The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1902-08-18

| sash was knotted at his waist He
| drew rein, and the horse he rode paved
the pavement and jingled all it's silver
trappings. He raised the heavy silver
| trimmed sombrero and 1 met full the
glorious black eyes shaded by wealth
of loose black hair. The hand that held
the hat swung wide and he bent close
over me.
dispense, senorita!'
| The hand that held the reins was
pressed close over his heart, and shall
never forget the look of him.
| held Clara by the arm and we went
on. He turned from the side street, and
I heard the tread of his horses feet on
the cobble stones as he followed us at
a distance OF half q block. l UNDER
stood the Spanish compliment. Clara
ran on ahead, and let her go. At the
door 1 turned. We had gathered flow
ers, and l chose from among those
held a wee red posy. He rode slowly
toward mel dropped the blossom from
my lips to the pavement and hurried
in.
Who was he? I did not know and
did not care. / never asked nor tried
to find out. 1t was fun. Day after day
/ met him always at that cross street.
And he always followed us home. once
he ventured nearer than his usual half
block, and with open palm ] signaled
that the child must not see. He dropped
back. And always l left my flower
with its message at the doorway.
But one night, after picking up the
flower, he loitered. Afraid lest the
household noticed, hurried to my VIM
dow and out on its balcony. He looked
up from below; with eloquent gesture
l explained that he must not be seen
by those within, that unheard of sor-
row would be mine If he We're discov-
ered-oh, Il ran the gamut of Mexican
gesture language, and had not need of
words. How? | don't remember, but
he told me. lie held up his hands with
three fingers spread wide apart-three
days, three weeks, three something-he
was to be absent I'm the South. / re-
piled that | was greVed lie raised his
great hat and stood with bowed head,
waiting. | lifted my hands and blessed
him on his way. With catter and
Jingle he was gone, and things We're
desolate indeed.
Three days went by, and no sound
on the cross street Three weeks went
by, and still he did not return. Then l
settled down to wait.
Every Sunday we went to mass. The
church was long and narrow. The al
tar blazed with candles and Silt and
tissue paper roses. The side shrines
initial ted. The people, men in rough
red serapes and yellow leather trous-
ers, women in stiff, clean calico, and
children in like attire, all knelt on the
bare stone floor while the village priest
chantcd the service, |, an unbeliever,
claimed Il bench. 1t stood about foot
from the side wall, midway of the
church.
That morning | dropped on it wearily,
arranged Clara on her knees al my feet,
found her place in the prayer book and
set her at the responses like a we'll
trained automatom, The priest chanted
in Latin, the choir answered from the
loft, the people crossed themselves with
a general movement. and I-remem-
bered that it was almost three months
since he rode away. They reached that
part of the mass where the people reply
in chorus. A poem who had crowded in
between my bench and the wall moved
up a foot or two. | felt the harsh wool
of the red serape he wore as it brushed
against my hand hanging lstlessly
over the back of the bench. ! looked
down at the thick mat of his black
hair as he stopped forward. It looked
finer than
"Dominus vobiscus!" began the priest
from the altar.
"Et cum spiritu tuo," murmured the
people