Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1898-03-24
Ell PHDRE TRIsTE.
BY WALTER MATsoN.

Diego sat on the south side of The
ancient adobe church of San Pedro. Il
was the time Of day when the goot
fathers, whose lives had been passed
at the now forgotten mission, were TAX
ing their customary seista. 1t was Die
COS time to be idle. He looked south
ward, over the almond trees just burst
ing into blossom, over the stubby vines
that the half-naked descendants of q
winters vintage, over the garden patch
and network of irrigating bitches, over
the great tawny desert of death, towarC
the land of his birth. The wind, a very
mild breeze for February, whist!ed
around the corner of the building. II
came fresh from the Ration Mountains
II chilled him. He drew closer to his
shelter. 1t chilled his heart ALSO and
as he looked over the orchard decked
with fragrant promise, he muttered
the old proverb, presto maduro, presto
podrido (soon ripe, soon rotten). Evil
IDENTIFY his mind was projected beyond
the range of human vision.
With the involuntary expression
came the thought of name that he
had not heard uttered for years-his
own name, Diego. None of those with
whom he had lived these three spring
times knew it; none save old Padre
Sebastiano, his confessor, in whose
grave. He also remembered that tile
name had been given him in honor o.
his patron saint, and that he was the
descendant of 'conquistador." De-
generate as he was, he enjoyed recall
ing this fact.
Eel corazon manda las carnes' (The
heart bears up the body, but l can''
endure this forever. l must speak to
the fathers tonight and take the
vows"
Three years before, in this same
month when the earth springs into life
beneath the warmth Of the returning
sun, wanderer drew rein at the gate
of the Mission San Pedro. His face was
haggard, his body weak after the lone
desert ride. His horse was in as Ia
mentable condition as its master. The
stranger was young. He seemed al
most boyish, even in the country where
youth is but sunrise glow between
mounted he staggered, reached toward
the portal for support and fell in i
swoon. 1t was not the first time that
such an occurrence had happened AZ
the lonely mission on the edge of the
desert. The good fathers knew what
to do in such cases, and they were nc
more faithful in their efforts because
his serape, dust-begrimed as it was, in
dictated the hidalgo, than they would
have been had the object of their solic-
itation been the humblest Indian in
New Mexico.
When Diego came to himself weeks
had passed. He strove to tell his story
but as often as he did SO, Padre Sebas-
tiano bid him be quiet and wait Until
his strength returned. So it CHANGED
that on a summers day, as he sat sadly
In the courtyard listening to the trick
ling of the water, he felt a hand laid
on his shoulder, and Padre Sebastiano
bending over him, said:
TELL me, my son, what troubles you.
You have never confessed, nor taken
the blessed sacrament"
Not here, father; not here! come into
the chapel and l will tell you all; but
when you hear my story you will turn
me out like un leproso."
Nay; say not so! The heart of the
Mother is always compassionate AMI
often, while you slept, my prayers have
gone up for you to the holy San Pedro
in whose glorious memory this humble
mission was founded but come"
The old man led the way to the little
chapel, frescoed by loving hands that
had long since entered into eternal
rest. whose altar was adorned with
spoils of conquest and with relics from
far-distant Spain, and thence into the
confessional where none might hear
what passed between saint and sinner.
Diego instinctively fell upon his knees
and shudder went through his we'll
knit frame as he thus began:
Father, pray for me. My sin is
greater than l can bear. l cannot con-
Tess 1t, even here.
Proceed, my son. You have sinned,
I trust you have repented. 1t cannot
be that one so young, so fair as you,
has sinned unto DEATH"
II have, have"
TELL me, and / will judge" Thus
encouraged the penitent continued:
3 my name is Diego Dominguez y
Agramonte. My home is, or rather
was, in the Boulson de Mapimi, beside
Laguna del Parres. You know the
place, father-the fairest upon earth,
where 1t Is always spring. where the
birds sing by night as we'll as by day,
and where the air is always fragrant
with the perfume of orange blossoms
and of more distant mountain flowers.
There I lived on my fathers hacienda
and never once had serious thought OF
love or trouble. Thus time passed until
i was nineteen years Of age, when
strange stories came to us If the won
derful railroad that was coming from
the Rio Grande del Norta. and was al
ready near the city of chihuahua. had
read much of the 'maquina de vaho,
but wanted to see II for myself, and
the peones who went away to worn
and came back jingling pesos, when be-
fore they had never seen anything
greater than un medic, only whetted
my desire to travel
-'Ah, my son." said the old man, in
a - A.. n.