allowed Pio to lift him to
the cot.
“Pio,” he groaned, “I have been
a sinner. I have failed, somewhere,
somehow, or else I would not be now
forsaken. I had gone to those two
with love and forgiveness in my
heart, to beg them to help me, to
be my eyes, since my spectacles
are gone. And you saw them, Pio.
Your innocent eyes saw them. Ah,
why have they been sent to me, for
I do not remember any sin I have
committed black enough to deserve
them as a punishment.”
“No, Father! Say it not! You are
no sinner.”
“Dear son.” The father smiled
faintly. “Little loyal one. You are
all I have, Pio, it seems. Every
thing else is falling away from me;
my right of confirmation, my be
loved mission to Santa Barbara, my
friendship with Don Pedro and now
these messages that have come to
day, denying me even hope for the
future. Pio,” he said suddenly,
“you can read?”
“A little, Father."
“Good. You shall read to me the
dispatches that arrived on the San
Antonio. You who have been my
legs, must now be my eyes. I have
looked at these letters once, but I
can scarcely see ... so read, my
son, and carefully. I may have
been mistaken when I read them.”
The boy read, slowly, painfully,
stumbling over the stilted official
phraseology of the letters from the
Viceroy, and the Father Guardian
in Mexico. •
There was no hope for the Mis
sion Santa Barbara. The Governor,
Don Pedro Fages, had not recom
mended the idea. It was regretta
ble the two Franciscans, Fray
Mariano Rubi and Fray Bartolome
Gili, were unsuitable, but it was hard
to get decent men to leave Mexico,
and go to the distant province of
California.
There was a friendly personal let
ter from the Father Guardian, but
that gave Junipero Serra no com
fort. Serra was warned against us
ing his temporal influence, as there
were rumors abroad that the mis
sions in California were to be turned
over to the Order of Donimicans,
and the Franciscans returned to
Mexico.
"No, no,” faltered the Fanciscan.
“No, Pio, you do not read that tru
ly! California to be delivered to the
Dominicans? But California is San
Francisco’s own country . . . cho
sen by his own wish . . . never
should it be in other hands than
“Slipped It Into the Sleeve of
My Habit."
those of the Brothers of San Fran
cisco! Ah, it is just a rumor ... it
could be nothing else, God forbid
that it should!”
Serra clasped his hands and was
still. “Are there no more letters?”
he asked calmly.
“Here is one, but it is not from
Mexico, Padre. It is from his Ex
cellency."
“Don Pedro! Read it.”
The note was curt, brief. The
Governor had received dispatches
from Mexico, regarding the found
ing of the Mission Santa Barbara,
and he presumed the holy father had
received the same intelligence. It
was unfortunate the holy father had
not seen fit to communicate with
him, or shown any disposition to en
ter again upon friendlier relations.
He himself and La Gobernadora,
with an escort, were leaving on the
San Antonio when she sailed for
the Presidio and Mission of San
Francisco, where La Gobernadora
would be confined by the eminent
doctor who was stationed there. And
that was all.
The father rose painfully from his
cot, and stood in the center of the
little cell, his hands outflung to
Heaven.
“Deserted! Betrayed! The face ol
all mankind is turned against me,
but Thou, O Father, art with me!
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort
me! Thou art with me always . .
“And I, Padre,” whispered Pio,
kneeling at the father’s feet. "I am
with you, always.”
The Missionary put one hand on
the Indian’s bowed head, and with
the other still upraised, stood, with
rapt face, his lips murmuring pray
ers. Pio could feel the heat of the
trembling hand even through the
thick thatch of his hair, and close
to the father as he was, could feel
his limbs trembling. At last Serra
spoke to him.
"It is finished, Pio. And if all
the years that I have toiled have
brought me nothing else, it is
enough that you are here, simple,
loving, righteous. Pio mio.” He
smiled at the boy, and turned again
to his cot. He knelt beside it.
“But, Padre, will you not lie
down?” questioned the anxious boy.
“This attitude is more com
fortable, son, for it is one to which
my body is more familiar than any
other. Pio, will you try to find
Estevanico, and bring back my
spectacles to me? For now I have
many, many letters to write, and
the time is getting short, ay, short.”
Pio tightened the red sash around
his waist and straightened proudly.
“Father, it shall be done. At
once.” He dashed out of the cell,
through the mission grounds, and in
the direction of the village of the
gentile Indians.
Junipero Serra did not feel the
hard floor beneath his knees, nor the
hard boards in which his head rest
ed. He was pondering deeply, sad
ly, praying to keep the bitterness
from his thoughts.
He Degan dreaming oi me past, ui
I his earlier days in California.
Episodes which he had forgotten
long since came into his mind. His
first baptism of an Indian child, the
sweetness of .a hedge of wild roses
along a newly broken trail, a sunset
glow on the white peaks of the lofty
sierras. With each of these impres
sions came the figure of Pedro
Fages, whose eyes saw the same
beauty, and whose heart loved it as
he did.
Ai. mi companero,” he sighed,
“you have deserted me. Friend,
brother.”
The room grew dark. A swallow
darted in the low doorway, circled
the cell and flew out with a silky rus
tle of swift wings. Junipero Serra
smiled.
“Father Francis ... ne wms
pered, “Father Francis ... I rec
ognize thy messenger . .
Then he lay very still.
Into the room, after a long while,
darted Pio, as swiftly and noise
lessly as the swallow.
“Padre mio!” he crowed, "Padre
mio! Look, your spectacles!" There
was no answer from the priest.
Pio leaned over him breathlessly.
"Look,” he said, “I have them, your
spectacles, Father.” At last Serra
stirred.
“Ah, bless you, my child?” he
said in a faint voice. “Now light
the candles for there is work to be
done."
Pio lighted the candles. If the
father had not been so engrossed in
his own thoughts he would have
seen the youth’s face was bleeding,
that one eye was closed, and that
his hair was standing wildly on his
usually sleek head.
The father fitted his spectacles
over his ears, took them off, and
adjusted the steel bows a bit, wiped
the square lenses with the corner of
his brown robe and picked up his
quill.
He must summon his brethren to
him. First there were those staunch
countrymen of his, Fermin Lasuen,
Francisco Palou, islanders like him
self. Ah, but Crespi . . . but lately
he had been laid to rest beneath
the altar of the church here at
Carmel. And Jose Antonio Murguia,
the Builder . . . but he too now
slept in the beautiful church at San
ta Clara, which he had builded, and
whose dedication he had not lived
to see.
So many of the pioneer Francis
cans were dead, Garces, El Pedes
triano, killed by the very Indians
whose souls he was bent on saving;
and that other martyr of the early
days of the Mission San Diego, Fray
Luis Jaime, whose body, stripped,
bruised, bloody, and pierced with
arrows, had been found after an In
dian raid, with only the consecrated
hands left unscathed.
Junipero Serra sighed deeply, and
breathed a prayer for those sainted
souls. California had exacted her
toll from the Franciscans . . . but
there were many left, praise God.
Puzzle of Folding Paper Maps Can Be
Solved by Just Doing the Best You Can
Pick up the map by the upper
corners and let it hang down in
front of you.
Study the creases carefully to
determine where it was first folded.
The horizontal line through the mid
dle looks promising, so use that
and fold the map once on itself.
You will now find that some of the
convex creases are facing some of
the concave creases. So evidently
it can’t go that way. Open the
map and start all over again.
Try the line running perpendicu
larly through the middle. There
now, that’s better. The concave
creases lie on the concave creases
and the convex creases on the con
vex creases.
Now fold the map a second time
on itself. If it doesn’t seem to fit,
it’s because you have folded along
the wrcng crease, in which case
unfold the map and start all over
again.
Perhaps you are trying too hard.
Hold the map as lightly as you
can and see if it will not help itself
to fold up the way it should go.
Since you have now folded the
map several times the wrong way,
concave creases will begin to look
like convex creases and convex
creases like concave creases.
Just do the best you can, says a
writer in the Baltimore Sun, folding
the map until it lies before you in
a long narrow strip.
Try folding the strip from left to
right. If that doesn’t seem correct,
fold it from right to left. Or maybe
the trouble is that you should fold
both from the right and the left end
and meet in the middle.
The map instead of being neat
and compact will look like an in
flated football. Well, at any rate
you have done your best. After all
why need it be folded as it was at
first? Just take the inflated map,
press the air out of it with your
hands and finish the job by sitting
on it.
If you have failed, just remember
that once a map has been unfolded
the odds are 10 to 1 that it will
never be folded the way it was be
fore.
An Old Indian Custom
An Indian widow was forbiddei
by custom to marry for a year after
her husband’s death because the
spirit of her departed spouse was
believed to stay v th her that long.
During the year she could not ac
cept gifts of meat from anyone nor
could she even buy it; she had to
get it herself. If she lived through
the year, says the Cleveland Plain
Dealer, and observed all the rigid
customs, she would then be given
gifts by both the men and women
in the tribe, and she would usually
get another husband, because the
next spouse would know that she
was obedient and he could depend
on her.
Indian men were not held down
by such stra’tjacket rules. They
could even put up their squaws as
stakes in gambling
And to them he must write; to Mis
sion San Buenaventura, San Gabri
el Arcangel, San Juan Capistrano,
San Diego de Alcala, Santa Clara,
San Luis Obispo de Tolosa, San An
tonio de Padua, and San Francisco
de Asis.
As he leaned over the table his
head was light with fever, and the
quill in his hand shook. For a mo
ment he needs must lay his head
down on the clean page before him,
and close his eyes. Yet he must
write , . . though well he knew
those brothers of the farther mis
sions would never reach him in
time. But Palou, his closest broth
er, his Mallorcan countryman . . .
he must come. He roused himself
and started writing, ending the let
ter, "Good Brother Palou, come and
assist me to die!”
For hours into the night, the little
cell was quiet except for the
scratching of the pen, and the gentle
clicking of his rosary when he rest
ed from his writing. Once Pio
slipped in, and put fresh candles in
the candle-sockets. He curled up
at the father's feet, and was soon
asleep.
As he wrote a white fog moved
silently in from the sea, traveling
inland to the great valleys of the
Salinas, the San Joaquin, the Sacra
mento, drowning all things in thick
white vapor. Along the far-flung
coast, golden beaches, shingly
strands, jutting promontories and
forbidding rocks the tides of morn
ing raced.
The letters were finished, all but
one. Junipero Serra walked to a
wooden shutter, opened it to the cold
dawn. A breath of fog drifted into
the cell like a wraith, and warmed
itself at the candles.
He seated himself again. With a
prayer he pulled a clean page to
ward him, and wrote slowly:
"To Be Delivered After My Death.
"To His Esteemed Excellency,
Don Pedro Fages, Gobernador-Gen
eral of the Californias, Baja and
Alta.”
Lifting his spectacles, he wiped
away some tears that had gathered
beneath the thick lenses, then wrote,
"My beloved son ...”
Just as he finished, Pio awoke,
and the swallows were aware that
it was dawn. Junipero Serra read
the letter, sighed, and signed it with
his rubric:
“Fr. Junipero Serra.”
CHAPTER XVI
Don Pedro Fages agreed with An
gustias that it was indelicate for La
Gobernadora to be confined by a
physician, a man. But the lady her
self, when she learned that a very
learned man of medicine was sta
tioned at the Presidio of San Fran
cisco, made up her mind that she
would not remain in Monterey, to
be delivered by the midwife from
the Mission Carmelo, who also de
livered the Indian women.
The Governor himself, greatly
worried by the news he had re
ceived from Mexico concerning the
possibility of the missions of Cali
fornia being put under the guardian
ship of the Dominican Order, felt
the need of discussing the situation
with Junipero Serra’s countryman.
Francisco Palou, the Mallorcan, at
San Francisco. Fray Palou was
wise, liberal, friendly, and with him1
Don Pedro felt he could discuss his
impasse with Serra, and other mat
ters. .
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Three Frocks—a Wardrobe
1452
LI 451
\°)%
I F YOU want to be all set for a
* full and gay Spring, have these
three dresses in your wardrobe.
Something for morning, something
for street and a lovely frock for
afterAoon parties. All three are
easy to make.
Shirtwaist Style.
Trim and tailored, this is the fa
vorite silhouette for Spring. The
skirt with kick pleat back and
front is fun to wear, very comfort
able for walking and going about
your daily work. Note the yoke
top and inverted pleat in back of
bodice to permit perfect freedom.
It is a grand spectator sports
dress and will make up beauti
fully in silk crepe, rayon print or
cotton fabrics.
Princess for Morning.
You’ll feel sweet as sixteen in
this pretty square-necked princess
dress with fitted lines. The sil
houette is molded and slim. Note
the pretty sleeves, puffed high, to
make the waistline look even
smaller. Choose a pretty cotton
print or one of the new rayons to
make a dress as charming as the
one shown. You’ll find the pattern
complete with sew chart telling
you exactly how to proceed.
Fitted Lines for Afternoon.
Look lovely and picturesque in
this frock on molded lines with
uplift at the waist and soft shir
ring in front of bodice. The roll
collar and low V neckline is very
slenderizing. You’ll enjoy the
good lines, the flattery of this
dress and its grand wearability.
Whether it is a luncheon for six or
a dinner at eight, you’ll be cor
rectly dressed in this frock.
The Patterns.
1976 is designed for sizes 32, 34,
36, 38, 40, 42, 44, 46, 48 and 50.
"Afyaiam P/ffrs/oa/a£/ff
IS THIS EASY ROLLIN’, TASTY TOBACCO,” SAYS BURL TATUM...
IB "VTOU know something, Ab?" Burl
■ j[ Tatum (left) says. "Rulin'the old
E range isn’t half as lonesome when
B you’ve got a cool, mellow Prince
Albert ’makin’s’ cigarette a-goin’.”
"Don’tl knowit,Burl,”AbHudkins
(right) comes back. "Prince Albert
f. is a good friend o’ mine. It treats my
H tongue right, and it draws perfect.
-■--—
In fact, P. A. makes a fellow feel he’s j?
right with the world.”
"Sure enough,” Bruce Galbraith £|
(center) puts in. "It’s one 'makin’s’
tobacco that rings the bell every
where. I understand it’s as popular in S|
the big cities as it is out here on the ■
prairies.” (Plenty popular with pipe- m
smokers everywhere too')
70
fine roll - your
own cigarettes
in every 2-oz.
tin of Prince
Albert.
Copyright, 1938
R J. Reynold® Tob. Go.
Wluatun 8®l«m. N. 0.
Size 34 requires 4Vi yards of 35
inch fabric.
1452 is designed for sizes 14, 16,
18, 20, 40, 42, 44 and 46. Size 16
requires 4% yards of 39-inch
fabric.
1451 is designed for sizes 34, 36,
38 , 40, 42, 44 and 46. Size 36 re
quires 5% yards of 39-inch fabric.
For collar in contrast % yard.
Send your order to The Sewing
Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1020,
211 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, 111.
Price of patterns, 15 cents (in
coins) each.
© Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
Uncle Phil1
SajjCs
If We Only Knew What
We have a tariff “to keep out the
product of pauper labor," but
something else must have gone
wrong.
A man who shows courage in an
emergency soon doesn't lack for
followers.
Common sense is mostly the
ability to estimate results of one’s
actions.
No man was ever able to psychi
cally analyze how he felt when
he found he was suddenly popu
lar. Men are not so hot when it
comes to self-analysis, anyhow.
At first Fortune smiles, after
you have made your pile, then
she threatens.
Execrate the "Maybe" Man
There is a constitutionally “no”
man. You don’t like him because
he is stubborn. You also dislike
the “yes” man. What about the
“maybe” man?
The friend who “wears well,” is
usually not highly emotional, but
where you expect to find him,
there he is.
When a man marries for money,
his wife is seldom fooled, at least
not for long.
Special laws should be made
for special malefactors. The
trouble is we are saturated with
the idea that all must be punished
alike to reform a single group.
AJ ^ „ I ! * * J • Our readers should always remember
(I VCIII SCU that our community merchants cannot
■raBMs^BKBBMaacsBB afford to advertise a bargain unless it
ja a ■ i| is a real bargain. They do advertise bar
Kf B1 Lr a _ f® I gains and such advertising means money
If nllVlnl 11 saving to the people of the community.
Know Your Soil
A GARDENER who knows the
** quality and texture of his soil
can get maximum returns from
his garden.
Clayey soils require careful han
dling, but are productive. Sandy
soils are early. Sandy loams are
just about ideal for most home
garden crops.
Peas, lettuce, cabbage, broccoli,
cauliflower, beets, carrots, radish
and onion like moderately cool,
moist conditions during develop
ment. Plant them early so they
will develop before the extreme
heat of summer arrives.
Plant them again later, timing
the planting so they will mature
during the cool, moist fall months.
Sweet corn, beans, tomato, pep
per, egg plant, cucumber, melons,
squash and pumpkin are not as
hardy as those listed above and
prefer plenty of heat, sunlight and
ample moisture for best develop
ment.
They should be planted later
than peas, lettuce and carrots, so
as to come into maturity during
the warmest weeks of summer.
Prosper and Live
To live, to work, to help and to
be helped, to learn sympathy
through suffering, to learn faith
by perplexity, to reach truth
through wonder—behold! this ia
what it is to prosper, this is what
it is to live!—Phillips Brooks.
/ITALIAN STYLE
OR OTHERWISE,
THIS SPAGHET
I DINNER IS
A HAPPY
SURPRISE h.
• Coats about 4c per person
to serve 10 liberal portions.
. 1 lb. GOOCH'S BIST
SPAGHITTt
1 lb. Hamburger
1 Can oi Tomatoes
Plan With Vigor
The method of the enterprising
is to plan with vigor; to sketch
out a map of possibilities, and
then treat them as probabilities.
—Bovee.
-S’""-■
Vast waalth hat baan eraatad
and big profits mada from
Wyoming's natural ratourcas.
Projactad davalopmants In Sublatta
County ara aipactad to produco tha
nait oil sansation and rasult in avail
graatar profit opportunity.
Hava you $100 that you could tnvast In
aaty monthly paymants with a good
chanca for big profits? It costs noth
ing to invastigata and may laad to
fortuna. Wrlta today for fraa infor
mation. C. ED LEWIS, Evanston, Wy.
