The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1914-01-10

ear; again she was living over those
happiest of all her Christmases when
Don Diego was at her side and little
Teresa lay in her arms as sweet al
most as the Blessed Babe of Bethle-
hem. Later Christmases came with
less of gladness in them; and now she
was on the eve of the saddest Christ
mas of all, for had not she and her
grandchild quarreled, and was she not
utterly alone?
Sitting there in the heavy shadow of
the verandah the old lady lost some
thing of her habitual stateliness; her
shoulders fell forward and the muscles
of her naughty face relaxed. Not one
of the presents had been for the Dona
Ysobel.
A sense of the emptiness, the fulfil
ity, the irony of life came to her as
she drew her mantilla more closely
about her. How the times had
changed! How the old chivalry, the
old love, the old glory, had vanished!
How the pettiness, the meanness, the
sordidness of men, tainted the air of
the valley! The hills had lost their
beauty of contour, the waters had re-
coiled from the desecrated soil, the
blessed sun had dimned and cooled,
and even the wonderful fiesta of la
Natividad had lost it's glamorous aura
Slowly she drew forth her Rosary
a string of massive wooden beads
worn smooth by more than a century
of handling-crossed herself in the
elaborate Spanish fashion and half
heartedly began to pray. How hard it
was even to pray! God had seemed
so near in the olden days, the days
when padres dressed like padres and
not like this Irishman from Martinez
the Padre Garden, who called himself
Dominican, but who clugged up to
the Concord chapel wearing horrible
goggles and a hideous buff auto coat
And the incense had no fragrance and
the flowers were artificial, and so few
were the candles that burned before
the shrines of the blessed saints!
She found herself repeating the Ave
Maria in her understanding Castilian
tongue. Something in her head
seemed to click at the last words OF
the prayer. The hour of death. The
thought used to terrify her in her girl
hood-even though daughter of the
house of Arguello-y-Mascaren ought
never to be afraid, it was the part of
wisdom, surely, to have wholesome
fear of death. Yes, that fear had once
possessed her She had fancied it
must be a dreadful thing to have life
slip from one with all it's light and
laughter and odorous fulness and feel
oneself faring forth into the impalpa-
BILE world of spirits. Now she knew
that death could be terrible to her no
more And she felt after all her sad
and weary years, as tired child feels
when her head sinks upon the pillow
and every muscle relaxes and blessed
forgetfulness descends.
Why, after all, should she care to
live? Had she not labored enough and
suffered enough, and had not her la
bors and her sufferings been alike in
vain? Was she not forgotten of the
world? Did not her own flesh and
blood ignore her wishes, disregard her
entreaties-alas that an Arguello-y.
Mascarenas should ever deign to en-
treat!-prove unmindful and unworthy
of long line of noble ancestry? Had
not the years flown by with dropping
wings and left her stranded and alone?
A sin, perhaps, to long for death? All
yes: but surely the good GOD would
understand.
Long the Dona Ysobel sat thus on
the verandah, needless of the passing
of time. But now there came family
borne to her ears the soft thud-thud OF
old Gorio upon the dust-muffled road
way. So Chubbeens was returning
Well, the girl was after all only a girl;
and the good God made her. And she
had been to her confession; that was
WELL
Not without an inward qualm at the
undignified procedure, the Dona Yso
bel responded to the girls vigorous
and prolonged halloo. Then, very
quietly and with all her old majesty
renewed, she strobe into the living.
room and turned on the electric light
She sighed as she touched the button
That was another concession to these
giddy-paced times; but a necessary
concession, for they no longer had
candles for sale at Concord.
The Dona Ysobel seated herself at
the table, her beads still in her hand
The clatter of the horses hoofs on the
hard surface of the stable incline add,
ed to the weight of her depression
Old Gorio was a constant reminder OF
the ways and the days that had been.
The Dona Ysobe1, even when it had
been demonstrated to her that motor
cars were ultimately cheaper than
horses, had chung tenaciously to Gorio.
What would her father have said, what
would Don Diego have said to hacien-
da without horse?
The door opened and closed softly;
and the Dona Ysobel, though her eyes
were closed, knew that Chubbeens was
kneeling at her side. Then she felt
her hand stroked by a warm, vigorous
palm. Smiling with an unaccustomed
usefulness, she looked down into the
girls flushed, happy face.
"You have confessed to the Padre
| Carden?''
Eyes, Grandma, and now I'm going
to confess to you Oh, must" Club
bins added. her eyes very wide.
| "rThat's mart of nv Denance YOU