Part 5

"Only a poor friendless child, who came to the door a little while ago, weeping and asking shelter," answered the woman.

"Treat her kindly, mother; she will be company for you, and by-and-by I may marry her, but I have no time to think of women now."

The dwarf sat down to the hot supper the mother had prepared for him, and ate heartily, for he was very hungry. Then he drew his chair near the fire, and sat for sometime looking dreamily into its glowing embers.

"I must strike the lode soon," he mused. "Oh, my rich gold mine; it must come at last." Then he rose, saying, kindly, "Good night, mother," and climbed up into the little loft, where in a few minutes he was sleeping soundly.

The old woman woke Zaletta, and they retired for the night, sleeping in the same bed.

In the morning Zaletta was awakened by a kind voice calling, "Get up now, daughter, and help me to prepare my son's breakfast, he has been at work for an hour, and will soon come in very hungry."

Zaletta rose quickly and helped to prepare a breakfast of fresh tortillas nicely browned, fried plantain, and venison, which, with plenty of ripe fruit and goat's milk, made a repast fit for a prince.

Soon the dwarf came in, so smiling and cheerful, that though Zaletta thought him the ugliest looking person she ever saw, she felt sure his heart was in the right place. "You are welcome, my pretty girl," he said, "but don't mind me; I've no time to compliment women, though by-and-by, when I strike a rich lode, I may marry you."

Zaletta's face flushed a deep crimson, and she looked as though that would be any thing but desirable; but she made no reply, and in a moment the dwarf seemed to have forgotten her presence, and she became more comfortable.

Two years passed by and Zaletta remained at the cottage, helping the old mother, who was very fond of her, and reading books with which the dwarf kept her constantly supplied. All this time he was working hard in his mine, but could not "strike the rich lode." Sometimes he grew quite disheartened, then he would be joyous and hopeful, and would say to Zaletta: "Though I have no time to think of women now, by-and-by, when I am rich, I will marry you." She soon got used to this, and only laughed, for he was always very kind to her, and she learned to look upon him as a brother.

One dark night in the rainy season she and the mother sat by the fire waiting for the dwarf to come in to his supper. The old woman was spinning, and Zaletta reading a pleasant book of travels.

"My poor boy," sighed the old mother. "How it rains; he will be wet through. Oh, dear! I fear he will never be able to strike the rich lode." Just then a loud knock came at the door. "Who knocks at my door so late in the night," said the old woman.

A voice, young, strong, and pure, answered, sending all the warm blood from Zaletta's heart to her face: "A stranger, belated and lost in the wood, begs for shelter from the storm."

The old woman opened the door, and Guilerme—dear, handsome Guilerme, dripping with rain, and very cold, entered.

Zaletta's book dropped upon the floor, and her tongue refused her heart utterance, but Guilerme's eyes rested upon the beautiful girl with delighted surprise.

"Found at last, my own Zaletta." His arms opened, and the trembling, lonely heart of the maiden found its true resting-place.

They sat down side by side, hand clasping hand, and explained all the past to each other, how Guilerme had written and received no answer, and at last returned to find her gone, and his heart desolate.

Zaletta told him all she had suffered, and of the kindness she had received at the cottage. Then Guilerme took the old woman's hands and thanked her with a voice trembling with emotion.

The mother rejoiced with them, but there mingled a sorrow for her son with the joy. "Poor son," she thought, "He is very fond of the child."

Soon another knock came, and again the old woman asked, "Who knocks at my door so late in the night," and the dwarf answered:—

"Mother! mother! I've struck the lode at last."

She opened the door, and he threw his arms round her neck and kissed her, then he came in, and saw Guilerme; and they both told their stories.

"So," said the dwarf, when Guilerme had finished: "You have come to take my pretty maid away? Well, if she loves you, 'tis all right, I have had no time to think of women; but, somehow, I have grown fond of her," and he sighed heavily. "I have struck the lode at last. I am a rich man, but I must find some one to share my good fortune with me, some pure, good little girl like our Zaletta."

In the morning, when Guilerme and the dwarf went to the mine together, they found it even richer than the dwarf had thought it, the night before. Guilerme offered to furnish the money to build a mill to crush the ore, for one-half the mine; and so they became partners.

Soon after this, Guilerme and Zaletta were married at the cottage in the wood, and in time the good dwarf was united to a pretty Mexican lass, who made him very happy.

After a time, Guilerme built a fine house for his wife, and, when they had two little children, he took his family home to the old hacienda.

The mother and sister did not recognize their old servant in Guilerme's brilliant señora, but the old father (God bless him) knew her, when she placed her little soft hand in his, and kissed him; and very dearly he learned to love his dutiful daughter.

So they were all rich and happy, as long as it pleased God to spare their lives.

THE STRONG MAN OF SANTA BARBARA.

Many years ago, in the old Spanish mission of Santa Barbara, lived an old Mexican, named Joza Silva, with his wife and child, in a little adobe house, containing but one room.

There was a small window, rudely latticed with unplaned laths, and a door opening upon a pleasant view of the golden-sanded beach and the restless waves of the ocean.

At that time, the Spaniards, Mexicans, and Indians were the only inhabitants of the country.

Over these people, the padres, who established the mission, had acquired a most unlimited sway, ruling them more completely than even the Pope his subjects of the Holy See of Rome.

The Mexicans are an indolent race. The luxurious climate of Santa Barbara is not favorable to the development of latent energy in any people, least of all to the inert Mexicans; yet the padres, by awakening their superstitious fears, made them work until the wilderness became a vineyard, and the golden orange glowed amid the leaves of the fragrant trees.

Poor Joza disliked any exertion, and, if left to his own inclination, would have lived on the spontaneous productions of that almost tropical climate, and been happy after his oyster fashion.

Often he obeyed very reluctantly, those whom he thought had power, not only over the body, but could doom his soul to unnumbered years of suffering, in the fearful fires of purgatory.

The padres lived in great ease and comfort; though so far from the elegances of the great world, their own ingenuity and the rapid growth of the country, furnished them with many luxuries.

Their quaint adobe houses were very pleasant, built after the Spanish style, in the form of a square with an open court in the center.

Beautiful gardens flourished around them, in which grew the fragrant citron, the lemon, with its shining leaves, and nearly all the rare fruits and flowers of the tropics.

For some years, Joza labored in the vineyards and gardens; but the ambitious padres were planning a greater work. A new church was to be built, and elaborately ornamented; a convent and college was planned; extensive grounds to be laid out and cultivated, and all to be surrounded by the enduring adobe wall of mud and stones.

One evening, after a weary day in the vineyard, just as Joza was about starting for home, padre Antonio called him.

"On the morrow," he said, "we will begin to lay the foundation of the new church, the Grand San Pedro; you shall be permitted to aid in the blessed work, by carrying stones and mortar, for which great mercy thank the holy Mother and all the saints, especially the blessed San Pedro, who is the patron saint of this great enterprise."

Then the padre blessed him, and wandered off into the delicious shade of the garden.

In the gathering gloom of the twilight, Joza returned to his cottage, more disheartened than ever, wondering how much more torturing the fires of purgatory could be, than carrying stones under the burning sun of Santa Barbara.

As he approached his cottage, he saw his wife sitting before the door with a stranger, both smoking, with the greatest apparent enjoyment.

His son, and a large dog, were rolling about on the soft earth, near them, raising a cloud of dust, and making a great noise, which seemed to disturb no one, and to afford them much pleasure.

When Joza came up, his wife introduced the stranger as his old playmate, and her brother Schio, who, many years before, had gone away, and, until that evening, had never been heard from.

Joza welcomed his old friend in the cordial Spanish way, placing his house at his disposal.

For a short time, in pleasant memories of their boyhood, he forgot the weary present. After they had eaten their frugal supper, and were again seated in the vine-clad doorway, Joza looked out upon the great ocean, dusky with the shadows of evening, growing sad and silent.

"What ails thee, brother," said Schio, in his clear, ringing voice, that sounded like the strong notes of a clarionet. "You are changed; you are growing old, but see me, I am as young in heart as your boy, and strong as a bullock."

He lifted a great stone that lay near him, and held it at arms' length, laughing loudly, till the caves of the ocean sent back a hundred echoes.

With many sighs, Joza told the story of his troubles; how, for years, till his back had grown old and stiff, he had worked in the vineyard of the padre, but the purple harvest had brought no blessing to him.

How a harder task was to be laid upon him. He was to hew and carry the heavy foundation-stones of the Grand San Pedro, and even at the thought of so great labor, the beaded sweat rolled down his forehead.

His sympathizing wife sobbed aloud, but the brother only laughed, till again he woke the mysterious voices of the ocean caves.

Half angry, Joza turned to Schio, saying: "'Tis all very well for you, Schio, to laugh; you who roam at will in the cool of the evening, and rest in the delightful shade, while the scorching sunshine is burning my life out."

Poor Joza buried his face in his hands and sighed wearily.

"Cheer up, brother," said Schio, pleasantly. "Listen to me. Go in the morning, to padre Antonio, and tell him you are getting old and feeble, and cannot work through the heat of the day, but if he will appoint your task, you will accomplish it after the burning sun has gone down.

"Tell him if you carry those large stones in the day, your life will be consumed like the burning candles before the altar; but that in the cool of the evening, your strength returns as in the days of youth."

"And what, then?" said Joza, wearily.

"I will see that the morning finds your task accomplished," replied Schio.

That night Joza dreamed that his tasks were ended, and that all day long he luxuriated in most delicious ease, under the shade of olive trees, and, when he woke, his heart grew sad, that it was only a dream.

He rose in haste to go to his task, for he had overslept himself; then he thought of Schio's advice. "I will do as he told me, though I fear 'twill do no good," thought he. "I can but fail, and who knows what may come.

"Schio is such a strange fellow; when he's talking, it seems as though a hundred voices rung changes on his words. God grant he's not in league with the devil."

Joza crossed himself, and muttered prayers most devoutly until he reached the house of the padre Antonio.

After he had told the padre all Schio had directed, his task was appointed, and he returned home, all day long resting in the shade of his favorite lime-tree, smoking his cigarettés, and was happy as only a careless, indolent Mexican could be, enjoying the luxury of complete repose.

Toward evening he began to be a little uneasy, but with the dewy twilight, came Schio, waking the mysterious echoes, with his ringing laughter, and, as the darkness deepened, he placed a lantern in Joza's hand, saying: "Now, brother, we will go to the task you complain of so bitterly."

Silently they pursued their way, until they arrived at the huge pile, upon which the padre had appointed Joza to begin his work.

Many days would have passed before he could have hewn the rock as the padre desired, but, with one blow of an immense drill, in Schio's powerful hand, the rock was cleft in twain. As he reduced it to its proper size and shape, Joza stood by, trembling with fear; then pointed out the chosen spot, and, in silence and darkness, the first stone of the Grand San Pedro was laid.

When the full moon arose, clear and bright, shedding its floods of golden light over the mission of Santa Barbara, and the blue waves that washed its sanded shore, the laborers had gone—Joza, to sleep peacefully in his little cottage, and Schio, down to the echoing caverns by the sounding sea.

Morning came, gorgeous with sunshine and beauty, and the padre walked out to inspect the site of his ambitious dreams.

He was an avaricious and unscrupulous man.

In building this new church, he hoped to erect a tower of strength and greatness for himself, more than an edifice in which to worship the blessed Christ, the immaculate Virgin, and the holy saints.

When he saw the huge foundation-stone that Schio had laid, he was greatly amazed.

Even the hewing of it, he knew to be the work of days, and there it was, cleanly cleft, and in its proper place.

"There is a mystery here," he said; "the people will believe it a miracle; be it as it will, I must make the most of it."

He called Joza, who came to him smiling and happy.

"You have done well for the beginning," said the padre, "but to-night, you must lay two stones like this."

"Holy San Pedro, help me!" exclaimed Joza. "It is impossible!" and he turned away, very sorrowful.

At night he told Schio what the padre had said. Schio frowned, and answered, "The padre should not ask too much; but this shall be as he desires."

Again they went out in the twilight, and before the rising of the golden moon, two more foundation-stones were laid.

At daybreak the padre arose, and hastened to see if the task had been accomplished, and before his wondering eyes, lay the three immense foundation-stones, smooth, and in their proper places.

"Holy Virgin! I will give him enough to-night," exclaimed the amazed padre, and again the task was doubled.

Thus it went on, night after night, and week after week, till the Grand San Pedro began to rise up like Aladdin's wonderful palace, but, Schio, the man of iron, grew very angry, as the full moon arose upon him, bending over his unfinished task.

"Joza," said he, "the padre may go too far for even Schio to bear; bid him beware!

"If the morning sun finds me here, I will not answer for the result; too much pressure will burst open the hidden recesses of earth, and cause the caverns of ocean to resound with fearful echoes of mystery.

"Can he think San Pedro will bless avarice and oppression, even in the padre Antonio?"

In the morning Joza went to the padre, and entreated him to lessen the task, but he only laughed, and said: "You are getting fat and lazy. I will not double your work to-night, but you shall do four times as much as ever, and I will be there to see it accomplished."

Joza departed with a heavy heart, dreading to meet Schio; and when he told him in the evening, he made no reply, but a black frown covered his whole face, and his eyes shot fire.

That night the padre Antonio went out to watch Joza, and when he saw Schio cleaving the huge stones with one blow of his wonderful drill, he thought he had not imposed task enough, and resolved he would command him to finish the Grand San Pedro in one night.

Just after midnight the moon arose, and the startled Joza heard, at every blow of the drill, a hundred echoes ring out from the ocean caverns. But Schio worked steadily on.

"Schio," said Joza, suddenly, "what is it makes these mournings from the sea caves?" But Schio only answered by a heavier blow from his hammer, and under their feet the ground shook violently, then opened, and, where the Grand San Pedro should have stood, yawned a great gulf, that closed upon the labor of many nights; and with the great foundation-stones went down the ambitious padre.

The morning sun rose on a scene of great desolation, but only Joza was there, with trembling voice, to tell the tale of the padre Antonio and the Grand San Pedro.

When others spoke of the great earth quake, he said: "'Twas all Schio's doings.

"The padre would never be satisfied, and the man of iron grew so angry, that he struck the great stone from the heart of the mountain, and then the earth shook, opened, and swallowed up the padre Antonio and the Grand San Pedro."

Schio was never afterward seen at the mission of Santa Barbara, but often, at evening, his ringing voice was wafted along the shore, from the cave of echoes, down by the sea.

JUNG-FRAU MALEEN.

In a small village upon the shore of the German Ocean lived a man whose wife had golden tresses so long and heavy that when they were unbound they covered her like a cloak of sunbeams, and reached to her feet. Her complexion was so fair, and her eyes so beautiful, that her equal was not to be found in all the Fatherland.

At last she fell sick and died, leaving her husband all alone in the world, except one wee baby, who lay sleeping in the cradle. At first the father was heart-broken, and noticed nothing, but after a time all his love turned to the helpless infant, who every day grew more lovely, and at last became as fair as her mother, with the same wealth of golden hair and soft violet eyes, and all the Fatherland, from far and near, was filled with the story of her great beauty.

When she was only a little maid, she would go down to the sea-shore and dance upon the sand, until her light straw hat would drop from her head, and her waving tresses fall about her like a shower of pure gold, and her violet eyes beam with the brightness of stars, while the flush upon her cheeks rivaled the soft, fresh bloom of the peach.

The maiden was called the fair Jung-frau Maleen, as she grew older and every day added to her charms, till half the young men in the country were ready to lay down their life for her; but though her ways were winning, and she had a pleasant smile for all, no one could be familiar with her. In her guileless innocence and beauty she seemed a great way out of their reach, yet she danced with them, talked and laughed with them, till her clear, sweet voice rang out upon the air like the soft notes of a silver bell, but when she turned away, they felt that she had gone from them forever.

Among her lovers was a bashful student named Handsel, who worshiped the Jung-frau Maleen with all the devotion of his great noble heart, but ever at a distance.

He seldom spoke to her.

Even the rustle of her dress as she passed along would set his heart to beating wildly, and the sound of her voice, or one glance of her violet eye would send the hot blood rushing through his veins, dyeing his face and neck a deep crimson. Poor Handsel!

He would say to his heart, "Down, fool, the star of heaven is not for you, look for some lovely flower of earth," but in all the Fatherland he knew there was not another maiden who could satisfy the hunger of his heart.

At all the village festivals he looked on in the distance, and saw others worship at the shrine he dared not approach. "I have nothing worth offering her," he would say, and so he was silent.

He was handsome and manly, and Maleen always looked for him in the crowd, and when she saw him standing far apart with his large dark eyes fixed upon her, she was more content than in his absence. If she had questioned her heart for the reason of this she would have blushed with confusion, for Jung-frau Maleen was not one who would willingly yield her heart unsought.

Maleen always loved the bright, sparkling sea, and often she would go out alone in her little boat, and sail for hours over the blue waters, gathering the pretty sea-weed, and indulging in the day-dreams that German maidens love.

One morning as Handsel was going to the college, he saw the Jung-frau step into her boat and push away from the shore.

He took off his hat and bowed.

She looked at him with that rare, sweet smile that always made him happy for days.

He stopped and looked back after her as the boat glided from the shore, and it seemed as though the sunshine of heaven and its bright reflection upon the waters were united, and was poured out in one rich flood of glory over her golden hair.

Handsel passed on out of the light into the quiet seclusion of the college, and bending over his book did not notice the rising of a thick, black cloud that from a tiny speck soon swept over the whole sky, then burst into wind and rain.

He was living over the heroic ages of the olden time, when the darkness fell across his book, and looking out the window he saw the fierce storm gathering, and heard the wailing winds crying out, Maleen! Maleen! 'Twas but the work of a moment to rush out into the storm and down to the lashed sea-shore and there, he saw a crowd of anxious faces all turned hopelessly out upon the pitiless breakers.

He looked, and there tossed wildly upon the white-capped waves, rose and fell the frail boat, and pale and hopeless sat the pride of the Fatherland, the beautiful Jung-frau Maleen, her matchless golden hair hanging like a damp shroud about her.

There were the hosts of her admirers standing upon the shore wringing their hands and weeping, they saw only death in an attempt to save her, and no one was so mad as to venture out upon the storm-lashed sea.

Even her father stood paralyzed in the hopelessness of his agony.

A strong, manly voice burst in upon the echoes of the storm. "A boat! a boat!" cried Handsel, with a stout-hearted determination in his voice to brave the danger of the breakers, and save the maiden he loved from the angry waters.

A long rope was tied about his body, and in a moment more the life-boat was tossing upon the crested waves, with the brave student at the prow, and the poor helpless Maleen rose up and held out her white arms toward him.

On over the cruel waves, the boats were nearing each other. The agony of suspense that filled the breathless crowd! Great God! if they should meet and crash together!

Down they went into the great sea gulf; Maleen with outstretched arms, and Handsel with his great heart beating like a signal-drum in his bosom, pale but unfaltering.

Down! down they went!

Now up came the billow, but only one boat, and Handsel at the prow was struggling for the shore.

"Oh, Maleen! Maleen!" burst from the father's white lips, then a tress of rich golden hair hanging over the side of the boat met his sight, and he knew that Maleen was in the boat with Handsel.

On it came to the shore, like a charmed boat it escaped the perilous breakers, till at last, no one could tell how, only through God's great mercy, they were saved, and Handsel stood upon the shore with Maleen in his arms.

He gave the maiden to her weeping father, then sank away, and no one thought of him, all were gathered around Maleen, who had fainted.

Soon she opened her violet eyes, and looked around searchingly through the crowd with a strange fear. "Where, where, is Handsel?" she cried, in wild excitement.

Then they all wondered how they could have forgotten him, and looking round they saw him sitting alone, with his head bowed down upon his hands. He did not want their thanks.