The Glenwood post., 1916-04-29
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There is no stronger proof Of mans
evolution than his adaptability-his
power Of attainment through the mate
rial at hand, however elementary
From the very beginning, the necessi
ties of his new life called to Gerryt
dormant instincts. For the first week
he would not hear. The past loosens
Its tendrils slowly. He was listless
and loafed restlessly about the house.
The two darkies worked for his we'll
being, the two white women waited on
him hand and foot. At first it was
lulling; then it was wearying. He be-
gan to wander from the house.
But the week had not been alto
gether lost. He had gathered desul-
tory but primitive information. Occa-
sional re-occurring words began to be
more than mere sounds. The girls
name was Margarita. The wrinkled
little woman was her aunt, Dona
Maria. The two darkies were linger-
ing relics of slave days. They had
been born here. They had gone with
emancipation, but they had come
back. The name of the plantation was
Fazenda Flores. To them it was thA
world. They had wandered out of 1t
hand In hand with liberty but they had
come back because freedom was here.
They needed someone to serve. Mar
garita had long been an orphan. The.
place was hers and had once been rich.
But before her day water had become
scarce. The place was uncared for
and had fallen into its present ruin.
1t was well, she said, for If she had
been rich suitors would have searched
her out long since. She was eighteen.
She had been woman for years!
These things, some of them distinct.
some only alf-formed impressions, ran
in Gerry's head as he wandered over
the fazenda. 1t had once been rich,
why was 1t not rich now? Fertility
sprang to his view on every side save
one. This was the gentle slope away
from the river and behind the house.
Even here he discovered hummocks in
alignment, vague traces of the careful
tilling of another time. He climbed
the slope till he came to a depression
running parallel to the river. 1t made
line and beyond that line was desert
untamed. Cactus and thorn dotted Its
barren soil. Gerry followed the de-
preston down to It's end, then turned
back and followed 1t up. 1t wandered
among rocks and hillocks to a natural
cleft in the banks of the great river.
He climbed a point of rock and
gazed around him. Far down to the
left cleaned the old plantation house
in the midst of its waste lands. His
eye followed the long depression and
he began to understand many things.
The ruin was young ruin like him.
self. In itself 1t contained the seeds
Of rejuvenescence. 1t had been robbed
Of its talisman and its talisman was
water. Tons Of water flowed past It
and left it thirsting for drops. Irrisa-
ton is coeval with the birth Of civilixa-
tion. It had been here In this depres-
sion, lived, and passed away before he
and the girl were born. He tried to
explain to her what once had been, but
she shrugged her shoulders. She was
not interested: she did not understand.
Together they walked back to the
house. Gerry was silent and thought.
fuI. He saw a vision Of what Faxenda
Flores had once been, what work could
make 1t again. "a
The following day he rooted out two
rusty spades from the debris in the old
mill, fitted new handles to them and
took the old darky, Bonifacio by name,
of with him to the depression. They
began the long task Of digging out the
silt Of years. Day after day, week
after week, they clung to the mono
tonous work. The darky worked like
an automaton. Work In itself to him
was nothing beyond the path to food
and rest at night Labor made no de-
mands on courage-it had no end, no
goal. But Gerry's labor was dignaned
by conscious effort. His eyes were mot
I'm the ditch but ON the vision he had
-sssn .ol what ,Tassnda Flores might
b. He, had nxsd his. Grant soul on 4
,spal .Ths ,sssspcs of slavery d oldsr
faA ~ boeds wsssshs " naa. -