Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1897-10-23

4M:@y3lK IOfBOC IL. Anu tC
IWSs2 live in the midst OF
WlsE2 matter-o -offact
ZSyEEgy world and forgot
+ NW that it is such is
J." what tmakes most of
the tragedies 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 looked from the
green swell of the divide over rs 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
mountains 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 woman. And there
was no woman.
He coasted down the incline of the
divide and made for the 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 MOTTO be alone. Some nymph
should come dripping and glittering
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 be-
tween the barley field and the road.
The grasses and Towering 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 road side, 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 zanja nor sprite
of the field, only black-gowned school
girl, who stood on the school house
steps and waved handkerchief at the
passingtourist. The tourist was man
and young-which was all the school
girl 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 under
stand.
It was all part of the romance
and the country, and she understood.
She left the calling, screaming chill
dren and her older companions and
strolled toward where he sat, on the
grass under the trees. TWAS out of sight
of the school house. He watched her
black, 1.-the figure moving through the
hecked sunshine that came in through
the plumy branches of the peppers.
They were oil alone in the midst of
spring and the garden, birds were sing
ing from the earth, the sun was shin
ing 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 further.
Her name, she said, was Alicia.
How sweet the double e's of the vowels,
how different the stern Nelson to which
he had to confess. But even that was
pretty when she said it. How old was
she? She was fifteen. The heroines
of the poets were that age. Where did
she live? Some vague way over there
among the pink blossoms. He re.
membered that when he was child
those questions had always begun an
acquaintance: "What is your name!
How old are you? Where do you live?'
All the wisdom he had accumulated in
the years between then and now had
vanished. 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 news
paper roll. Inside of the paper there
was q tortilla and boiled meat. She ate
these while she talked to him, and
when she had finished she started tc
draw the back of her wrist across hel
mouth; but remembering the teachings
of school and the presence OF the for
eign young man, she took out hel
handkerchief. He had meant to asl
for that handkerchief, the white sigma
which had futtered in the air; but Ii,
saw that it was grimy and uk-spotted
so he asked for the wire ring she wore
instead. Alicia parted with it a.
though it had been very precious.
Then she brushed the crumbs from
her black frock and stood up. ..
must go now," she said, with an accen
that kept the words from being com
monplace.
First tell me where you live," h
asked.
She pointed over to the patch o
feathery pink. 'In the white hous
in them trees"
"What is your fathers name?"
"Mateo Manzelo," she answered
winding one of her heavy braid
around her hand
II will come to see you tonight,
he told her