The San Francisco call., 1907-01-13

all the rest or II. Where should they
go In but through the doors they had
formerly entered to worship. Upon
them scrswled in chalk in a childish
hand is written villa de Guadalupe"
Descend the low stone steps and all
traces Of anything American is lost.
Dark faces peer from low doorways.
The bronze infants that had been
swsrming in the court hurry to the
shelter OF their mothers skirts, from
which they peek with all the bravery
and defiance OF those who feel them
selves secure. An excited chattering is
heard, the foreign words falling as
musically upon the ear as softly rum
ming water. The odor OF parched corn
permeates the whole atmosphere You
stoop to get under a clothesline filed
with prismatically-hue underwear and
the inclosure is suddenly transformed
into a skating rink by means OF greasy
husks, the envelopes of innumerable
devoured tamales. The place is dirty
and peaceful and picturesque. AS you
disturb the quiet OF il you feel like a
Gringo invasion. and the slippery re-
mainssof the ubiquitous tamalcs replace
the strategies OF war
But a softly spoken "Buenos dias,
amiga dispels any such hostile idea,
and an old crone with toothless gums
and face scanned with wrinkles extends
her skinny hands as an invitation TO
enter her tiny room, placing ii at your
disposal with the hospit -lity charac-
teristic Of her race. You accept and
for a few minutes keep up quite an
animated conversation by means OF
gestures and grimaces, which you feel
would add luster to any pantomimic
stage. But the sonora. not TO be out
done in pOliteness. courtesies as ele-
gantly as though you were addressing
her in the purest of Castilian,< and
from her seat beside you on the mar
row bed leans over the brazier and
stirs her frijoles as though 1t were a
court ceremony. Your athletic con-
Nersation being necessarily of short
duration, you soon rise TO go, and with
more signs bid your hostess good-by.
As you step across her doorsill the
pungent odor OF tamales sreets your
nostrils You follow your nose and il
leads you to another shack. perhaps
a foot wider than the one you have
just left, where a man near the door
way is. stirring "A huge white basin OF
steaming corn. He makes tamales for
sale, and he, and his wife and little
girl and the tamales all occupy the
same small room His wife sat at the
end Of the room. leaning against the
brick wall Of the church, cutting meat
into small squares for the tamales In
the dimly lighted background of the
hovel her rich Latin coloring glowed
like a brightly tinted lithograph. =
San Francisco is hundreds of miles
away. The noises Of rehabilitation and
upbuilding are heard here as only a
distant mqrmur.i Nothing can be seen
but the walls of the church and the
sky above. And so they are living
there stolidly content either TO blink
at the sunshine or to let. the rain fall
unheeding. AS they receive the ele-
ments so they receive their lot in life.
II secretly in their hearts there are re-
bellious murmurs against an unequal
division of fate they tell their patron
saint, Guadalupe, that famous virgin
who appeared painted in supernatural
beauty on the blanket of pious In
dian nearly three centuries ago. all.
about IL