Santa Fe daily New Mexican., 1897-11-05
AMID ROMANCE.

The fact that he was riding bicycle
should have kept him to remembering that
he was not living i'll an age of romance,
but he forgot it, and to live in the midst
of matter Of fact world and forget that
it is such is what makes most of the TRACE |
dies of that world.
There were excuses for him, of course
the first that he was young; the second
that he was care free, and the last and, as
the nursery rhyme has it, the best that
he had come from the early spring Of New
York to that of southern California.
He had ridden through willow paths
along the gravel roads that month before
had been the bed of the San Gabriel. He
had crossed the shallow cleaning branches
of the stream time and again. He had
loomed from the green swell of the divide
over as green a valley, where wild flowers
were thick on the ground and where peach
and almond trees made pink and white
patches. just across the valley the noun
tains were half covered with snow, but the
air was warm from the sea and the sky
was bright blue. So there was excuse for
his forgetting the bicycle and thinking the
world place for romance.
A place for romance, but there can be
none without u woman, and there was no
woman.
He coasted down the incline of the d.
vide and made for tho Monte road by tree
bordered byways and paths. There was
not flake Of dust in the splendid air. All
kinds of picturesque, old world things
ought to happen In a garden of this sort
man ought certainly not to be alone. Some
nymph should come dripping and glitter
ing out of the zanja, some slender figure
should push its way through the high,
green barley and the fluffy branches of the
peppers and stand beside him. He forgot
the barbed wire fence between the barley
field and the road, the grasses and flower
ing weeds and the peppers hid it, but the
zanja rippled and purled ON, the barley
waved in the wind from the sea, and the
sun CLEANED ON an uninhabited world.
Then bell rang out just ahead by the
roadside, and the silence Of the spring high
noon was filled with the voices Of children
and young girls.
The woman entered the garden. She
was neither nymph of the Zanja nor sprite
Of the field, only a black gowned school
girl, who stood on the schoolhouse steps
and waved handkerchief at the passing
tourist. The tourist was man and young
which was all the schoolgirl cared about
The girl was pretty and willowy which
was all the man cared about. He raised
his cap and motioned to clump Of trees
down the highway. OF course she would
understand. Tt was all a part OF the To-
nance and the country, and she under
stood. She left the calling, screaming
children and her older companions and
strolled toward where he sat ON the grass
under the trees. 1t was out of sight Of the
schoolhouse. He watched her black, 1.-the
figure moving through the fecked sun
shine that came in through the plumy
branches Of the peppers. They were all
alone in the midst of spring and the gar
den, birds wero singing from the earth,
the sun was shining from the sky and the
soft wind blew from the sea beyond the
valley. The snowy mountains were far
away, and the world ON the other side of
them yet farther.
Her name she said, was Alicia. How
sweet the sound of the vowels, how diff
ferent the stern Nelson to which he had
to confess! But even that was pretty when
she said it, How old was she? She was
15 The heroines Of the poets were that
age. Where did she live? Some vague way
over there among the pink blossoms. He
remembered that when he was child
those questions had always begun an ac-
quaintance: "What is your name? How
olJ nv, x,o,,9 yVI,o,,o RI WON liyaS'
All the wisdom he had accumulated in
the years between then and now had van
ished. He did not want it. He forgot that
he had meant to reach the hotel Of the
valley by luncheon time. He was not
hungry, but Alicia was. She put her
plump brown hand into her pocket and
brought out a newspaper roll. Inside OF
the paper there We're a tortilla and boiled
meat. She ate these while she talked to
him, and when she had finished she started
to draw the back Of her wrist across her
mouth, but remembering the teachings OF
school and the presence of the foreign
young man she took out her handkerchief.
He had meant to ask for that handker-
chief the white signal which had fiuttered
in the air, but he saw that it was grimy
and ink spotted. So he asked for the wire
ring she wore instead. Alicia parted with
it as though it had been very precious
Then she brushed the crumbs from her
black frock and stood up. II must go
now," she said, with an accent that kept
the words from being commonplace
"First tell me where you live, " he asked.
She pointed over to the patch Of feathery
pink. "In the white house in them trees "
"What is your fathers nameP"
"Mateo Manzelo, she answered, wind
ing one Of her heavy braids around her
hand.
II will come to SEQ you tonight" " he
told her.
"Yes, she murmured, with musical in
difference, as she went leisurely up the
pathway and never once looked back.
The man rode on to the hotel and re-
turned to real life as he asked If valise
and trunk had come and II there were
any letters for Nelson Cameron. There
was one. After he had had his luncheon
he sat on the long piazza, from which the
snow capped mountains could be seen
through the climbing roses, and read 1t,
but the letter was dull, and the memory
Of the brown hair and eyes that had al
ways seemed the most beautiful In the
world paled beside that of two soft, black
braids and two orbs as soft and as black.
There was vague promise that the owner
Of the brown hair and eyes might be in
California, too, ero long. Cameron was
not so pleased as he tried to think he was.
He began to imagine the meeting Of that
night.
It came about. Old Manzelo and his
fat, black wrapped wife did not object to
him in the least. He walked for hours up
and down the imoonlit road with Alicia's
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