THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA DAVIS GIFT OF THE PIERCE FAMILY Unclean and Spotted from the World By MRS. WILLIAM BECKMAN Author of Backshecsh, A Woman's Wanderings Ofli&itafeet & Eap Company (INCORPORATED) PUBLISHERS SAN FRANCISCO 1906 UBKARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA DAVIS Copyright igo6 by Mrs. William Beckman To the lover of Nature, the lover of Love, and the lover of Truth : The descriptions of travel, the journal, and all of the letters and incidents as given in the book are absolutely true. It was ordained that some must suffer, and one, so far as human knowledge extends, goes unpunished. Verily truth at times seems strangest of all things in this strange life of ours. CONTENTS PAGE 1 9 II 16 III 20 IV 30 V 36 VI 50 VII 58 VIII 62 IX 66 X 82 XI 89 XII in XIII 117 XIV 121 XV 130 XVI 138 XVII 147 XVIII 155 XIX 170 XX 179 XXI 190 XXII 200 XXIII 209 XXIV 218 XXV 225 XXVI 236 XXVII 25 1 XXVIII 262 XXIX 268 XXX.. . 271 Contents PAGE XXXI 275 XXXII 284 XXXIII 292 XXXIV 301 XXXV 313 XXXVI 328 XXXVII 336 XXXVIII 357 XXXIX 370 XL 377 XLI... 394 XLIL. . 396 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE PLOWING IN MEXICO 32 TEMPLE OF GUADALUPE, ZACATECAS 33 MISSION SANTA BARBARA 4 MILK VENDER IN MEXICO 53 CATACOMBS OF GUANAJUATO, MEXICO 56 WOMAN GRINDING CORN 64 OX CART AND PEON 83 IXTACCIHUATL, I?^? 1 FEET 86 WYNDAM GLACIER 101 CATHEDRAL AND ZOCALO, MEXICO CITY 123 PORTE DEL POPOLO AND CLEOPATRA^S NEEDLE 139 HARVESTING THE CORN IN MEXICO 151 PIGSKINS FILLED WITH PULQUE I7O WATER-CARRIER, CUERNAVACA 174 FOUNTAIN UNDER THE MANGO TREES, CUERNAVACA, MEXICO 177 MAGUEY PLANT AND SAP-GATHERER IQI PYRAMID OF CHOLULA IQ3 STREET SCENE IN CHOLULA IQ5 CARRYING THE OLLAS WATER-COOLERS 2IO A CORN CART IN MEXICO AND ORGAN CACTUS 214 HUT AND CACTUS FENCE, MITLA 225 CHILDREN AT GATEWAY OF ORGAN HEDGE 227 FRONT OF PALACE, MITLA RUINS 22Q RUINS, MITLA 232 CHOCOLATE DROPS 234 A GROUP OF NATIVES OF MITLA 251 GROUP OF WOMEN WASHING 256 BARRANCA AT TEOCELI, NEAR JALAPA 2OO MONUMENT IN FLORENCE WHERE SAVONAROLA WAS BURNED 282 CALIFORNIA LIVE OAK 2p6 List of Illustrations PAGE FOUNTAIN AT ALAMEDA, VERA CRUZ, MEXICO 305 GRAND CANON 317 MOSQUE OF SANTA SOPHIA 32Q ENTRANCE TO BLACK SEA 331 GREEK SOLDIER 335 SHEPHERDS AND FLOCKS ON THE ROAD TO JERUSALEM 359 DAMASCUS GATE, PORTE DE DAMASCUS 362 ECCE HOMO ARCH, JERUSALEM 365 THE WELL AND ROAD WHERE WENT THE THREE WISE MEN 367 COLONNADE OF THE MOSQUE OF OMAR, JERUSALEM, PALESTINE 368 Unclean and Spotted from the World "Oh silent land to which we move, Enough if there alone be love ! " "Go and keep yourself unclean and spotted from the world." Clear and distinct came the words, in a shrill childish voice, while a flush of anger burned in the cheeks, and the blue eyes flashed a look of scorn, as with a toss of her yellow curls the child pushed her small companion from her with a gesture of contempt. "What is the trouble, Ruth?" asked a kindly voice from the vine-wreathed veranda. "I was preachin' to her and told her what the minister said to us this morning. She was naughty and needed to be talked to," answered the child. "But you did not say it right. The minister said, 'Keep yourselves clean and unspotted from the world.' ' "Well, I won't change it for she does not keep clean. She hates to be washed and likes to play in the sand and get mud- spots on her clothes. So p'raps it is good to leave my talk as it is," and Ruth settled herself on the steps of the veranda with an air of one who had done her whole duty. "What were you and Alice quarreling about?" asked her mother. "Oh, nuthin', only she wanted me to go and pick water- cresses and I wouldn't. She teased me so I pushed her away. 1 didn't want to get wet and muddy so she has gone away by herself." Ruth picked up her pet kitten and twisted its tail until it meowed pitifully. Then sang out lustily, "Don't talk about sufferin' here below." "Don't dear, you hurt me as much as you hurt the kitten." io UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED "Hurt you, mama," cried the impulsive child, throwing the kitten sprawling on the ground, and rushing up the steps threw herself into her mother's arms. "Why mama? Why does it hurt you? I've heard you sing that song often." "Yes, but the other line tells you of 'Loving Jesus,' and does not mean that you must be cruel." "Well, I can't talk about things or sing either of something I know nuthin' about when I see things I know. But what can I say about lovin' somebody I'm not acquainted with ? " "You will know better, dear, when you are older, but you must listen closely and you will remember the sermons, and I know you will be a better child and everybody will love you all the more if you are sweet and kind. You must not be cruel to your kitten nor cross to Alice." "I can be good and I will try; but I don't want to go to church where even you look drowsy, mama ; and it is stupid in there. I can't remember what the preacher says for I look out through the window and wish I were up in the trees with the birds or lying on the grass listening to them for they sing and are glad. They have their meetin's too when every little bird talks and does not have to sit and listen to some older bird and there is never a mama to tell them to keep quiet, 'You must be seen and not heard' ; but everyone is a preacher and chatters and sings his own tale and knows what he is talkin' about probably as well as the preacher does." "Why Ruth. Where do you get such ideas?" "Oh, I don't know. I just think them out and I know it is all true. I love to watch them. They don't have to listen to stories of things that happened so long ago that they just guess if it ever happened. The birds do things they want to and that is why they are always happy. Mama I get tired listening to 'In the beginnin',' and then other times we have the 'begats.' I get sick of it. I don't want to hear about the 'begats.' I want to be out-doors and know about the things that are here, the birds, flowers and children suit me." "But Ruthie you must not say these things," counseled her mother, and she, wise in her loving motherhood said not too much, but tenderly strove to guide the impetuous child aright until Ruth, begging forgiveness, said : FROM THE WORLD n "I want you to come out with me. Let us sit under the trees. Let us forget the sermons and just look up at the blue skies through the trees and sing 'Nearer.' That song, when you sing it makes me feel better than sermons, for then I want to be good and never again be naughty if I can help it." It was many years after that afternoon, in reading over some old letters, one written by her mother, recounting the child's rather odd and wilful ways, to her absent father that Ruth came across it and others recalling much of her child hood days. Yes, she murmured, I was the child; wilful in many ways, thinking my own thoughts, rejecting much that was not according to my childish ideas. How I hated the wasted Sundays as I thought them, listening to conundrums about Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden, the serpent which I hated, and the apple 1 wanted and didn't blame Eve for eating, only I wondered why she was so anxious to divide it with Adam. But that was not so bad as the "begats," Seth, Noah and a lot of others I could not remember, and the Ark and two by twos we learned so long ago while yearn ing for the beautiful living things that were of such unbounded interest to me. Yet, even if wearying and tiresome to me then, how I love to recall those dear, sweet days, and my heart is very tender when I think of her who tried hard to give me a por tion of faith the faith which passeth all understanding, and the memory of my indifference is bitter. The gentle words and pained look in her dear eyes are clearer to me now than then, and cut scars on my heart that time can never efface. Now I know too well that it is too late, for the sweet voice is stilled and the dear eyes are closed forever. There are many changes since then. The tiny brook where Aileen, my dearest playmate, and I played, seems smaller to me now than it did when we tossed pebbles into the clear depths and made boats of paper and cast them loose upon its swift ripples. My life has broadened and deepened and there has been sorrow enough and not too much joy. But in looking back ward how I love the sunlight on the ripples and sparkling waters of that brook that meant so much to me, rushing on 12 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED and on, ever to some unknown fairy region, to my mind, and the longing to go to sail away on those waters like the frail boats grew as I grew, and made me make strange resolves in my mind as to what I should do when old enough to leave school. There was much to look forward to. Everything was new, and it was a buoyant, exuberant life that Aileen and I enjoyed. We had our disputes, for she did not take kindly to her books, and I was prone to lecture her. But she was wilful and cared more for out-door life than anything or any pursuit within the house. I was content with my books and my music. She loved the flowers and was interested in the myriads of insect life that were in evidence everywhere to her quick eyes. "Why," she said once to me, "I'd rather lie under a tree and listen to the hum of the bees, the insects, the slatting of the katydids and crickets, the soft, sweet music of the wires that the winds touch and send the faint quivering sounds down to me, than listen to your not always perfect touch upon the piano." "But, Aileen, we must learn, and cannot know unless we try." "I'm not going to try. The birds know how to sing. They do not sit by the hour trying octaves. Kittens can talk to each other; so do the little chickens. They know what the mother hen says as soon as they're hatched. The goslings know how to swim without being taught, and all the animals know each other without an introduction. Why, my pony only the other day met another one on the road when I was riding him. He stopped, they rubbed noses, and in some way knew they were old friends, for the strange pony turned and trotted contentedly along. He wasn't worried about position, money or 'our set.' They liked each other and that was enough." "Why, Aileen, what nonsense you are talking. Our mamas could not allow us to trot away with strange children. It would never do, they might be very naughty." "Well, I'm thinking it all out, and am studying about it, and I, too, shall know for myself sometime." All these ideas were discussed when we were mere slips of girls, and all of Aileen's spare time away from school was FROM THE WORLD 13 devoted to out-door life. Her one gift was sketching and painting, and as she grew, she was allowed all the spare time possible. She was an artist by nature and instinct. Her pas sion was nature in all its moods and phases, and when we were yet children she said: "When I am tired of painting these things and can do it to suit me, especially those gnarled old trees, I shall go and paint the cedars of Lebanon." "Of Lebanon," I echoed in astonishment. "Yes, that is why I am working so hard." "But how are you going to paint trees on the other side of the world?" "Never mind. When I am ready to do them I will be there," she answered. "Yes; in an airship, and drop down on one of your air castles," I said. So we would talk, and I would humor her fancies, and the hours we passed talking and speculating on the future were many indeed. Life was not mere existence to her. She seemed buoyed up with an indefinable, delightful, joyous spirit, which shone in her eyes and bubbled from her lips in song and laughter. The blue skies and warm, bright sunshine which were never dim or dulled for her half the year round seemed to have given a certain warmth to her nature. She reveled in each new day, and the sun was seldom up before she was dressed and out in the unclouded splendor through all the golden hours, until the sun changed into a fiery disk and the cool blue mists of night shut like a dream-curtain the crimson glory. Then, again, when the moon shone a bright and radiant globe in the star-sprinkled heavens, it touched another chord of her being and at times when we were wont to sit on the vine-covered veranda talking, crooning some quaint melody, or in silence, I have seen her eyes fill with tears and drop unheeded as she thought. Hers was a sensitive nature, and I dreaded the future for her before I scarcely knew why. Her capacitv for enjoyment, her delight in everything that was beautiful, the sudden changes in her moods, a shrinking from all pain or sorrow made me often wonder how it would fare with her if trouble or wrong ever came to her. i 4 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED "Do you know, Ruth, that there are times when my soul seems drawn up, up out of my body when 1 gaze on the dear twinkling stars? What mean the strange thoughts, the thrill that is like an electric shock, only it is sweet, for it touches my heart on nights like this. Foolish you think them, I know, but there is something appealing and comforting, too," she babbled on one evening in a like strain, and added: "And I want to tell you something else, Ruth," she said dreamily. "That star, the middle one in the handle of the great dipper, is where I'm going when I die. And if I go first, you can look up at my home afterwards and remember where I am." These were her fanciful hours, just as she had her freak days; one I often recall. We were wandering along the sloping hills, away from the rest of the party who were spend ing a day in the foothills. We were talking of Jacob's Lad der and the Pillow of Stone, and she told me to lie down and try a stone for a pillow. Looking up the mountain slope, she said "They are God's ladders to climb to the skies." Suddenly she cried, "I am going to try it. I am going up this beautiful stairway, among the blossoms and bees. You stay here until I get to the blue sky up there where the white clouds hide the top of the ladder. I'll go until I can hear the angels sing. Then I will come back and sing to you the songs I hear. I know the music is grand, and I want to see their wings. You know when we played meetin' the other night, Frank prayed and said, 'Dear God, when I get to heaven I want to be an angel with great wings, tipped with the colors of the rainbow.' Well, I do not want to wait. I think I can see them if I go now before they go back to their dear little white homes that are so bright when the sun goes down ; for you know that is the time God turns on the elec tric lights in each house so that every angel may know the way to his home." She was away like a flash, up the grassy slopes, and I waited patiently until the evening shadows shut out the rosy light and it grew dark under the trees. Suddenly a sound, a wail it seemed to me, struck terror to my heart. I sprang up and fled down the manzanita-lined pathway with sobbing breath and the fear that something was pursuing me. Then FROM THE WORLD 15 my dress was caught with a terrible grasp and I fell senseless, where they found me, after searching and calling for us in vain. My yell of fright brought them and they found me with my dress caught on a bush, and farther up, Aileen, also, quietly sleeping, the angels and stars forgotten. II "Hath this fellow no feeling of his business? Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness." "Jack, I dropped in for a moment to tell you I'm going away. I am going to leave care, which I have lately been thinking of only in capital letters, to bury itself in some grave or groove. There is but little difference in the spelling, you know; and if I do not get out of the aforesaid groove it will end in the former for me, if I go on in the same old routine.'* "Going to replace the old raveled sleeve of care with a new one, Frank?" said his friend. "Yes. I'm going to bury it, and with the taps shall pray that it never be resurrected. It has served faithfully for years and is old enough to be on the retired list upon half pay, if it refuses to stay dead. I want a change and a new recruit for the next year or so, and I want you to come with me. 1 need you. You will serve as sauce and butter to the sometimes dry toast of travel. I want a companion, and I need you. The time is now; the golden grains of opportunity are slipping by. I am weary of the life I have known. The tangled sophistries of the world choke my soul, and I must get away from it for a while. I long for freedom, the free dom of the mesas, the rush and whirr of wheels over deserts and mountains, the joy of change and relief from one's environments." "You're a queer fellow, Frank. Do you suppose you are going to get out of the civilized world. If so, where is your Ultima Thule?" "No; but I am going to try the dolce far niente for a time. I shall go wherever my fancy dictates. Mexico first dear land of manana. There shall be only tomorrows for me for a while, I assure you. Instead of the mild effort at Bohe- mianism in a frappe wine now and then, and a petit souper by people with money here, I shall see again the real thing in the Latin quarter that bears no resemblance to American Bohe- 16 FROM THE WORLD 17 mianism. Then the trattiors and cafes of the spaghetti-loving Italians, where smoke and garlic are abundant, and odors 'told and untold are omnipresent. But even so, in all its best or worst, I will find a sort of people who do not take life seriously, but live each day as it should be lived, without too much thought or care for the next one to come." "So you think you will find a people who enjoy life and find their daily bread showered down on them, as the children of Israel?" "No. I do not expect miracles in this age of electricity and wireless telegraphy. But I have been across the Atlantic once before, you know, and I shall find it different from this eternal rush and struggle for gold or supremacy." "Would you have a man lead an idle, aimless life?" "Not necessarily idle nor aimless, but with less of the desire to gain a little more than some other fellow, and content with a competence, for ambition crowds out the nobler part of man frequently, and one desire gained is succeeded by some thing more difficult and less easy to obtain. Few are content to stop before they find their Waterloos. Death is the only sure thing, and that often comes the quicker for the rush and struggle in trying to reach the goal." "When a man's business commands his entire attention all of his time, what is he to do but endure or enjoy as best he may," said Jack. "I know of no other reasonable way." "Well, I am going to try a more reasonable way, for I am dividing my affairs among several people who will not find the work too arduous, and some of the money I have made I am going, by travel, to convert into mind. I want diver sion new thoughts and new ideas. I want to see people ; to know a few, perhaps, who are content, who will rise when they have slept enough, who take time to eat and who work in order that there may be enough and to spare, but who are not possessed of the spirit of unrest of saving and hoarding gold. I know a man who is very wealthy who eats a hurried breakfast, gulps down a cup of coffee and a bite of toast. 'I have no time to talk,' he tells his wife; is up and away to his office as fast as electricity can take him ; return ing at night, eats his dinner in silence, too tired to converse, and retires only to re-live every day the same routine. So 1 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED the years are going fast. A great deal of the beautiful in life is unknown to him. Avarice and its twin ambition have mastered the man. He and his family are sacrificed to the Moloch of promise. For the future always holds a promise of something different. When once the germ disease of avarice gets in the brain nothing but death can effect a cure." u 'I am sorry, Frank. You will have to find someone else. My environments suit me pretty well, and I enjoy my life, prosaic, as you please to call it; chacun a son gout, you know. I hope you will enjoy your freedom and come back cured." "Cured of what?" "Some odd emotional vagaries that possess your usually clear brain," said Jack. "I don't want to be cured; don't want to be unnecessarily! sane. I may not possess a crazy 'bug' because I want some-j thing outside the daily life of him who lives, works, and I draws his salary. I may come back and put the halter about my neck, but I shall not be in a hurry, I fancy. The tramp life will suit me for a time. I have envied the tramps at timc c . lying on the cool grass placidly enjoying the fragrant winds and the cool shade of the trees, where the dandelions make yellow splashes and the hoary-headed elders, showing above the young ones, whitening in the sun, show how short lived they are and the need of making the most of our time So, before my thatch begins to whiten and get thin, I shall lei others do the hurrying and simply enjoy my allotted hours 01 idleness as they appeal to me." "Well, my boy, go and have your fill of the manana land Have your fill of travel also; cast dignity to the devil; be wile and free; go back to the primitive once more; forget th< eternal grind, as you are pleased to term it; take life in bi^i doses, not on the homeopathic plan; enjoy the Egyptian sun sets, they will be more numerous than the sunrises that yoi will see, I think. And when your wings are tired, just flo] down here again and we will jog on contentedly for the resi of our lives. By the way, if you are yearning for someone t< go with you ask Fred Marshall, he is out of sorts. A disap pointment, or something, and 1 learn he is leaving very soon. FROM THE WORLD 19 "Is that true? If you will not come with me I will see if he and I cannot go together. I shall write you when on my travels, just to divert your mind now and then, you know." Ill "The worldly Hope men set their hearts upon Turns ashes or it prospers ; and anon, Like snow upon the desert's dusty face Lighting a little hour or two is gone.'' EDITH HAMMOND WRITES TO HER FRIEND, AILEEN LIVINGSTON I must give you the details of this eventful afternoon, dear Aileen. Mama was vexed with me because I refused to go to an afternoon card party with some of my girl friends. I refused, and said to them: "I want to be out in God's sun shine and have it in my face and in my heart. You girls may go and have your progressive whist or euchre hours under the gas-light, in close rooms, but I prefer the breath of the lupins out there on the hills and the purifying atmosphere from the crisp salt waters. I will drink it in and be glad. It will be more beneficial to me than that which you will imbibe, however fine the liquid or the quality of cut-glass. "You can progress in that style if you like, but you know summer is my Lenten season and I am not going to any dances or card parties. I will do penance in other ways. Duplicate whist with some of those mentally unhinged women you are constantly meeting? No! I like easier methods. If I must wear peas in my shoes I will parboil them first, while observing the letter of the law. I do not see that the time of the year has much to do with it if one observes the rule. Summer time is proper for Lent, anyway, according to my ideas," I told them. They insisted 1 was silly, but I was not to be coerced ; told them I was not going to tax my mind with echoes, fourth- leads, tierces and sequences; that I feared the consequences if I yielded, and that none of those nerve-disturbing things could tempt me. I told them I would neither lead or follow them into temptation or encourage them in sinning against heaven by killing the glorious afternoon, and shutting myself FROM THE WORLD 21 up in close rooms, however attractive they might be. "Be off with you," I said. "I shall out and tell my secrets to the bees." Then they clamored for the secrets. I agreed to tell them one. It is this: "I am learning better every day how to enjoy life as each day goes by, and my name will not figure among those present at the 'charming afternoon' which will appear in the social column of the papers." I was called a goose, and several complimentary names before they gave me up as hopeless. 1 hurried away as soon as they left, and drove a long dis tance out in the country. The afternoon was perfect and satisfied every instinct of my soul. When tired of driving I drew up under the shade of a great live oak, and tying my horse, gave myself up to the beauty and the serenity of the place. Resting on the flower-strewn grass, where the sun filtered through the foliage, I breathed a sigh of thankfulness that life had for this one day at least given me the opportunity of doing what I wanted to do. My conscientious scruples were profitable to me. It was not that I really objected to an after noon with the girls, but I was more in need of the quieting influences I knew would be mine, away from the tongues that vex one's soul at times. So I gave myself up to the warmth and soothing restfulness of the afternoon. Somewhere, up among the branches of the tree, a saucy jay-bird was jawing and scolding because of my intrusion, and a tiny linnet was singing softly and sweetly from a frag rant acacia near by. There was a hum of insects in the air; the bees droning from one flower to another, heavy winged and laden with their cargoes of honey. Somewhere, further up the hill-side, a mocking-bird was singing his heart out in the fullness of joy, that came in trills and gurgling sounds so nearer heaven than I, for he was at peace with the whole world and himself, and poured out the throbbing pulsing notes, lending an additional charm to the calm afternoon. The busy wheels and cogs of thought and worry relaxed and moved slowly. I was conscious of but one thought, one feeling, in the delightful languor that saturated 22 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED my being, and that was the thought of you; and wishing that you, of all the world, were with me. A faint humming sound, sweet and low in its vibrations, came to my ears, a sort of an accompaniment to my thoughts. It was the wires overhead responding to the soft breezes that touched them gently and lovingly, and the sweet pulsing sounds found a responsive chord in my heart, and 1 lay listen ing, my soul steeped in the delightful calm of the hour. I wondered if you were not sending thought messages to me, and that the winds had brought them and they were thrilling me with the soft cadence that comes from your love, which I feel and understand. There are mysteries which we do not understand in nature, perhaps never will. And while I'm idly speculating a wood pecker high up on an old tree gives his telegraphic signals in short, sharp taps. Instantly, but faintly heard, comes the answering tap-tap, tap-tap, of his mate. And soon, with a flash of wings she is beside him clinging with clinched feet in the rough bark, head downward, discussing the contents of last year's acorn. I realize that there are signals in nature we are not acquainted with. But that does not prove they do not exist. I love the companionship of mystery. There is something that responds to an inner-self hardly yet fathomed within me. But this I know, my pulse is beating, the restless blood surg ing in my veins is longing for something inexplicable to me now, but it is calling, calling me. Some magnetic current is striving to make itself understood. The wires and the birds have startled me into a realizing sense of something which is coming to me, and I am trying to give you a telegraphic sig nal by letter a rather plain tap-tap of my pen, scratching my ideas to you in the vain hope that you will interpret the strange feeling I have in writing this. I returned late, hoping that my sin of omission would have been forgotten. Not so. Mama was waiting for me and told me she did not approve of my actions lately. "What ails you, Edith?" she said. "You seem entirely changed. You used to enjoy going out with your friends. Now you seem to ignore all social duties, and it displeases me very much." FROM THE WORLD 23 1 told her I was wearied beyond telling of teas and recep tions; that the crush and idle talk was only a little worse than the card parties; that I preferred fresh air, and then she grew sarcastic, and said: "Sunburn and freckles are better, I sup pose." You know mama's delightful air when I rebel against conventionalities. "Hereditary aloofness in my make-up is not inherited from you, mama," I said to her. "A little bit of blood of one of my primitive ancestors is awakening and stirring in my veins, bidding me break away from the life you have lived and I, too, have been compelled to endure up to this time. Now it must be changed. I want a wider horizon; one that seems glowing and shimmering in the distance. The East is calling to the West. I dream of Nomad's fires, gleaming in the dusk of evenings in strange forests. I want the unknown and the blessed possibilities of change from the eternal sameness of the life I am living, which must have been intended for some other purpose than the one I know now." Then she seemed to have a new idea. "Edith, when a girl like you experiences a sudden change of heart, and all at once discovers that there are birds, bees and flowers in the world that the skies are blue, and the sun red at sunset, and the moon round when it is full there is, to a dead moral cer tainty, a man in the case. I did not know you had a particu lar penchant for anyone, yet you have all the symptoms." Mama can be angelic when she chooses. I told her I was acquainted with some kinds of birds, but was pretty sure I did not belong to the black-bird species, because I did not enjoy the crowd, the chatter and noise. I can enjoy life without the company of a man, or the com pany of some of those Postum-brained nervous girls, who turn mental somersaults in trying to solve the question as to whether a ten-spot will take a trick after the higher cards have been played. That roused mama again, for I had hit at her favorite bev erage, for she is too "nervy" to drink coffee, so I had to take another turn. "There, dear," I said to her, "drink any kind of beverage you wish ; drown your cares in the cup that invigorates but 24 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED does not inebriate. Only remember that care is a pretty hard thing to drown, and sometimes outlasts those who try to murder it. But let us forget all this nonsense in a good cup of tea, for the present." "My dear, if only you would not try to aggravate me and be more like other girls. I cannot understand why you prefer the country and want to be so much alone." "Probably not, mama; but I do not care to imitate. I do not want to be just like other girls. I am myself, and am happier, I think, than if I lived according to your ideas, for it would consist in doing, as a rule, the things I do not want to do, in order to have the things I do not want." "I do not quite know what you mean, Edith ." "I think it is not necessary to read the handwriting on the wall through an interpreter. It is simply this: you do not care for anything in the world but society. Your sole ambi tion is to keep within the charmed circle, as you think it is. You are more than satisfied with the never varying rounds of dinners, theatre parties and other functions. You think I ought to be content with these things, and a possible hus band, belonging to the same circle, with the same life ahead of me that yours has been, which is pleasant enough in its way. But it is not according to my ideas of a life of contentment, usefulness or happiness." "You are utterly without reason, my dear. Your ideas of a simple life are senseless. You have always had the luxuries and therefore have not the faintest idea of what life would be without them. Your idea of a different life would mean a few less imported gowns, less of parties and theatres, I sup pose." "Not altogether, mama. But I would like to know people who think about things other than the where-withal they shall be clothed, fed or amused. I think I am far happier and healthier in the open air than the girls who were here after me to go with them and pass the sweet, bright hours in arti-, finally lighted rooms, with closed windows and drawn cur- 1 tains, where they breathe the refuse of each other's breath ir; rooms malodorous with cut and decaying flowers." "Edith, what has changed you so much? You have always enjoyed these same things you now condemn." FROM THE WORLD 25 "Perhaps 1 am learning new ones. I .certainly am weaned of progressive luncheons and other affairs that mean anything but progression in health, intellect or wisdom, which have scant opportunity within the darkened chambers where the crowds prattle without thought or reason for that matter, with never a single uplifting thought." "In the abstract you may be correct, but in practice it won't work. You cannot live up to your ideas unless you go beyond the pale of civilization; and I am at a loss to know why you had a change of heart. You seemed to be very happy and to enjoy yourself earlier in the season." "I saw enough of the social life and it has not left a very pleasant impression. I can see and enjoy another kind of life, one that is not associated with odors of veiled musk and stagnant wines. I prefer the life I have decided upon. I am going to give up society. I am not like the average girl, and there is no use trying. I cannot be satisfied with criticiz ing my friends and their style of dress. The eternal themes that absorb the matron, dress, domestics and disease, the extravagances of some, the economy of others, the table linen, silver and the wines, are a never-ending subject for praise or censure. I know I am profanely frivolous because I do not care for the accessories, if they are dainty, sweet and clean. If the effect is satisfactory I never consider the value, but enjoy the dinner and company, if they are worth while. I know you would like me to be more like Ruth. She ought to have been your daughter, she would have satisfied your every instinct. I know how you enjoy discussing these things with her. But for me, I seem to know instinctively the shoddy and the shams of life without going into details. If the punch is made with Apollinaris instead of champagne I might or not know the difference, and accept the fact without living it over and talking about it days after." "I do not think, my dear, that your life would be the worse if you copied after Ruth somewhat." "Well you know, mama dear, that I am not a copyist, and I know, too, that she is built on an entirely different plan. Apollinaris, tea and toast are according to her taste, and have a sort of religious flavor. I know she thinks a Bohemian 26 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED is a first cousin to Satan himself, while I find the idea of Bohemia rather alluring. It would be a change you know." Then she took me to task for censuring others, and wound up by saying that if I were more like Ruth it would be far better for me; that Ruth would not sit with her feet on the window-sill like a man. "Then she can never enjoy herself half as well as the man and myself," I retorted, and then told her there was no use trying to reconstruct me. "I am going to get all the good I can out of life, and you must not expect me to sit up straight and keep my hands and arms in place like the doll you once gave me. I used to fix her arms and legs in one position and she would sit and stare at me until I jerked her into some other position. And it made me so angry because she wouldn't wiggle her toes that I pounded them off." "Yes, I remember your dolls never lasted very long. Now, Ruth's were always kept immaculate, even as she herself was and is now." "Yes, she pretends to be sw'eet and modest, and does it pretty well, too. But she is normal, I think, and is probably as naked under those dainty frills as the rest of us. She pre tends to be good and passes for the real coin among the guinea-hen crowd she plays to, those antiques who chatter and cackle about the times when they were young, when girls didn't put their feet on chairs or window-sills or wear knick erbockers, play golf or do anything but attend to the affairs of the house. "Perhaps 1 am too matter of fact, mama. I do not play to the gallery for applause and then turn somersaults when the door is locked. I am too natural to be anything for effect. I know Ruth thinks me beyond redemption. She used to call me a worm of the earth. Perhaps I am, but being a worm or otherwise, as the savants may decide, I am at least discriminating, and the saving grace of humor in me keeps me from being miserable or following in her footsteps. At least I am pretty sure that no ancestor of mine ever lived in an Indian jungle or belonged to the ape worshippers. Perhaps hers did. Hence her evident affinity for some of those ape like creatures she is so fond of associating with and quoting. FROM THE WORLD 27 She is a good deal like the young minister, she is constantly with, who wears his hair parted in the middle and keeps it smooth and slick in a rather saintly way; but the blue glints in his black hair are indicative of a dash of something in his nature opposite the saintly order." "Edith, you positively shock me. How do you know any thing about blue glints and a tendency to evil because the man happens to be neat and tidy in his personal habits?" "I spend some of my time studying human nature as well as tramping about in an aimless way, as you are pleased to think, mama, and I think because he affects the law-giver of Sinai and wears his collar buttoned in the back it does not change the whole nature of the man." "I am sure you misjudge the man, dear, and I wish you would try to learn from him, for his is the mission, and the privilege to teach, to instruct, to soften the pain and misery of the \vorld and to help us bear the idea of the unfathomed mystery of the other world." "Yes, I know, and his voice is soft and pleasant, soothing to some, 1 fancy. But I honor him with my doubts. He is very fond of giving me choice morsels from the Ten Com mandments that are terse, concise and epigrammatic, but seem to forbid a good many things that I rather enjoy." "With all your foolishness, my child, I did not think you were sacrilegious." "I am not sacrilegious because I happen to enjoy certain things and am puzzled over others. I think of the law-giver of Sinai, and the Commandment 'Thou shalt not kill,' announced to the children of Israel by Moses after he had killed his man. "And I wonder, too, how Abraham would fare in the pres ent day if he were here and passed his wife off as his sister to some millionaire so that he might become the possessor of wealth in the shape of presents. It would be automobiles, yachts and private cars now, instead of sheep, goats and cat tle. But the sin of today was just and right, according to the Law in the good old days." Then when I saw mama was actually gasping for breath at my audacity, added to the surprise that I had ever opened the Bible we know so little of each other, Aileen that I 28 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED kissed her and was off like a flash before she could utter another word. Several things prevented me from finishing and starting this letter to you, my dear, and then something so very important loomed up on the horizon that had heretofore bounded my life that I was dazed. There was something new in mama's manner the next day, and I felt, as when very little and very naughty, that it was as well to expect something. And I was not quite satisfied with myself for teasing her as I have been doing lately, but 1 somehow she or other things have got on my nerves. I felt almost neurotic and wondered if I needed the rest cure, which many I know have indulged in. Before I was driven to that or some other appalling thing I was informed by degrees that I had worried mama so much lately by my unorthodox opinions and unconventional behav ior that she has decided to allow me to go away for awhile, thinking that travel will be not only to my liking, but will benefit me. She realizes I have had a surfeit of society, and that travel will bring about a more reasonable frame of mind and event ually restore me to the proper place in the frivolous world where she moves and has her being. Dear mama is right, according to her way of thinking. She is good and charitable and does what she thinks is just by her family and the world generally. But it is not the life I can endure. Surely there is something more satisfying in the world than the life I have so far known and lived. If the best part of our lives runs first and leaves the dregs at the last, I want to enjoy the clearest and purest while I may, and take the best God sends as I go along. I shall try to take only about as many burdens as my con stitution will bear, and live up to them. I think it is useless banking time on term deposits for the proverbial dull or rainy days to come. Enough to think of them when they arrive, , for I know I can enjoy the bright ones that are born fresh and new with each somersault of the old world, if I forget that they are dull or gloomy ones that may come while I am enjoying the beauty of each bright one. FROM THE WORLD 29 I fully agree with Seneca when he wisely remarks that "The soul is never in its right place until it be delivered from the cares of human affairs." Therefore, I am resolved that firry soul shall take its proper place in the universe and be delivered from cares, human or otherwise, and be satisfied with the Now and Here of life, as I shall find it in other lands among other people. The folly of remembering, the wisdom of forgetting all that should pass out of my life shall be my aim. I shall not strive or worry over what I do not have. I shall [ be satisfied with what I have, and envy no human being, and [try to acquire knowledge rather than give up a life to the | social world which gives but a poor return for the invest ment. I shall try to be honest, frank, gentle and kind, avoiding gossiping tongues, but listening eagerly to the voices of nature which harden not the heart or sear the conscience; to bear the reverses that may come to me, as best I can, trust- i ing that all will tend to purify and strengthen the better part in me, that my days may not be altogether unharmonious but pleasant and agreeable to me. These Commandments I have given unto myself, dear Aileen, and now you shall write me of your life, even to its innermost thoughts and depths, as I shall write you, wherever I am, and tell unto you only of myself, knowing you will observe faithfully the biblical injunction, "Rehearse not unto another that which is told thee, and shalt thou fare none the worse." For the present, adios. IV "Death doesn't hurt in its time, but to miss Simply to miss one's life ! " EXTRACTS FROM FRANK LINDSAY'S JOURNAL, SENT TO JACK GORDON Thank heaven we are leaving the old scenes and old sounds. Getting away from the noises of city life, the screech ing, exasperating quarrels of the sparrows and the harsher voices of the human hawks, crying their wares in the streets, the sounds that are in every one's ears; that beat unceasingly like the ocean farther out against the rock-girt Golden Gate, coming in fitful bursts like storm-gusts sounds that are varied and assertive, that dare you to forget, to hope for silence from the turmoil and unrest of those who live, love and have their being amid the irritating, depressing and overpowering sounds that abide there always. The " wander-lust," strange and mysterious that has been stirring in my blood for months the fever of unrest and restlessness that has been upon me, already seems slipping from me. A drop of the old Aryan blood leavens my being, and the migratory instincts of birds, the quivering of invisible wings that have kept me restless and unsatisfied for so long, are quiet, now that I am speeding like the winds, on, and on toward Mexico. I recall dun rivers of shifting sands, gleaming, tawny and yellow amid sparse grasses and sage and grease-wood. There were sapphire lakes and dry arroyos in whose depths the cacti and nasturtiums made great splashes of color. In moist water-ways there were brilliant wavy lines of purple, bor dered by the yellow, misty, quivering mustard blossoms that, like death, have all seasons for their own in California. There were wonderful days and strange visions at night. One, I remember, when propped upon my pillows I watched the effect of the weird moonlight upon that desolate region of 3 FROM THE WORLD 31 the Salton Sea. The light brooding over it was like the gray, pallid light of death, it seemed so cold and lonely. The engine's black breath left streaks above the white desert and hovered over the stunted shrubs and gaunt cacti that spread out whip-like branches. As w went further on there were other and varied species of cacti, with vicious thorns sternly and solemnly pointing in silence to the starlit skies. We are getting into the dreamy belt,, where things seem unreal and fanciful. There are mirages that are more beau tiful and entrancing, more fascinating than realities we have passed. There are atolls in placid seas which seem to rise and fall about them as the rosy light of the sun pierces the blue mist and glints the pulsing waves lapping their shores. Anon there were rivers and lakes bordered by forests, all so faithfully mirrored in their depths that it was hard indeed to believe the vision was not real. Strange corformation of mountains are on every hand, as we speed on over the table-lands of Mexico. There are vast stretches of land that know no May or June, where the breath from moist mosses and delicate flowers and buds are unknown. There are no soft twitterings from happy birds, no dewy mornings or moist twilights. The dear old earth is not so alluring here. There is no wet loam whose steaming warmth, fragrant with herbs, comes like incense into the nostrils. No gurgling brooks or babble of gossipy rivulets are here to tell the story of bird and insect life, and happy denizens of for est and plain of other countries. But there is a fascination in the desolate regions that stretch on and on in such a wonderful vista of color, shading from gray to violet tints, in the solemn silence brooding over the lifeless deserts; even as a zopilote or buzzard now and then is seen far up in the sky, poising on still and seem ingly lifeless wings, over the gray infinity of space. But the precursor of civilization our train is speeding along the trail of the Toltecs and Aztecs. It is the great "road-runner," wingless, yet skimming along, girding the old Montezuma land with glittering tracks. And in the kaleidoscopic changes that have been strangly interesting, we come at last to the cultivated lands of Mexico. We see the 32 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED great haciendas, from whose high-walled enclosures the flocks come forth. There are immense herds of cattle going in one direction; flocks of sheep and goats, black, brown and white, guarded by their Indian shepherds in another. There are the peons tilling the soil where grow the corn and cotton. The land is cut in small squares with deep trenches, deeper than I have ever seen, except in Greece, showing the need of irri gation and the abundance of water for it. Cotton is perennial and needs to be planted but once in three years, the soil being wonderfully fertile and needing PLOWING IN MEXICO. but little cultivation, their queer wooden plows, barely scratching the surface; and yet it produces two or three crops of certain things a year. I see women in the huts grinding the softened corn on the metatas. Others standing, bare-limbed, in the ditches wash ing the clothes in water that often looks unfit for the purpose. There are overburdened men and donkeys toiling with loads of wood and corn almost beyond endurance, the donkeys subsisting on any stray bit of straw or grass they may find. The peon works, in this land of cheap silver, for thirteen cents per day, eating his tortillas and drinking pulque, if he FROM THE WORLD 33 has a spare centavo. His meat, if he has any, is often the entrails of fowls and animals. But we are in the tropics, and though the wind is often piercingly cold, they live without meat, in the main, and wear as few clothes as possible. And then, one dull gray morning we find ourselves in Zaca- tecas. I see square buildings, low and flat-roofed, huddled and barnacled against the hill-sides. There are domes and towers dominating them. Broken gray walls show here and there, and I think a bit of the Orient, a portion of Palestine has dropped down here in this cactus-lined country. TEMPLE OF GUADALUPE, ZACATECAS. There are terraces and steep declivities, reminding me of Bethlehem. There is the public fountain with the unveiled but reboso-draped women, doubled up over the high curbing, scooping up the scanty supply of water, filling the large red earthen jars, mere girls carrying such heavy loads that I do not wonder so many of the women are undersized. I think they telescope the vertebra of the spinal column at an early age and never get pulled out later in life. We visited the chapel of the Guadalupe, some miles distant from Zacatecas, which is said to be one of the prettiest in Mexico, rich in gold, silver and onyx trimmings. The high altar w r as gorgeous, and the inlaid floors were a decided con- 34 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED trast to the worn and uneven floor of the old church, which was more interesting to me in its old age than the new chapel, which simply represented wealth, being the gift of some person. Fred said, "Let us see the market; I fancy we will find something of interest there." Old and quaint indeed we found it. A motley throng of people were wandering among the little heaped-up sections, representing inches or feet, according to the quantity the owners possessed. Everything one could think of was here. Small bunches of vegetables, usually half a dozen in each heap. There were beans and corn, tamales, tortillas, turkeys, chili, charcoal, chickens, and narancas (oranges), which we found very sweet and luscious. There were roots and edible grasses, crockery, quaint sandals and the omnipresent scrapes and rebosos for the men and women. Fred was more interested than he has been so far. His artistic temperament has been aroused and surely these half naked people, especially the children, would make very at tractive pictures. I fancy he will find something to do in the line of sketches and paintings as soon as he finds the time and I hope he may very soon, for it will serve to divert his mind from the fickle fair one left behind. There are some very attractive faces here, Jack, that would make your old cal loused heart give an extra thump. I once thought the Italians could take the blue ribbon for ill-treatment of their horses, but I had not visited Mexico then. The donkeys bearing heavy burdens were prodded unmercifully and some I saw pulling the street cars were lashed into a gallop by merciless drivers, the whips cutting into their sides and legs at every jump. Tottering with fa tigue and weakness it seemed the beasts were being subjected to the very acme of brutality and I turned my eyes away from the tortured creatures. The natives here seem to be but little better off than the overburdened donkeys, they are so miserable, ragged and unkempt. Such poverty I have never seen, not even among Italy's beggars. Here the wretched lazzaroni, with senses steeped in pulque, dripping with vermin, infest the plazas FROM THE WORLD 35 .and jostle one in the streets. The dirt and grime make my civilized cuticle shrink with fear. Seeking rest from the filth of the streets I entered an old , church on our return to Zacatecas, for my stomach was in clined to turn somersaults at some of the scenes. A Madonna and some candles at the altar at the farther end of the church showed dimly and herein were the poor asking aid , from above but keeping an eye on the stranger, also. On Heaving, a wretched figure at the portal, so deformed and drawn that his face was on the bias, one eye being a couple of inches higher than the other, begged me so piteously for : centavo that the milk of human kindness was something more than skimmed milk, for it instantly turned into whipped : cream, and 1 counted out the coveted centavos until his poor, dull eyes brightened, and he said, "Gracia, Senor," over and [over, while from his poor old eyes rolled tears of thankful- jness; sobs and words of praise to Madre de Dios made me I the worn, but willing traveler, feel glad that I had bestowed j a little of the cheap coin of the country upon so needy an object. I went away more content, knowing he would have - food for days to come, for there is a great deal of suffering in Zacatecas. The silver mines that have yielded untold wealth and have been worked since the fifteenth century, are closed, and the people who have known no other employment for gen erations, whose ancestors burrowed into these surrounding hills from whose rock-ribbed sides untold millions have been taken, are now mostly without employment. As I leave, my last glance rests upon a trail leading up to ithe Church Los Remedies, high on a hill above the city, ; where the faithful go, inch by inch, on their knees for pen ance and absolution. I thought to walk the rough streets; to live where every drop of water used must be carried from the fountain to the houses, some such weary distances away, would be penance enough for most things one could be guilty of in Zacatecas. "The soul of music, I have heard men say, Is to have grieved." A CHILD'S GRIEF ALICE HEATON'S STORY A little child lay on a small mound where grew no grass or flowers, sobbing her little heart out because there was only the bare, yellow soil, so unlike the graves near by which were well kept and beautiful, in the closely trimmed sward with growing plants and cut flowers in abundance. "O, mama, mama," she cried, "why is the earth so bare? You loved flowers so much. Why does not God let them grow over your dear, sweet face? Never mind, you shall have them, 1 will put them over you and hide the ugly earth." And away she sped. There was a florist near by. She remembered seeing flowers in great bunches at the door as she went to the cem etery. Snatching several bunches of them she was away like a flash, and ran with all her strength toward the cemetery, so intent on her errand of love that she did not observe that she was pursued by a man. A woman clad in mourning saw the child running with her pursuer after her and followed. As the child fell on the grave with her arm full of flowers, she raised her hand beck oning to the man who pursued. He paused, breathless, in his efforts to overtake the child. "What is the trouble?" the woman asked in a low voice. "She stole the flowers from our place," he replied. "Wait a moment," she said, as he started forward, for the child, recovering her breath, was wiping the tears from her eyes, and then began to dig in the earth with her little fingers planting the flowers in the bare soil. "Mama, dear," they heard her say, while the tears were again streaming down her cheeks. "You shall have the dear 3 6 FROM THE WORLD 37 little flowers growing above you. I will find them some where, even if I get them as I have today, and I will find some grass, too. You know how we used to gather the flowers and how we loved them. O mama, are you lonely down there ? I am here talking to you and telling you how lonely I am, too. And I am so afraid at night. I have no one to tuck me in bed and to kiss me. Nobody at all, dear mama, to cuddle me up and sing to me as you once did." Tears fell from the woman's eyes as she turned and mas tering her emotions asked, in a choked voice. I "How much are the flowers worth?" The man raised his chin, as if swallowing something, then said, "Never mind, let her have them. But, perhaps, you had better speak to her and make her understand that it is wrong to steal." And he went away. Waiting until the little girl had planted her flowers the woman went up to her and asked : "What are you doing here alone, my child?" "I'm not your child; I'm nobody's child. My mama is down there. I saw them put her in and throw the great , clods on her coffin. Then they took me away though I cried and begged them to let me stay. I didn't want to leave her in the dark. You know she never left me in the night alone. She always sat by me and talked and sang to me until I went : to sleep. I ran away this morning and came here. I thought there would be some geramiums and bervenas growing here." .:! The woman smiled at the pronounciation, but waited in it silence as the child continued. "I saw the other graves were all covered with grass and flowers when they took me away." "Well, dear, you must wait and maybe some verbenas and geraniums will grow. Perhaps God will see to it. But you must never take any more flowers as you have done today. \t Do you not know that it was wrong that you stole them?" err "No, I did not know. I thought flowers were for every- i body. We always had them until mama was sick, and we icame to town. I did not know it was wrong, and if it is I re will get them anyway. If God don't treat her like he has -.: the others, I will do it myself." And she straightened herself up with a determined air. 3 8 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED "You must wait. It will take time. All these graves once looked like your mother's. They were bare at first. Do you not know it?" "No. I was never in a place like this until they brought my mama here. I hate the cold earth. She loved the little flowers so much. Oh, I can't bear it. I want my mama, and I want to die, too. I could jump into the river, you know and die quickly. I saw a little bird fall into the water once I would just keep my head under the water. It wouldn't take long, would it?" she asked, earnestly. "Not very long," replied the woman, "but who would be left to look after your mother's grave if you were not here?' "I hadn't thought of that. I only know how my throat hurts when 1 think of her and want her arms around me. want to go to her, whether it is Heaven or Hell I've heard the preacher talk about. It would be all I want, jus to be with mama. I don't care where it is, if I can only be with her." "You will, dear, some time. God knows best, but you mus try to be patient." "How do I know what God thinks or does? He hasn' been very kind. Look at this grave with nothin' at all bu dirt, only what I have put on it, and that you tell me is wrong I hate God and the angels and don't believe they care." And the poor child put her hands to her throat and san down beside the grave. "Has no one told you that your mother has gone to beautiful land where there are always flowers and music; s-j many flowers that it must seem pitiful to the dear angels u there," and she pointed to heaven, "when they see us, e penally you, as you were a few minutes ago putting the poo perishable flowers in the ground that will soon wither an fade away." "Do you think they will give her flowers?" she aske*! anxiously. "Surely, and she will have far more beautiful ones thzf you have ever seen. She will have more than enough for yr and herself when you go to her. But you must not hate G( and the angels. You must love them and try to do right ai j, FROM THE WORLD 39 be kind and loving to all. And now I must go. Tell me your name." "Alice Heaton," replied the child. "And who takes care of you?" "Selma, my nurse, and I must hurry back for she will be angry. But I don't care. I'm coming again, and if there are flowers here I shall know God has heard me ask Him to be fair; to treat mama like the others. I shall love Him and try to be good and remember what you told me." "Go home, now, pray to God and see if your prayers are not answered. Keep saying 'God is good. He knows all will be well.' Promise me you will do so." "I will. I feel better now. You are kind like my own mama. Good-bye," and she ran away quickly. After she was gone the woman went to the florist near the cemetery and directed him to plant geraniums and verbenas on the grave. "Do so at once, cover it all over, keep them growing throughout the whole year, and send the bill to me." Giving her address she left hoping that when the child saw the grave again she would believe that 'God had been fair* and her little jealous heart satisfied. "Is there never a chink in the world above Where they listen for words from below ? " Every morning the sun and shade fought disputing inch by inch for possession. When the sun had conquered the cold, black shadows and drove them from the angle of the old wall I would go and nestle in the warm sunny nook and watch the padres at work in their garden. It looked peace ful and beautiful to me within that little gray, walled-in Eden, filled with vines and palms. I used to look with longing eyes. There were no forbid den fruits for them and I rebelled at the idea that they could eat the great clusters of grapes while I was barred from them. I had an abundance of fruit and food, but none was ever half so tempting to me as those hanging inside the fence through which I would gaze with envy. The garden, small and meagre enough, was of more in terest to me than the freedom of the world without. It was 4 o UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED simply the idea that I could not get in the garden that made my childish heart rebel. But the walls of the old Mission, its arches and cold stone floors, were of unfailing interest to me until I grew old enough to learn of what small compass were the lives of the padres. I often thought it would be heavenly to wear a long, brown apron tied with a rope. Then I could play in the dust and MISSION SANTA BARBARA. roll like the sparrows if I liked and not be punished for get ting my clothes soiled and hear the "Don't be so naughty, Alice. Try to keep your clothes clean like Ruth." "Ruth," I grew to hate the name and the girl. She was never very fond of playing in the sand, the acme of delight to me, to build little mounds and fashion houses of sticks and build \ walls like the dear old Mission I loved so well. I remember the last time we played together and that she refused to go with me in quest of water-cresses. She taunted me with being untidy and said: FROM THE WORLD 41 "Go, keep yourself unclean and spotted from the world." I was hurt and hid away behind the hedge but I heard her .mother reproving her, telling her she was unkind and some- lithing I did not understand about not saying it right; that it fwas different in the Bible. I resolved I would find out for . myself sometime and kept repeating the words over and over until they were indelibly fixed in my mind. I ran home shortly afterwards. I remember the house was in confusion; that I was not allowed to see my mama and there was terror in my heart. Everybody seemed distressed. | Nurse tried to divert my mind. It seemed like a horrible if dream and it was still more horrible when they told me my a mama was dead; that she had gone to heaven and left me with only my nurse. I cried and wanted my own mama, and it seemed as though ! I should die when they took her away and put her in the { grave. I hated heaven and God, and the angels, where they i told me she had gone. I needed her for I was a little child and had no one whom I loved or who loved me as she did. I dimly recall running away and going to her grave; of taking some flowers, and a kind lady who spoke to me who comforted me in some way. Then I remember we went away the next day. I was not permitted to go to her grave again. I was put in a school where there were a lot of other girls where after a time my grief grew less and finally the memory of the life near the old Mission and my loss became indis tinct and almost forgotten. Being left alone among strangers I grew up wilful and careless, but given to solitude, and having no confidential companions grew into the habit of writing my thoughts down which I kept concealed from all eyes save my own. It (did not take me very long to find out that I was envied by the girls in the school for my mirror showed a face that was different from theirs and at times some of them would praise my hair, my eyes, and complexion, telling me how beautiful I was. This made me happy and as I grew up into a tall, slender maiden, somehow when anyone spoke of my beauty I would always think of Ruth and I wished for only one thing on 42 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED earth, and that was to find Ruth when I should be out ol school, and hoped that I would be more beautiful than she. Strange that in forgetting so much that happened in nr young life my memory clung to that last time I saw her and her words which seemed an insult to me. Possibly the loss of my mother helped to fix them in my mind "Unclean andl spotted from the world" I knew now the real quotation and I hated her in my heart for the injustice. I knew I was clean bodily; that I was fair to look upon, and the thought of sin or wrong, except my dislike for her, had not entered into my mind. Strange how trifles will change our likes and dislikes, how very little it takes to make an enemy or a friend in this world J And then, one day I found my school days at the convent were ended. I was told that I was to be taken to the home of my adopted parents and I was taken away by a middle- aged woman who came after me. She seemed surprised when she saw me and heard my name, Alice Heaton. "I did not expect to find such a grown-up young lady." 1 heard her say to the Mother Superior. "She is not very large or strong, I think, and she should be allowed to live out doors for a while, at least," replied the Mother. "But she has been a good student and is far better educated than most girls of her age. She has never cared for the society of other students, seemingly preferring the teachers or myself, and I am sure her adopted parents will be pleased." Though spoken in an undertone I heard every word and was proud to be praised. I had never been told I had been a good student or praised in any way that I remembered. I was anxious about my new home and dreaded leaving the convent, the only home I knew. I asked a question or two after we started on our journey, but Miss Hill was not com municative. I only learned that my adopted parents were old; that they had known my mother. But beyond that she would or could not tell me. After a day's journey I found myself in the house of my adopted parents, both old and stern, but treating me with studied courtesy, never giving me a loving word or a kiss of welcome. I was shown my rooms and was allowed all FROM THE WORLD 43 freedom as to how I should employ my time, but I was chilled when in their presence. As the days went by I pondered often on their conduct and wondered why they adopted me, why they wanted me with them when I was sure in my heart they were ill at ease when I was with them. One day I heard the two old people talking about sending me away to Europe with Miss Hill who had brought me to them. "I simply cannot endure it after all these years. It is as though Alice had come back. She is the image of her mother when we two went away and left her." There was a sound as though Mrs. Browning was weeping. I was stricken with terror lest I should be found out and accused of eaves-dropping but I was hidden by the curtains and had been reading, and in reality was so engrossed in my book that I had not known when they came in. So I dared not stir. "Yes," said Mr. Browning, "I am sorry we have brought her here, but you know it was her mother's last request and something had to be done. She had finished there and they could not very well keep her at the convent. We could not allow her to teach, you know," and he sighed. "Perhaps we were too stern with her mother. We might have found some better way." "Never. I could not have lived and let the truth be known. She did not care for us and I ceased to love her as I once did for she broke my heart, and cared more for another than for me. No, every day the girl is here it seems to grow worse. I thought the old wound was healed in a measure, but it is not so. We are too old to travel and it may do her some good, and will keep her mind occupied until she is older. She brings only the old unhappiness, the deceit and treachery of her mother into this house where we must stay, and must re main, for I could not endure to have her with us in the old home where her mother was born. We must guard her closely until she is a little older and pray God we can find some good man who will marry her before she knows the ways of the world. We will keep her alone as much as pos sible for the present. O God, how the old pain comes back!" and she pressed her hand to her heart. 44 UNCLEAN AND SPOTTED "Don't think more of it than you can help. Our way has been long and hard, but we must endure as best we can. May God in heaven eternally condemn to perdition the cause of all our misery and grief him and his children's children and if there is a just God, may he in the midst of his torments see the result of his work here ! Come," he said, arising, "no more of this. I will not permit it. You must go to your room and rest." I was filled with amazement. What did they mean? They knew my mother and said I looked like her. But why should it distress them ? And why were they so unhappy when 1 was with them ? Why did they have me come ? All the perplex ing "whys" that came to me and they wanted to send me away? They did not love me to travel a while, and marry some good man. Over and over I found myself repeating the words. I was pleased with the idea marry and get away from them. I did not love them, and now that I knew that I was not wel come, but only tolerated, I was determined to get away as soon as I could. I was also determined to question Mrs. Browning, no matter what the result would be. I wanted to know some thing about my mother and my father, too. I have never heard him mentioned. I was too young to know or miss a father when my mother died, and later, at school, when I grew old enough to ponder over it, I had no one in whom I could confide. I only knew that I was adopted by some peo ple who would care for me when I left school; that they were traveling in Europe, having lost their only child, and adopted me when my mother died. I seemed to dimly recall a stern looking man whom I had never seen, who was present when my mama was buried. But that recollection had faded out of my mind until I saw Mr. Browning. He seemed somehow associated with my grief and terror at that time. I was put into school by my nurse and told to be good and ask no questions; that "my mama would not like it." That was enough for me. If mama wanted me to be good I would try to please her, for I thought she knew, and the good sis ters encouraged me in the belief. (FROM THE WORLD 45 But now that I am a woman almost, it is different and though in the house with my adopted parents where every * comfort and luxury except the luxury of love was mine, I ^felt I must ask questions. I was anxious to know if they i loved my mother. Why it grieved them so to have me with them. Why did they love her once, and then cease to care for her? Oh, the misery of it all ! I had never been treated like other girls I knew it too well. But I felt I would brave their displeasure by asking. So awaiting my opportunity, I asked. "Why did you adopt me?" Mrs. Browning looked startled, and after a moment said,