The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1895-10-23
SELECTED STORY.
Chuchita.


Nestled in the very heart of the ST.
ezra Madres, in that land of romance
over which in old times Montezuma
ruled, is a valley--the Valley of Sad
Little Birds, 80 called from the thou
sands of tiny gray creatures that come
in the early spring, filing the air with
their low, mournful cooling until the
heavy tropical rains of summer drive
them back to their mountain homes.
In the center of this valley rests the
village of Baborogame, mere mite of
place, with some twenty low adobe
houses, mellow brown in tone, clus.
tered around three sides of plaza that
had once, in the years gone by, when
the holy fathers had dwelt there among
the Indians, been filed with beautiful
flowers and plants, but was now COW
cred with rank growth of cactus,
thistles, and wild mustard. Back of
the house lay small gardens and cor
rails, and back of these, stretching away
to the towering mountains, were Guilt
waited fields of maize and friioles,
through which wound acequais, furnish
ing the water that fertilized the land
to such extent that it brought forth in a
manner perfectly surprising to the
farmers of the adjoining valleys, caus-
ing them to believe that surely the Val
ley of Sad Little Birds was the blessed
of the saints.
On the fourth side of the plaza stood
the Church of Nuestra Sonora de Qua
dalupe, builded far back in the ages by
the good Franciscans who wandered,
fearing not, out into the wilderness to
on6 tho anrlo nf Gn11o
wild children.
bells that awoke Edward Marsden early
one morning in midsummer. He was
young mining engineer who had
been sent out from England to take
charge Of heavy piece of prospect
work at the Platerous Mine, whose
mills were pounding away with twenty
stamps on silver-bearing ore up in
rocky gorge some five miles distant.
He had arrived late the previous even
ing, and rather than climb in the night
the rough trail to the mine, had re-
NAMED at the village, being fortunate
enough to obtain accommodation with
the priest, Padre Francis, in the little
house he occupied adjoining the
church.
While the bells continued ringing he
arose and, hastily dressing, passed out
into the morning light and stood gaz-
ing at the beauty of the scene before
him. All around the valley great
masses of mauve-colored mountains,
sublime in their grandeur, lowered up
into the intense blue of the sky that
melted away far to the east into glori-
GUS pink, and there, through mighty
gorge where the mountains seemed to
have been rent asunder, standing in
majestic cliffs thousands of feet in
height on either side, as though some
great door had been drawn open to al
low the passing of the river that flowed
in between, the first rays of the rising
sun came and fell like a pathway Of
gold over the green fields, across the
village and on the opposite mountain.
The deep notes of the bells had
ceased, and through the open easements
of the church came faint swell of
music--harps. Marsden turned and en-
tered the shadowy little building and
stood leaning beside the wall against
the door. 1t was all new and strange
to him-that rude house of God with its
little altar covered with wild flowers
gathered by the Indians, and on which
burned few candles, while on one
side was gaudily dressed image Of the
Blessed Virgin and on the other life
sized figure of Christ nailed to the cross,
a crown of thorns resting on his head
and the blood oozing from the wounds
in his hands and feet. Around the
walls hung few crude old paintings
of the saints.
Then through the narrow easements
came a flood of golden sunlight that
glorified into an unreal beauty even
the coarse outlines and hard features
of the worshipers kneeling there on
the tiled floor that had been worn
smooth by the knees of generations. A
faint smell of incense hoated over the
church, and out into the stiffness a
woman's voice, sweet and rich, burst
forth in song, and the padre turned and
made the sign of the cross, and the
men and women rose to their feet and
passed out.
Marsden remained where he stood,
watching the people file by while he
waited for Padre Francis. He had only
slightly noticed the woman who had
sung, but when she came towards the
uOOi liz SaLOu lulCutly dt uSI III sur
prise, for woman she was not, but a
girl of some sixteen years, tall and with
a form already matured in that southern
cline. Over her head she wore black
shawl that was drawn around her face
and fastened under her chin, causing
her rich, creamy complexion to appear
almost white.
She must have felt the intensity of
his look, for she raised her great, inno-
cent black eyes to his and stood for an
instant, her full, red lips parted, show
ing little white teeth, then she blushed
slightly, and murmuring, Buenos dias,
senior, passed on.
That face!-and he was gazing out
even through the thick adobe walls and
beyond-back into the past, and into a
great hall where the works of the mas
tiers were on exhibition, and he was
standing before the life-size portrait of
a WOman-a num- with clasped hands