# Face to Face with the Mexicans/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
THE LOAN OF A MOZO, AND A TRIP TO PALOMAS.
No high words nor outspoken disagreement ever occurred between the departing servants and myself, but the fact began to dawn upon me that they did not intend that their Mexican customs should ever be engrafted upon my American tree of knowledge.
Without a murmur of complaint, in almost every instance, these meek-voiced, studiously polite hombres would inform me that sickness in their families required their immediate presence. If I ventured to ask where their families resided, their replies varied according to the state of the weather or their good will to me. Frequently the answer would be, in Guadalajara, Zacatecas, or San Luis Potosi, neither of which places was nearer than three hundred miles.
In time I came to observe every mood and gesture, and could generally detect, some days ahead, the indications of a contemplated departure. I remember Don Miguel Rodriguez, as he called himself, who was determined to go away so silently that I should not suspect his heartless intention.
He had given me the gratifying information that he had no family, but, as the event proved, my hold on him was no stronger for this circumstance. He now looked at me as if to say: "Well, now, Señora, you need not suppose that I do not understand your ways as ​well as our own customs. You have had no fewer than twenty mozos, and while they have all left you without the least disagreement, I, Don Miguel Rodriguez, could explain all. I know why they have gone, but you don't. I am far ahead of you, poor ignorant gringo! Some day you'll know more than you do now!"
Each one in turn seemed to regret going, but at the same time showed plainly that my ideas of life and of the management of a household were far removed from his own. But without a note of warning, or an intimation of his purpose, Don Miguel took his hat in hand, turned his head across his shoulder, while the most cynical expression that could have been depicted on the face of a human being, or of a mozo, played about his eyes and mouth as I anticipated his movements, and awoke to the certainty that another faithful one had gone to join the band of invincibles.
The word pues is thrown in between sentences so generally, and has so many significations, such as, "well," "then," "therefore," "since," "surely," and many others, that it is not always easy for a stranger to settle the point. The servants, however, in pronouncing this word make an amusing abbreviation of it into "pos. " And so it was that Miguel only said, ''Pos entonces yo me voy"
("Well, now, I am going"), but his face and figure spoke volumes. I learned from each one of them in a different way, the hopelessness and folly of any attempt to
"WELL, NOW, I'M GOING."
A gentleman who often visited our house, and who had been long a resident of the country, and who knew full well the importance of the mozo, and that the respectability of our household was at a low ebb without that all-important adjunct, kindly loaned us one of his trusties. Many times we were the recipients from him of this order of hospitality.
I used to think there could be no better opening for a good, paying business than for some enterprising Mexican to establish an employment bureau for mozos, and exact of them that their families reside in the same city.
Cosme, our borrowed mozo, was duly installed, with highly gratifying results. He was several degrees above the common herd, and more trusty than the best, having been trained by Doña Angelina, the wife of our friend. Cosme had a most benignant face, with an open, beaming countenance, and every duty he performed was done with the zeal and alacrity which had characterized no other mozo, within the range of my experience. The wish in my heart that took precedence of all others, at this time, was, that I should not be forced to the necessity of hearing from him that forever emphatic avowal which had ere now well-nigh crazed me, "No es costumbre!" I knew, if he once began, my peace of mind and happiness were gone.
A COUNTRY STORE
​irrepressible, had screwed its courage to the sticking-place and would not down. My only hope was in Cosme.
Things moved pleasantly enough for the first few days, in which Cosine charmed us by his kindness and watchfulness of the premises. I let him have his own way, about the manner in which his various labors were performed. I remained away from where he was, and not once had the dreaded expression fallen from his lips within my learning, prior to our trip to Palomas. "The things which try people show what is in them." It so proved with Cosme.
Business called us to Palomas for a day. It was settled that we should go in a carriage drawn by a spirited pair of dark mahogany thorough-breds, which had never been known to let anything pass them but a mozo.
Cosme was up betimes on this particular morning. He was more nimble and ready than ever before, in contemplation of the pleasure of an airing in the country. He gave his own characteristic toilet many extra touches. He washed his face and combed his hair, and even borrowed the blacking, in order, as he said: ''Para dar negro a las botas" ("black his boots "). So excited was he that he partook of little breakfast. The gray dawn silently melted into bright streaks of purple and amber, and the gorgeous rays of the sun threw a genial halo over the quiet city, as he made his happy preparations. When the mozo is promoted to the honor of an equestrian, his name changes to that of "peon de estribo" ("slave of the stirrup"). This will better describe Cosme's services on this occasion than to be known as simply a mozo. His was no ordinary service.
Custom requires the mozo to lead the way for vehicles, to look out for intruders, ward off interlopers, and to be on hand in case of accident. During long journeys, where the travelers camp out, or stop in mésons, the mozo goes ahead and arranges for the accommodation of the entire party. Not even a drive within the city limits, is contemplated without the mozo leading the way, although every route is thoroughly understood by the driver. He is to be relied upon in his representation as to the safety or expediency of any route or méson. ​On this particular morning we went all around our half of the castle, bolting and barring windows and doors, so that even a cat might not intrude during our absence.
A first-class riding horse of large size was scarce indeed, although it was hard to find a really bad-looking one, for, owing to their Andalusian blood, they were all graceful and spirited. It had been our good fortune to procure a large, magnificent animal to be used solely for this purpose. His flowing tail touched the ground, and his mane was long and glossy. He was docile, and frequently ate sugar or salt from my hand. At a moderate speed his gait was easy and comfortable for the rider, but when urged to unusual exertion, it became something terrible. This horse Cosme mounted. Never did mozo start out with prospects more flattering for a pleasant canter over the smooth roads, than did Cosme on that 18th day of September.
"PULQUE IN SHEEP-SKINS, FILLED EVEN TO THE FEET."
After passing through the narrow streets, our road lay for the most part across the usual Sahara-like expanse of country, only varied by the line of mountains on one hand, and on the other by several cotton factories, with their groves of cedar and other evergreens. They were not imposing, but by comparison with the neighboring monotony, to my tired eyes, were as interesting as the most famous castle on the Rhine.
Once or twice we passed strings of burros, overladen with marketable commodities —pulque in sheep-skins, filled even to the feet with the favorite beverage; also wood, stone for building purposes; and whole families of human beings were sometimes perched upon one of these weary animals. ​By far the most charming sights were several beautiful mountain cascades which gushed at intervals from the rocks in clear streams of sparkling purity. Far up in the ledge of a precipice or declivity, a spring burst forth suddenly, then dropping in a glistening fall, broke away down the scraggy mountain side in a foaming cascade, and, having disported itself in a thousand lights and shapes of beauty, quietly gathered itself together, and flowed away, a musical murmuring brook.
BOUND FOR PALOMAS
up and down, but he held on bravely, his arms broadly akimbo, his linen blouse floating out in horizontal lines, his sombrero dancing up and down, as if to keep pace with himself. He swayed backward and forward, jolted and jostled as he kept up his wild career! Now and again he ventured to turn and look back, as if to implore us not to go so fast; but our horses' spirits could not be checked; there was no help for Cosme!
Once, when hedged in by an impassable barrier of stone on one side, and a line of determined burros on the other, we were near enough to call aloud: "Cosme, go more slowly! ride in the rear!"
The temptation and pressure of circumstances were too great, and once again, after an interval of rest, my ears were greeted by the ​feeble, halting voice of Cosme, uttering in hollow accents: "Pos no es costumbre!"
That grim specter of departed mozos was again thrust at me. But what recourse had I? —what vengeance dared I seek upon this poor untutored boy, for his deep devotion to what he considered the duty of his office? If Cosme had died on the road, or a hundred robbers had surrounded and threatened his life and property, except he rode in the rear of the carriage, he would have forfeited his all, and his body would have been found, where all good mozos like to be—in front.
When Palomas was reached, and our horses were reined in preparatory to halting in front of the house where we were to spend the day, an amusing spectacle greeted us. Faithful Cosme was lying on the ground. The whites of his eyes only were visible; he quaked and shook, as if in convulsion; his tongue lolled from his mouth, and his whole attitude bespoke utter prostration. On stepping from the carriage, I ventured to go near him, and inquire as to the nature and extent of his injuries. Between chattering teeth and spasmodic jerks he raised himself on his elbow, saying: "El caballo anda muy duro" ("The horse goes very hard") —"y tengo mucho dolor de cabeza" ("and I have a bad headache"). Shortly afterwards when he appeared before me again, he had a green leaf pasted on either temple —the sovereign remedy of the common people for headache.
Palomas is a small village, with little to recommend it save that it is picturesquely situated in a pass —Cañon de las Palomas (Pass of the Doves)— in the Sierra Madre Mountains, which here separate the valley of Saltillo from the table-lands leading to San Luis Potosi. It has a thousand inhabitants, consisting for the most
​part of persons employed in the cotton factory, the leading industry, shepherds and laborers on the adjacent farms.
Rising somewhere amid the heights which frown down upon the inoffensive village a stream of pure, sparkling water resolves itself into quite an imposing cascade, making, at one jump, a fall of perhaps fifty feet, thence flowing, broken and frothing, along its tortuous way through the pass. Here the stream is deflected from its natural bed into a ditch to furnish water-power for a cotton factory of one hundred looms, and having served this purpose, it is taken through irrigating ditches, and spread over the corn and wheat fields of the Saltillo valley. The falling stream is hemmed in on one side by the jagged gray rocks, which rise up, naked and solemn, to grand heights—speaking, in their stern silence, unutterable things.
On the other side, we beheld the verdure of the native grasses, which lent beauty and color to the landscape after the destitution of the bare scenery of our monotonous sixteen-mile ride, and a touch of gentleness to this otherwise rugged and awe-inspiring scene. My imagination readily saw in the crags and serried peaks the likeness to some towering cathedral, and I almost heard the chimes from its turret. In fancy the silent multitude passed in and out at the doors of this imaginary temple, to whisper their petitions, and then disappear in the deep recesses of the rocks.
It was through the Cañon de Palomas that General Minon, who commanded a wing of Santa Anna's cavalry during the American war, was sent to flank General Taylor, from the Agua Nueva, on the day of the battle of Buena Vista. Had General Taylor met with defeat, this cavalry force would have been in Saltillo almost as soon as Taylor's army.
The neighboring mountains are covered with extensive pineries, yielding large quantities of lumber, tar, pitch, and turpentine, which find a market near home.
The house of the hacendado, where we spent the day, was typical of all houses in the towns and villages—a plain adobe structure, low, flat, and with simple pounded, earthen floors. We had scarcely ​entered the best room of the house, when one of my favorite Mexican processions approached the big door. A string of fifteen meek-looking donkeys laden with wood marched solemnly through the main hall just as they did in my own house, followed closely by the driver, uttering his characteristic "tschew! tschew!—and punching them at every step.
The parlor had its line of plain home-manufactured chairs, arranged methodically around the sides of the room, as close together as they could possibly be placed. At the extreme end, farthest from the door, was a home-contrived sofa, or divan, which extended almost the entire length of the room. It was built into the wall, having only the front legs visible. Its height was nearly two feet from the floor. At either end were seven hard stiff cotton pillows elaborated with Mexican lace, the product of a universal feminine instinct. The covering was a gay chintz, which was fastened to the framework as a cushion, and the upholstering was completed below by a valance of the same fabric.
The rocking-chairs,—home-manufactured also—occupied their normal attitudes as vis-à-vis, at either end of the sofa. I was tired from the long drive, and the rocking chairs had an inviting look, so without ceremony I ventured to take one. Instantly three women came to me, all laying their hands tenderly about me, and with one voice insisted that I must occupy the sofa.
To ascend this wonderful structure—"la sofacita," as it was called—I found it necessary to give a spring and a leap, almost as if vaulting into a saddle.
An unusual bustle and commotion about the house, and the continual passing back and forth of so many people, made it evident that some exciting event was about to take place. Two doctors were to perform some surgical operations. About half a dozen girls were ​suffering from enlarged tonsils, which it had become necessary to remove. The girls belonged to different families, and this fact set me to speculating as to whether enlarged tonsils were contagious, customary, or due to the climate. Having already received so many proofs of their martyr-like devotion to their customs, I was prepared to adopt the second hypothesis upon the slightest evidence. When the surgeons were ready, the father of the eldest girl, with great tenderness, placed her in a chair. The mother fled to the corral to avoid the sight of her child's distress and pain. As soon as the girl was in a position ready for the instrument, she would jump, and wring her hands, crying and solemnly declaring, she could not, and would not, submit to the operation. All the neighbors came in to look on, and with difficulty she was finally held down by the strong arms of her father and one of the surgeons,—and the work was done. The father with deep concern, murmured something, to my ear almost inaudible, but he kissed the girl again and again; and at last the words came: "My poor child! my baby! my sweet, good girl!"
The other girls were soon induced, by the gay spirits and complacence of the first, to be seated and have a similar operation performed. I thought of the well-known fable of the fox, when the tree had fallen on his tail, depriving him of that useful appendage, when with characteristic cunning, he told the other foxes that to wear no tail was the mode, and thereupon no-tailed foxes at once became the prevailing style. An old woman, who looked like a servant, came in and performed various, and, to me, amusing incantations with the forefinger of her right hand; keeping up at the same time a continuous mumbling of some incoherences peculiar to her class.
The curiosity that was manifested by the crowd, and the earnest inspections that took place after the operations were made, and the vigilance with which the girls watched the disposition of their bereft members provoked a smile. It reminded me of childhood days, when we jealously guarded a tooth when it fell out, for fear that a pig might get it, and the dire consequence follow of a pig's tooth taking the place of the lost one. ​If one thing more than another surprised me, it was the fact that almost without exception, all the family and the people gathered at the house of our host were afflicted with a distressing form of catarrh.
At such an altitude and in a clime so salubrious and bracing, high up in the mountains, with an atmosphere dry and pure, that either lung, nasal, or throat troubles should exist, afforded food for reflection.
Cosme, although sadly battered and bruised, managed to creep to the window, and look on at the result of the operations. On seeing what was going on, he muttered indistinctly: "Carmba!" (Good gracious!)—"Por Dios santo!" The painful experiences of his ride established a community of suffering between himself and the damsels, which gave intense pathos to his words.
About fifty persons had assembled in the house, or hung about the windows. I was so intensely absorbed in studying the strange dark faces and party-colored costumes that it was some time before it dawned upon me that I was, if possible, an object of still greater interest to them than they to me. I spoke to one or two of the women, and reassured by my friendly tones, they approached me. Soon others followed, when I became the center of an extended group—every one regarding me with almost unappeasable curiosity.
Everything about me, to the most trifling detail, filled them with childish astonishment. As their shyness vanished, they became as familiar as children. They toyed with the banged hair on my forehead, saying in amused tones: "Que bonitas estan!" "Que chulas!" ("How pretty they are!")
AT HOME UNDER THE ACQUEDUCT.
​One of them fingered a knot of red and blue ribbons at my throat, saying: "From France? No such fine things here!"—Everything fine, in their estimation, comes from France. They seemed incredulous, when I patriotically informed them that the United States, and not France, had furnished me forth in all this astonishing glory. Before I knew it, one had picked the bow to pieces, and drawn the ribbons out, to see how long they were. Another called attention to the Newport ties on my feet, and compared them, with much curiosity, and some envy, with her own shoes, which, after the fashion of the country, were sharply pointed. All appreciated the greater comfort of the American-made shoe, but ended by shaking their heads—"Very nice—very pretty—but"—and what an execrable but! "no es costumbre Mexicana!"
They were equally curious about my family relations, asking me the number of my brothers and sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins, and aunts—never stopping until I had named them all, their location and business. When I mentioned a name, they immediately caught it up, and tried to translate it into Spanish, showing much satisfaction when successful. Their efforts in this direction were laughable.
They translated readily Willie, Guillermo; Fanny, Panchita; Richard, Ricardo; Andrew, Andres; but Walter was a stumbling-block, they neither translated nor pronounced it. They asked me if in our country we had houses of adobe and windows like theirs with wooden rods outside? Their eyes opened wide and wider, as I described our houses as from two stories in height, to five, eight, ten and thirteen. They evidently thought I was drawing on my imagination.
When asked if in our country we used carriages, goats, and burros—had haciendas, ranches, factories, and mills, I described as well as I could our resources. They were convulsed when I told them that until I came to Mexico, I had never seen in my whole life more than six burros. They appreciated and sympathized with my lack of education on the burro question; for to be beyond the sight of a line of them was equivalent to being out of the republic.
Every one of the various persons with whom I chatted asked me ​if it were not very sad for me in their country. But I had not the courage to tell them it was sad for me; in truth I was so intensely interested in them, and their peculiarities, there was no room for dwelling on myself.
They evidently appreciated my friendly spirit and the willingness with which I allowed them to examine my toilet, not even resenting the liberty of one, somewhat more inquisitive than the rest, who lifted my dress a little to explore my hose, on which they murmured repeatedly: "She is very simpática" a word for which we have no exact equivalent in English, but which perhaps explains itself.
It was among these country people that I first observed any departure from the national type of feature and complexion. Some of them had glossy brown hair, gray eyes, and skin as fair as an Anglo-Saxon; while others had red hair, freckled faces, and pale blue eyes. The parents of one of these was pointed out to me. They were of swarthy brown complexion, with black hair, dark eyes, and in fact, all the characteristics which I had come to regard as typically Mexican. Among them all I observed the same gentleness of demeanor, and courteous bearing, which had already so forcibly impressed me in the city, among all classes.
Birth and education had nothing to do with it. It was an exquisite instinct, common to the people as a nation. Even here in Palomas, among a plain untutored population, of the laboring class, especially among the ignorant, wondering women who had dissected my toilet with such innocent complacency, it struck me, for in spite of their unconventional behavior, they were as gentle and courteous as royal duchesses.
About twelve o'clock, the family began making preparations for serving dinner, which I watched with keen interest. One of the daughters of the hacendado—came into the parlor, and mounting a chair, on which she had placed a box, opened a small door high up in the wall, which I had not before observed. From this snug retreat—the alhacena—she carefully drew forth cups and saucers of exquisite china, as fragile as egg-shells, and beautifully ornamented. When she had ​taken out four of each, she gently closed the door and left me wondering if it had an "open sesame" spring in the bolt; for I looked in vain for the little door, which when closed became invisible. I concluded it was a safe retreat for such articles of value in case of a revolution.
The table was spread in a bed room. We took our seats, the host at the head, but his wife did not put in an appearance, nor indeed did any other member of the family. First of all, soup was served from the kitchen in quaint, glazed pottery bowls, elaborately ornamented on the outside with vines and flowers, and on top of each bowl was a hot tortilla. Next the national puchero was brought in on plates, the tortilla in this instance, being slapped down by our plates from a fork. This removed, a kind of stew, perhaps chile guisado, which I had seen in the market—was served on plates with a narrow green rim around them, and on each was placed another hot tortilla. The next course was roast mutton, served on plates which this time had a red rim—and again a tortilla. Next came a roast of pork, filled with spices and pepper. While hot enough to make one scream, it was nevertheless, delicious. With all these courses, we were served with salsa de chili bravo (green pepper-sauce). Our host took great pains to initiate me into the merits of this sauce, but I could scarcely look at it without shedding tears copiously over its pungency. We had no vegetables, save the puchero which is described in another place; but when the last meat course was removed, we were served with a delicious quince jelly, which ended this excellent and hospitably served repast.
When dinner was over, and I was gratifying an idle curiosity by looking about the rooms, the eldest girl came in, and took her position on the floor, unrolling, as she did so, a handsome pair of slippers which she was embroidering. How strangely out of place they looked to me, in the hands of the girl seated on the earthen floor! I wondered who would be the one about those premises to wear them. But the design and the manner in which the work was executed would have been creditable in any country.
The extreme nicety and regularity with which the Mexican women, ​even in the plainest walks of life, carry out any contemplated design, with needle and thread, on linen or cotton, is quite remarkable. Time seems to have no value. It is the custom in many places, for girls to learn all the dainty stitches, and while yet in their teens, begin to prepare spreads, table-covers, napkins, and mats, which when they are married will constitute a part of their household goods.
When the wife of our host came in, she found me intently engaged in scrutinizing the bedspread, and began at once explaining its history. She said it was the work of her grandmother, who began it when a girl. It had been a part of her bridal outfit, and afterwards descended to her mother, then to herself. The material was bleached domestic, but the design was at once unique and ingenious. In the center was a large pattern of flowers and fruit, with the daintiest vines, leaves, arteries, and traceries to be imagined—all done by means of drawn threads and spool cotton. Around the entire spread was a valance wrought in the same exquisite manner. The space adjoining the border of plain domestic, above the valance, was a kind of insertion, filled in with figures of girls and boys swinging and dancing, women carrying water on their heads, shepherds with their crooks, and donkeys with their burdens—all truly represented by deft fingers, guided by shrewd feminine observation. A long flat cotton bolster had a case with several subdivisions at equal distances apart, filled in with fine crochet insertion. The bolster had first a covering of red, then the case stretched on, skin-tight, thus exhibiting the pattern of the lace. Laid pyramid-like upon each other were ten pillows, each one a little smaller than the other, and all decorated with the same lace. The spread and pillow-cases represented years of untiring, earnest labor, and also an inconceivable amount of precious eyesight, which these people evidently regarded as a mere nothing.
Altogether the day spent at Palomas was a most agreeable one, and even now to recall it affords a high degree of satisfaction. It opened to an appreciative eye the inner workings of the home life of the plain country people, in their original simplicity. Ah! peaceful Palomas!—"Pass of the Doves"—name unique and suggestive, for ​their softly-melancholy coo! coo! coo! penetrated this humble home from the clumps of trees near by. May no ruthless innovator remodel your simple adobes! no insatiate gringo invade and despoil your sacred domain! But throughout all time, may you and your honest people continue to live out your lives, undismayed and undisturbed by any progressive, distracting or contaminating influence! In primitive blissful ignorance and innocence may your children live out their allotment of three-score-and-ten years, bare-footed, bare-headed, and unsullied by contact with modern galvanized institutions!
SWEET CONTENTMENT AT THE PASS OF THE DOVES.
for our return home. He looked at his valiant steed now and again furtively, shaking his head and muttering something about not going so fast on our return. Poor Cosme! It was the old story of man proposing and a higher power disposing. The air was fine and bracing, and when we were all in our proper places for the homeward journey, I will confess to no small amount of uneasiness concerning Cosme.
The numerous and long-continued adios of our kind host and his family, and their friends, were wafted to our ears by the evening breeze, and in a twinkling we were out of sight of the house and dashing along the highway toward home. The horses attached to our vehicle, were apparently fresher than when we started in the morning, ​and if we went out rapidly, the return was more rapid still. Cosme's horse dashed along before us with lightning speed, and soon made his hapless rider but a vanishing speck in the dim distance. The trip home was accomplished in almost half the time required in the morning.
On the outskirts of the city we halted for a few moments, in conversation with a friend, and Cosme, not knowing it, preceded us to the house. On arriving we found he had opened the great door, and there, on the bench in the hall, he was stretched full length, the most utterly exhausted, bruised and aching martyr that ever suffered for a cherished principle. In spite of the irresistibly comic nature of it all, I could not help feeling an acute sympathy for my poor servant, and Cosme, seeing it, was duly grateful. The horse he had ridden was walking about the court at will.
My dear little friend, Pomposita, had watched for our coming, and I had scarcely alighted from the carriage ere she came over and gathered me in her arms, saying that the day had seemed to her like a week, as she watched and waited for my return with feverish impatience. She clapped her hands, and laughed immoderately, when I related to her the amusing incidents of our trip to Palomas.
The next day Cosme appeared before me limping, while his countenance was indeed crestfallen and sorrowful as he said that he would have to leave our service, adding in a conciliatory way that it was not because he did not like us and our mode of life, nor that he would not willingly serve us until the end of his days, but he wished to learn the trade of a blacksmith.
The dreadful suspicion dawned upon me, that as I could not Americanize the mozo I would have to Mexicanize myself and household. Faithful Cosme! How sorry I was to lose him At last I knew enough of the characteristics of the mozo to shrewdly suspect that his excuse was only a polite cover for his deep consciousness of the sufferings he had endured in our service the previous day. He did not intend to serve in a household where such an occurrence might be indefinitely repeated. He would be a mozo for the house; for the highway—never! ​I made every effort to conciliate him —"never again would his services be demanded on such a ride." I walked about the court disconsolately, talking kindly to him. Nearer and nearer he approached the door. I followed, entreating him not to go; well knowing that if I lost Cosme —and all the other mozos had gone to San Luis Potosi, or some other far-away city, to see their families,—not a shadow of opportunity remained to procure another.
An admirable feature in Cosme's composition was his love of truth. He had never heard the story of the cherry tree and the little hatchet, but his innate veracity was not to be outdone by anybody. Somehow I always felt that when Cosme did go he would express the real cause of his leaving and not quote, like his predecessors, a mythical family's imaginary demands. Nor was I mistaken. When the poor boy reached the door he halted, turned and looked mournfully at me, as though imploring me not to ask him to stay longer, while in pathetic tones he murmured, "Pos entonces yo me voy; adios, Señorita" ("Well, now, I'm going; good-by, Señorita").
He stood on the threshold, perhaps For the last time, when I again ventured to remonstrate, "Well, now, Cosme, why won't you stay?" Almost closing the heavy doors as if to prevent another appeal, and tossing his hat far back on his head, his eyes rolling, his face ashen but determined, he made the final pièce de resistance with admirable finesse. Catching the huge key and closing the door, so that he barely had a view of my face, while one foot halted on the threshold, with bent figure and eyes beaming kindly regret upon
"YOUR AMERICAN CUSTOMS ARE TOO HARD ON ME"
OLD STONE CHURCH AT EL PASO, TEXAS.