Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1895-12-10
felt he ought to have provoked in them

regularly broken in upon at about sunset
by two or three strokes from the cracked
bell that hung in the open belfry which
reared itself beyond the gnarled pear
trees. He could not say that it was ag-
gressive or persistent, like his own church
Delis, nor that 1t even expressed to him
any religious sentiment. Moreover, it was
| not Sabbath" bell, but daily one and
even then seemed to be only signal to
ears easily responsive rather than a stern
| reminder. And the hour was always sin
| gularly witching one.
1t was at this hour, one afternoon, that
with the released scents of the garden
there came to him a strange and subtle
perfume that was new to his senses. He
laid aside his book, went into the garden,
and, half unconscious of his treSpass, pass
ed through the mission orchard and thence
into the little churchyard beside the
church.
He walked to the door of the church; to
his surprise 1t was open. Standing upon
the threshold, he glanced inside and stood
Tor a moment utterly bewildered. In a
man of refined taste and education that
bizarre and highly-colored interior would
nave only provoked a smile or shruS; to
stephen Masterton's highly emotional ma
ture, but artistic inexperience, strangely
enough, 1t was profoundly impressive. The
| heavily timbered, roughly hewn roof, bar
req with alternate bands of blue and In
dian red, the crimson hangings, the gold
ara black draperies, affected this religious
backwoodsman exactly as they were de-
signed to affect the heather and acolytes
1or whose conversion the temple had been
reared. He could scarcely take his eyes
from the tinsel-crowned Mother of Heaven
Respondent in white and gold and glitter
ing Jewels, the radiant shield before the
host: Illuminated by tall spectral candles
In the mysterious obscurity of the altar,
dazzied him like the rayed disk of the set
ting sun.
He was turning quickly away when the
Keeper OF the Tienda--a man of sloth and
sin-gently approached him from the
shadow OF column. with a mute gesture,
which he took to be one of invitation A
fierce protest of scorn and Indignation
swelled to his throat, but died upon his
lips Yet he had strength enough to erect
MS gaunt, emaciated figure, throwing out
his long arms and extended palms in the
attitude of defiant exercism, and then rush
swiftly from the church. AS he did so
ne thought he saw faint smile cross the
change of words with neghboring wor-
SHIPPER of more exalted appearance came
to his ears. But it was not Ineligible to
his comprehension.
The next day he wrote to his doctor in
that quaint grandiloQuence of written
speech with which the half-educated man
balances the slips of his colloquiai phras-
ing:
Do not let the purgation of my flesh be
unduly protracted. What with the sloth and
idolatries OF Baal and Ashtaroth. which l
see daily around me, l feel that without
protest not only the flesh but the spirit
merctfully returning, and 1 found my
self yesterday able to take long ride at
that hour which they here keep sacred for
name of THE Angelus." Thus do they
bear false witness to Him! Can you tell
me the meaning of the Spanish words,
Don keyhotter?" 1 am ignorant of these
sensuous southern languages, and am
aware that this Is not the correct spelling,
out have striven to give the phonetic
equivalent. 1t was used 1 am inclined to
tnlnk, IN reference to myself, by an idol
alter.
P. S.-You need not trouble yourself
nave Just ascertained that the words In
question were simply the title of an idle
mover. and, OF course, could not possibly
refer to me.
Howbeit 1t was as Don Quixote"-i.e.,
the common Spaniard's conception of the
Knight of La Mancha, merely the simple
fanatic and madman-that Mr.. Stephen
Masterton ever after rode all unconscious
iy through the streets of the mission, amid
the Multiplying, half-smiling glances of
the people.
In spite of his meditations. his single
volume, and his habit of retiring early.
he found his evenings We're growing lonely
and tedious. He missed the prayer meet
ing. and. above all. the hymns. He had
me baritone voice, sympathetic as may
be imagined. but not cultivated. One night,
IN the seclusion of his garden, and secure
IN his distance from other dwellings, he
raised his voice In familiar camp meeting
iiy I'LL Win StronS coFenanterS ring in
the chorus. Growing holder as he went on,
he at last filled the quiet night with the
strenuous sweep of his chant. Surprised
at his own fervor,. he paused for a mo-
ment listening, half frightened, half
ashamed of his outbreak. But there was
only the triling of the night wind in the
leaves. or the far-off yelp of a coyote.
For moment he thought he heard the
metallic twang of stringed instrument
in the mission garden beyond his own, and
remembered his contiguity to the church
with stir of defiance. But he was re-
lieved nevertheless. His pent-up emotion
had found vent, and without the nervous
excitement that had followed his old ex-
altation. That night he slept better, He
had found the Lord agan-with Psal-
mody!
The next evening he CHANGED upon a
softer HYMN Of the same simplicity, but
with vein Of human tenderness in it's
aspirations which his more hopeful mood
duly rendered. At the conclusion of the
first verse he was, however distinctly con-
scIous of being followed by the same
twanging sound he had heard on the pre-
vious night, and which even his untu-
t0red ear could recognize as an attempt
to accompany him. But before he had fin
ished the second verse the unknown play
er, after an ingenious but Intellectual es-
say to grasp the right chord, abandoned
it with an impatient and almost pettish
flourish, and loud bang upon the sound
ing board of the unseen instrument. Mas
terton finished it alone.
With his curiosity excited, however, he
tried to discover the locality of the hidden
player. The sound evidently came from the
mission garden, but in his ignorance of the
language he could not even interrogate his
Indian housekeeper On the third night,
however. his hymn was uninterrupted by
any sound from the former musician. A