The girl was dingy from gathering fire-wood. -Page 447 tended to raise your pay at the end of this month." "Thank you. There is a favor I wanted to ask. When you go to the capital for your provisions, will you buy me a pair of shoes? I have the money, and the piece of paper wrapped around it is the size of my feet. I can no longer endure to walk the streets of Guayaro barefooted as I used to." The shoes proved a visible support to his spirit, which soon mounted to its former buoyancy. Hart dismissed the affair from his mind, and forgot it until he was riding over the hills one evening at twilight. As he passed the grove where Hilario lived, the house and a girlish figure from whose arms the little Rafael toddled to his father were sharply outlined against the setting sun. The next morning the man waited until the bell rang which started work on the plantation. "Sir," he began, "the girl you saw at my house last night was María. She has come to live with me now and relieve Juana from the care of the little Rafael." Hart's patience was plainly exhausted. "What do you mean, man-changing wives like that? I'm finished with the whole lot of you!" "Sir, could I take Lucita back if she came crawling to me on her knees?" Hart's wrath cooled a little at this echo of his own words, but he continued firmly: "It's the last time while you're working for me! I insist on your marrying this María and setting a decent example to the others. You're too respectable a fellow for this kind of living!" "I have spoken to María already, and she does not feel as Lucita did about these things. We will be married whenever you wish." "At the church?" "To be married in the church is very costly!" "Then you can have a civil marriage for a trifle." mitted himself, and she would probably make him a better wife than Lucita. On the afternoon before the wedding Hart brought the Reverend Andrew Bennett home with him from the capital; likewise a princely provision of little snail coffee and sweetened biscuit in fancy tins. They sent word to Hilario that the visitor wanted to talk with him. He came that evening dressed in virginal white, and Hart brought him into the circle of lamplight by the table, where the Reverend Mr. Bennett was busy with pen and paper. After an effort at general con Hilario was shocked. "That would be versation, which resulted in mutual misunthinkable!" he said. understandings, the clergyman began the necessary questions. "Well, how will you be married-if not by the church and not by the judge?" The man was silent. Hart hesitated. "I know a man in the capital who wants to visit here. I'll bring him home with me next week. He's a clergyman, and he won't charge a cent for marrying you. You can have the wedding here, and we'll ask every one on the place. Will you be ready then?" "We're prepared to-day!" Hilario answered. But this readiness did not prevent him from again pursuing the dollar which always flickers just ahead of Saturday night. "Miste Queley, we do not wish to marry in that way-without paying anything. It would bring us bad luck. Will you lend me a dollar to give your friend? I should be ashamed to pay less than that for Lucita-pardon me, sir-her name clings to my lips, though I try hard to forget her!" He received the loan he asked-strictly forbidden as it was by the rules of efficiency. But his last words and hungry look hovered teasingly in Hart's mind. "Great cats!" he groaned. "Why did I mix up in the mating destinies of men and women? It's plain enough that Lucita's Hilario's partner-though she seems, temporarily, to have flown from her orbit! This marriage with María's a travestyshall I ask a clergyman to be the third actor in the farce? When I'm over this scrape I'll let the immorality of my neighbors alone!" On the other hand, he questioned if marriage vows would commit Hilario to María more seriously than he had com "What is your father's name, my man?" "Pedro, sir." "And his surname?" "I don't remember-it was a long while ago. But Juana would know.” "Your mother's name?" "Juana Ortiz, sir." A wandering breeze crossed the veranda and flickered the light threateningly. Hart used this interruption to arrange the details of the wedding. "Shall we stop the plantation work to-morrow in time to be married late in the afternoon?" Mr. Bennett expressed his approval, but the groom stared wide-eyed. "Afternoon?" he gasped. "We are christened in the daytime, but all the world is married at night!" "I'd forgotten that, Hilario! I'm glad you spoke of it, for we must respect the conventions! The wedding will be at night. Would you like to have Vicente stand up with you?" Hilario looked up keenly amazed: "He is not my friend!" and said no more. It was a revealing reticence. The lamp now burned with conscious dignity; the breeze sought less unyielding flames. The clergyman resumed: "Where were you born, Hilario?" "Half a day from here, on the other side of the hills." "And how old are you?" "Juana thinks I have twenty-four years, or perhaps it is twenty-one. I was already a big boy at the time of the hurricane." "What is the bride's Christian name?" "I see," Hart returned cheerfully; "they had to take a policeman to jail?"-Page 448. is no woman in all the world so desirable to me as Lucita! I called her María only to please you! I don't understand these things well, but it seems to me, if a man lario asked his employer's permission to speak with him alone. "The dollar you gave me, sir, Lucita spent for some clothes and some red shoes for the little Rafael. She wants to bring him to the wedding so he will get the good of being married. Will you lend me another dollar?" And he took the precaution to add: "Please keep this one until it is time for me to pay the clergyman." "Until to-morrow!" the bridegroom called as he descended the steps. "Until to-morrow!" Hart answered; "and tell Lucita that we're glad she's decided to be married.” "Yes, sir, perhaps it is better; and she says, if anything does happen, you will get us an American divorce!" Hilario's cheerful voice rose expectantly through the quiet night. MORNING IN ACHAIA I I ROSE to hear the breathing of the night; Whose face I saw not, but whose voice I heard. Than longing men have seen since time began. II Swept was the temple, burning were the lights, I, too, with sense of the pervasive spell- Great Pan was dead and Pallas the serene, III Across the vain, the unpoetic years Eternal still the Sapphic measures blow, And still the far dim plains of asphodel Bordered with pink the banks of fairer flowers, And if anemone or iris fell Still others bloomed to gladden the bright hours. But no more warriors rose from out the mounds Where heroes once had dropped in valiant strifeThe land seemed desolate, and the mountain bounds No longer heard the syrinx or the fife. By old Alpheus stood the Hermes still, Still looked the Parthenon upon the sea, But they who modelled long had lost the skill IV I mused despairingly, but not alone! A secret concourse of unhappy birds, Strayed far from Athens and Minerva's shrine, All making moan, dismayed and comfortless At loss of the chaste maid, their fair-browed queen. V And all the shadows slid into the stream. And tints went changing softly down the slopes. Find whom they love, and seek with resting gaze, |