Newspaper Page Text
f 1 5 ; • .’t tCy! * ■stress of Monterey
« Virginia Stiver Virginia Stivers Bartlett
CHAPTER XV-Continued
— 12 —
“Then what 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.”
“Head 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 needa 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 I 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, 1 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
coulpl 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, cr 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
l*g», 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 regret¬
table 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 Dominicans,
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 of
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.”
DADE COUNTY TIMES: THURSDAY, APRIL 7, 1938
Pio tightened the red sash
his waist and straightened
“Father, it shall be done.
once.” He dashed out of the
through the mission grounds, and
the direction of the village of
gentile Indians.
Junipero Serra did not feel
hard floor beneath his knees, nor
hard boards on which his head
ed. He was pondering deeply,
ly, praying to keep the
from his thoughts.
He began dreaming of the past,
his earlier days in California.
Episodes which he had
long since came into his mind.
first baptism of an Indian child,
sweetness of a hedge of wild
along a newly broken trail, a
glow on the white peaks of the
sierras. With each of these
sions came the figure of
Fages, whose eyes saw the
beauty, and whose heart loved it
he did.
“Ai, mi companero,” he sighed,
“you have deserted me. Friend,
brother.”
The room grew dark. A
darted in the low doorway, circled
the cell and flew out with a silky
tle of swift wings. Junipero Serra
smiled.
“Father Francis . . .’’he whis¬
pered, “Father Francis ... I
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 ar¬
rows, had been found after an Indian
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
and let it hang down in
front of you.
Study the creases carefully to
where it was first folded.
horizontal line through the mid¬
looks promising, so use that
fold the map once on itself.
You will now find that some of the
creases are facing some of
concave creases. So evidently
can’t go that way. Open the
and start all over again.
Try the line running perpendicu¬
through the middle. There
that’s better. The concave
lie on the concave creases
the convex creases on the con¬
creases.
Now fold the map a second time
itself. If it doesn’t seem to fit,
because you have folded along
wrong crease, in which case
the map and start all over
Perhaps you are trying too hard.
the map as lightly as you
and see if it will not help itself
fold up the way it should go.
Since you have now folded the
several times the wrong way,
creases will begin to look
convex creases and convex
like concave creases.
Just do the best you can, says a
in the Baltimore Sun, folding
map until it lies before you in
long narrow strip.
Try folding the strip from left to
If that doesn't seem correct,
it from right to left. Or maybe
Smart Daytime Fashions
!
.
dress for large figures, both
smart and becoming, both easy
to make. Even if you’ve done
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is accompanied by a complete and
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irresistible new fabrics to make
them up in.
Basque Dress for Girls.
No wonder girls love a basque
dress like this! The fitted waist
with its basque point in front gives
them such a grown-up feeling. The
full skirt, square neckline and puff
sleeves are so becoming. Make
this dress up for your daughter
in taffeta or silk crepe in time for
Easter, and later on in printed
percale or dimity.
Large Women’s Dress.
The diagram shows you how
easy this dress is to make, and
it fits to perfection. Notice the
raglan shoulder line, the waist-
Yjpg fo
(jardeners
Picking for Taste
A VOID the common mistake of
D letting vegetables grow too
long before picking. Younger vege¬
tables are more tender, more nour¬
ishing, and more palatable. Root
crops—radish, carrot, beet—are
at their best when hardly half
grown.
Pick peas just before pods fill
out completely. Pick corn just at
the “milk” stage, that is, when
the kernel, gouged with the finger
nail, yields a milky juice. Use
summer squash when small, soon
after the blossom has dropped off.
Other vegetables, of course,
should be allowed to mature more
completely before using. Toma¬
toes should be ripened well on
the vine as should winter squash.
Cantaloupes are at their best when
they need not be pulled from the
stem, but roll off the vine at a
touch.
There are, of course, exceptions
to these rules. For instance, some
may wish to use green tomatoes
for special dishes or for canning;
or they may wish to allow beans
to grow to the dry stage.
Too Busy for Honors
Once when a university wanted
to confer an honorary degree of
LL.D. upon Thomas A. Edison, the
savants had to carry on the cere¬
mony by telephone. The inventor
was too busy with his experiments
to go to accept the honor. He was
glad when he could hang up the
receiver and get back to work.
And to them he must write; to
sion San Buenaventura, San
el Arcangel. San Juan
San Diego de Alcala, Santa
San Luis Obispo de Tolosa, San
tonio de Padua, and San
de Asis.
As he leaned over the table
head was light with fever, and
quill in his hand shook. For a
ment he needs must lay his
down on the clean page before
and close his eyes. Yet he
write . . . though well he
those brothers of the farther
sions would never reach him
time. But Palou, his closest
er, his Mallorcan countryman . .
he must come. He roused
and started writing, ending the
ter, “Good Brother Palou, come
assist me to die!”
For hours into the night, the
cell was quiet except for
scratching of the pen, and the
clicking of his rosary when he
ed from his writing. Once
slipped in, and put fresh candles
the candle-sockets. He curled
at the father’s feet, and was
asleep.
As he wrote a white fog
silently in from the sea,
inland to the great valleys of
Salinas, the San Joaquin, the
mento, drowming all things in
white vapor. Along the
coast, golden beaches,
strands, jutting promontories
forbidding rocks the tides of
ing raced.
The letters were finished, all
one. Junipero Serra walked to
wooden shutter, opened it to the
dawn. A breath of fog drifted
the cell like a wraith, and
itself at the candles.
He seated himself again. With
prayer he pulled a clean page
ward him, and wrote slowly:
“To Be Delivered After My
“To His Esteemed
Don Pedro Fages,
eral of the Californias, Baja
Alta.”
Lifting his spectacles, he
away some tears that had
beneath the thick lenses, then
“My beloved son . . .”
Just as he finished, Pio
and the swallows were aware
it was dawn. Junipero Serra
the letter, sighed, and signed it
his rubric:
“Fr. Junipero Serra.”
CHAPTER XVI
Don Pedro Fages agreed with
gustias that it was indelicate for
Gobernadora to be confined by
physician, a man. But the lady
self, when she learned that a
learned man of medicine was
tioned at the Presidio of San
cisco, made up her mind that
would not remain in Monterey,
be delivered by the midwife
the Mission Carmelo, who also
livered the Indian women.
The Governor himself,
worried by the news he had
ceived from Mexico concerning
possibility of the missions of
fornia being put under the
ship of the Dominican Order,
the need of discussing the
with Junipero Serra’s
Francisco Palou, the Mallorcan,
San Francisco. Fray Palou
wise, liberal, friendly, and with
Don Pedro felt he could discuss his
impasse with Serra, and other mat¬
ters.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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? Jest take tAe 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.
A Mile
The measurement to which we
usually refer by this name is what
can be more particularly called the
statute mile. It equals eight fun-
longs each of 220 yards, or 5,280
feet in all. There is another mile—
the geographical or nautical. This
mile is one-sixteenth of a degree of
latitude, or 6,085 feet. The word
comes to us from the Latin word
“mille,” meaning a thousand, says
London Answers Magazine. The
Roman mile was 1,000 paces. They
measured a pace as the distance
between the points where the same
heel came down in making a stride.
The Roman pace—which we should
regard as two paces—was reckoned
at about five feet. This made the
Roman mile—5,000 feet—noticeably
shorter than the mile measurement
we use today.
CHEW LONG BILL NAVY TOBACCO
Moral Contagion
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Make it up in percale, gingham'
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The Patterns.
1491 is designed for sizes 6 8
10, 12 and 14 years. Size 8’re’
2 y» yards of 39-inch mate
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1395 i? designed for sizes 36 38
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requires 3% yards of 39-inch
For contrasting collar
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