The Splendid Idle Forties: Stories of Old California

  THE WASH-TUB MAIL

  PART I

  "Mariquita! Thou good-for-nothing, thou art wringing that smock inpieces! Thy senora will beat thee! Holy heaven, but it is hot!"

  "For that reason I hurry, old Faquita. Were I as slow as thou, I shouldcook in my own tallow."

  "Aha, thou art very clever! But I have no wish to go back to the ranchoand wash for the cooks. Ay, yi! I wonder will La Tulita ever give me herbridal clothes to wash. I have no faith that little flirt will marry theSenor Don Ramon Garcia. He did not well to leave Monterey until afterthe wedding. And to think--Ay! yi!"

  "Thou hast a big letter for the wash-tub mail, Faquita."

  "Aha, my Francesca, thou hast interest! I thought thou wast thinkingonly of the bandits."

  Francesca, who was holding a plunging child between her knees, activelyinspecting its head, grunted but did not look up, and the oracle ofthe wash-tubs, provokingly, with slow movements of her knottedcoffee-coloured arms, flapped a dainty skirt, half-covered with drawnwork, before she condescended to speak further.

  Twenty women or more, young and old, dark as pine cones, stooped or sat,knelt or stood, about deep stone tubs sunken in the ground at the footof a hill on the outskirts of Monterey. The pines cast heavy shadows onthe long slope above them, but the sun was overhead. The little whitetown looked lifeless under its baking red tiles, at this hour ofsiesta. On the blue bay rode a warship flying the American colours. Theatmosphere was so clear, the view so uninterrupted, that the youngerwomen fancied they could read the name on the prow: the town was on theright; between the bay and the tubs lay only the meadow, the road, thelake, and the marsh. A few yards farther down the road rose a hill wherewhite slabs and crosses gleamed beneath the trees. The roar of the surfcame refreshingly to their hot ears. It leaped angrily, they fancied, tothe old fort on the hill where men in the uniform of the United Statesmoved about with unsleeping vigilance. It was the year 1847. TheAmericans had come and conquered. War was over, but the invaders guardedtheir new possessions.

  The women about the tubs still bitterly protested against the downfallof California, still took an absorbing interest in all matters,domestic, social, and political. For those old women with grizzled locksescaping from a cotton handkerchief wound bandwise about their heads,their ample forms untrammelled by the flowing garment of calico, thosegirls in bright skirts and white short-sleeved smock and young hairbraided, knew all the news of the country, past and to come, many hoursin advance of the dons and donas whose linen they washed in the greatstone tubs: the Indians, domestic and roving, were their faithfulfriends.

  "Sainted Mary, but thou art more slow than a gentleman that walks!"cried Mariquita, an impatient-looking girl. "Read us the letter. LaTulita is the prettiest girl in Monterey now that the Senorita YsabelHerrera lies beneath the rocks, and Benicia Ortega has died of herchilding. But she is a flirt--that Tulita! Four of the Gringos are underher little slipper this year, and she turn over the face and roll in thedirt. But Don Ramon, so handsome, so rich--surely she will marry him."

  Faquita shook her head slowly and wisely. "There--come--yesterday--from--the--South--a--young--lieutenant--of--America." Shepaused a moment, then proceeded leisurely, though less provokingly. "Hecome over the great American deserts with General Kearney last year andhelp our men to eat the dust in San Diego. He come only yesterday toMonterey, and La Tulita is like a little wild-cat ever since. She box myears this morning when I tell her that the Americans are bandoleros, andsay she never marry a Californian. And never Don Ramon Garcia, ay, yi!"

  By this time the fine linen was floating at will upon the water, orlying in great heaps at the bottom of the clear pools. The sufferingchild scampered up through the pines with whoops of delight. Thewashing-women were pressed close about Faquita, who stood with thumbs onher broad hips, the fingers contracting and snapping as she spoke, wispsof hair bobbing back and forth about her shrewd black eyes and scoldingmouth.

  "Who is he? Where she meet him?" cried the audience. "Oh, thou oldcarreta! Why canst thou not talk faster?"

  "If thou hast not more respect, Senorita Mariquita, thou wilt hearnothing. But it is this. There is a ball last night at Dona MariaAmpudia's house for La Tulita. She look handsome, that witch! Holy Mary!When she walk it was like the tule in the river. You know. Why she havethat name? She wear white, of course, but that frock--it is like thecobweb, the cloud. She has not the braids like the other girls, but thehair, soft like black feathers, fall down to the feet. And the eyes likeblue stars! You know the eyes of La Tulita. The lashes so long, andblack like the hair. And the sparkle! No eyes ever sparkle like those.The eyes of Ysabel Herrera look like they want the world and nevercan get it. Benicia's, pobrecita, just dance like the child's. But LaTulita's! They sparkle like the devil sit behind and strike fire outred-hot iron--"

  "Mother of God!" cried Mariquita, impatiently, "we all know thou artdaft about that witch! And we know how she looks. Tell us the story."

  "Hush thy voice or thou wilt hear nothing. It is this way. La Tulitahave the castanets and just float up and down the sala, while all standback and no breathe only when they shout. I am in the garden in themiddle the house, and I stand on a box and look through the doors. Ay,the roses and the nasturtiums smell so sweet in that little garden!Well! She dance so beautiful, I think the roof go to jump off so she canfloat up and live on one the gold stars all by herself. Her little feetjust twinkle! Well! The door open and Lieutenant Ord come in. He havewith him another young man, not so handsome, but so straight, so sharpeye and tight mouth. He look at La Tulita like he think she belong toAmerica and is for him. Lieutenant Ord go up to Dona Maria and say, sopolite: 'I take the liberty to bring Lieutenant'--I no can remember thatname, so American! 'He come to-day from San Diego and will stay with usfor a while.' And Dona Maria, she smile and say, very sweet, 'Very gladwhen I have met all of our conquerors.' And he turn red and speak verybad Spanish and look, look, at La Tulita. Then Lieutenant Ord speak tohim in English and he nod the head, and Lieutenant Ord tell Dona Mariathat his friend like be introduced to La Tulita, and she say, 'Verywell,' and take him over to her who is now sit down. He ask her to waltzright away, and he waltz very well, and then they dance again, and oncemore. And then they sit down and talk, talk. God of my soul, but thecaballeros are mad! And Dona Maria! By and by she can stand it no moreand she go up to La Tulita and take away from the American and say, 'Doyou forget--and for a bandolero--that you are engage to my nephew?' AndLa Tulita toss the head and say: 'How can I remember Ramon Garcia whenhe is in Yerba Buena? I forget he is alive.' And Dona Maria is veryangry. The eyes snap. But just then the little sister of La Tulita runinto the sala, the face red like the American flag. 'Ay, Herminia!' shejust gasp. 'The donas! The donas! It has come!'"

  "The donas!" cried the washing-women, old and young. "Didst thou seeit, Faquita? Oh, surely. Tell us, what did he send? Is he a generousbridegroom? Were there jewels? And satins? Of what was the rosary?"

  "Hush the voice or you will hear nothing. The girls all jump and claptheir hands and they cry: 'Come, Herminia. Come quick! Let us go andsee.' Only La Tulita hold the head very high and look like the donas isnothing to her, and the Lieutenant look very surprise, and she talk tohim very fast like she no want him to know what they mean. But the girlsjust take her hands and pull her out the house. I am after. La Tulitalook very mad, but she cannot help, and in five minutes we are at theCasa Rivera, and the girls scream and clap the hands in the sala forDona Carmen she have unpack the donas and the beautiful things are onthe tables and the sofas and the chairs, Mother of God!"

  "Go on! Go on!" cried a dozen exasperated voices.

  "Well! Such a donas. Ay, he is a generous lover. A yellow crepe shawlembroidered with red roses. A white one with embroidery so thick it canstand up. A string of pearls from Baja California. (Ay, poor YsabelHerrera!) Hoops of gold for the little ears of La Tulita. A big chainof California gold. A set of topaz with pearls all round. A rosary ofamethyst--purple like the violets. A big pi
n painted with the Ascension,and diamonds all round. Silks and satins for gowns. A white lacemantilla, Dios de mi alma! A black one for the visits. And thenight-gowns like cobwebs. The petticoats!" She stopped abruptly.

  "And the smocks?" cried her listeners, excitedly. "The smocks? They aremore beautiful than Blandina's? They were pack in rose-leaves--"

  "Ay! yi! yi! yi!" The old woman dropped her head on her breast and wavedher arms. She was a study for despair. Even she did not suspect howthoroughly she was enjoying herself.

  "What! What! Tell us! Quick, thou old snail. They were not fine? Theyhad not embroidery?"

  "Hush the voices. I tell you when I am ready. The girls are like crazy.They look like they go to eat the things. Only La Tulita sit on thechair in the door with her back to all and look at the windows of DonaMaria. They look like a long row of suns, those windows.

  "I am the one. Suddenly I say: 'Where are the smocks?' And they all cry:'Yes, where are the smocks? Let us see if he will be a good husband.Dona Carmen, where are the smocks?'

  "Dona Carmen turn over everything in a hurry. 'I did not think of thesmocks,' she say. 'But they must be here. Everything was unpack in thisroom.' She lift all up, piece by piece. The girls help and so do I.La Tulita sit still but begin to look more interested. We searcheverywhere--everywhere--for twenty minutes. There--are--no--smocks!"

  "God of my life! The smocks! He did not forget!"

  "He forget the smocks!"

  There was an impressive pause. The women were too dumfounded to comment.Never in the history of Monterey had such a thing happened before.

  Faquita continued: "The girls sit down on the floor and cry. Dona Carmenturn very white and go in the other room. Then La Tulita jump up andwalk across the room. The lashes fall down over the eyes that look likeshe is California and have conquer America, not the other way. Thenostrils just jump. She laugh, laugh, laugh. 'So!' she say, 'my rich andgenerous and ardent bridegroom, he forget the smocks of the donas. Heproclaim as if by a poster on the streets that he will be a bad husband,a thoughtless, careless, indifferent husband. He has vow by the starsthat he adore me. He has serenade beneath my window until I have beg formercy. He persecute my mother. And now he flings the insult of insultsin my teeth. And he with six married sisters!'

  "The girls just sob. They can say nothing. No woman forgive that. Thenshe say loud, 'Ana,' and the girl run in. 'Ana,' she say, 'pack thisstuff and tell Jose and Marcos take it up to the house of the Senor DonRamon Garcia. I have no use for it.' Then she say to me: 'Faquita, walkback to Dona Maria's with me, no? I have engagement with the American.'And I go with her, of course; I think I go jump in the bay if she tellme; and she dance all night with that American. He no look at anothergirl--all have the eyes so red, anyhow. And Dona Maria is crazy that hernephew do such a thing, and La Tulita no go to marry him now. Ay, thatwitch! She have the excuse and she take it."

  For a few moments the din was so great that the crows in a neighbouringgrove of willows sped away in fear. The women talked all at once, atthe top of their voices and with no falling inflections. So rich anassortment of expletives, secular and religious, such individuality yetsympathy of comment, had not been called upon for duty since the seventhof July, a year before, when Commodore Sloat had run up the Americanflag on the Custom-house. Finally they paused to recover breath.Mariquita's young lungs being the first to refill, she demanded ofFaquita:--

  "And Don Ramon--when does he return?"

  "In two weeks, no sooner."

  PART II

  Two weeks later they were again gathered about the tubs.

  For a time after arrival they forgot La Tulita--now the absorbing topicof Monterey--in a new sensation. Mariquita had appeared with a basket ofunmistakable American underwear.

  "What!" cried Faquita, shrilly. "Thou wilt defile these tubs with thelinen of bandoleros? Hast thou had thy silly head turned with a kiss?Not one shirt shall go in this water."

  Mariquita tossed her head defiantly. "Captain Brotherton say the Indianwomen break his clothes in pieces. They know not how to wash anythingbut dish-rags. And does he not go to marry our Dona Eustaquia?"

  "The Captain is not so bad," admitted Faquita. The indignation of theothers also visibly diminished: the Captain had been very kind the yearbefore when gloom lay heavy on the town. "But," continued the autocrat,with an ominous pressing of her lips, "sure he must change three times aday. Is all that Captain Brotherton's?"

  "He wear many shirts," began Mariquita, when Faquita pounced upon thebasket and shook its contents to the grass.

  "Aha! It seems that the Captain has sometimes the short legs andsometimes the long. Sometimes he put the tucks in his arms, I suppose.What meaning has this? Thou monster of hypocrisy!"

  The old women scowled and snorted. The girls looked sympathetic: morethan one midshipman had found favour in the lower quarter.

  "Well," said Mariquita, sullenly, "if thou must know, it is the linen ofthe Lieutenant of La Tulita. Ana ask me to wash it, and I say I will."

  At this announcement Faquita squared her elbows and looked at Mariquitawith snapping eyes.

  "Oho, senorita, I suppose thou wilt say next that thou knowest whatmeans this flirtation! Has La Tulita lost her heart, perhaps? And DonRamon--dost thou know why he leaves Monterey one hour after he comes?"Her tone was sarcastic, but in it was a note of apprehension.

  Mariquita tossed her head, and all pressed close about the rivals.

  "What dost thou know, this time?" inquired the girl, provokingly. "Hastthou any letter to read today? Thou dost forget, old Faquita, that Anais my friend--"

  "Throw the clothes in the tubs," cried Faquita, furiously. "Do we comehere to idle and gossip? Mariquita, thou hussy, go over to that tub bythyself and wash the impertinent American rags. Quick. No more talk. Thesun goes high."

  No one dared to disobey the queen of the tubs, and in a moment the womenwere kneeling in irregular rows, tumbling their linen into the water,the brown faces and bright attire making a picture in the colorouslandscape which some native artist would have done well to preserve. Fora time no sound was heard but the distant roar of the surf, the sighingof the wind through the pines on the hill, the less romantic grunts ofthe women and the swish of the linen in the water. Suddenly Mariquita,the proscribed, exclaimed from her segregated tub:--

  "Look! Look!"

  Heads flew up or twisted on their necks. A party of young people,attended by a duena, was crossing the meadow to the road. At the head ofthe procession were a girl and a man, to whom every gaze which shouldhave been intent upon washing-tubs alone was directed. The girl wore apink gown and a reboso. Her extraordinary grace made her look tallerthan she was; the slender figure swayed with every step. Her pink lipswere parted, her blue starlike eyes looked upward into the keen coldeyes of a young man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant of the UnitedStates army.

  The dominant characteristics of the young man's face, even then, wereambition and determination, and perhaps the remarkable future wasforeshadowed in the restless scheming mind. But to-day his deep-set eyeswere glowing with a light more peculiar to youth, and whenever bulgingstones afforded excuse he grasped the girl's hand and held it as longas he dared. The procession wound past the tubs and crossing the roadclimbed up the hill to the little wooded cemetery of the early fathers,the cemetery where so many of those bright heads were to lie forgottenbeneath the wild oats and thistles.

  "They go to the grave of Benicia Ortega and her little one," saidFrancesca. "Holy Mary! La Tulita never look in a man's eyes like thatbefore."

  "But she have in his," said Mariquita, wisely.

  "No more talk!" cried Faquita, and once more silence came to her own.But fate was stronger than Faquita. An hour later a little girl camerunning down, calling to the old woman that her grandchild, theconsolation of her age, had been taken ill. After she had hurried awaythe women fairly leaped over one another in their efforts to reachMariquita's tub.

  "Tell us, tell us, chiquita," they cried, fearful lest
Faquita'ssnubbing should have turned her sulky, "what dost thou know?"

  But Mariquita, who had been biting her lips to keep back her story,opened them and spoke fluently.

  "Ay, my friends! Dona Eustaquia and Benicia Ortega are not the only onesto wed Americans. Listen! La Tulita is mad for this man, who is no morehandsome than the palm of my hand when it has all day been in the water.Yesterday morning came Don Ramon. I am in the back garden of the CasaRivera with Ana, and La Tulita is in the front garden sitting under thewall. I can look through the doors of the sala and see and hear all.Such a handsome caballero, my friends! The gold six inches deep on theserape. Silver eagles on the sombrero. And the botas! Stamp with birdsand leaves, ay, yi! He fling open the gates so bold, and when he see LaTulita he look like the sun is behind his face. (Such curls, my friends,tied with a blue ribbon!) But listen!

  "'Mi querida!' he cry, 'mi alma!' (Ay, my heart jump in my throat likehe speak to me.) Then he fall on one knee and try to kiss her hand. Butshe throw herself back like she hate him. Her eyes are like the bay inwinter. And then she laugh. When she do that, he stand up and say withthe voice that shake:--

  "'What is the matter, Herminia? Do you not love me any longer?'

  "'I never love you,' she say. 'They give me no peace until I say I marryyou, and as I love no one else--I do not care much. But now that youhave insult me, I have the best excuse to break the engagement, and I doit.'

  "'I insult you?' He hardly can speak, my friends, he is so surprised andunhappy.

  "'Yes; did you not forget the smocks?'

  "'The--smocks!' he stammer, like that. 'The smocks?'

  "'No one can be blame but you,' she say. 'And you know that no brideforgive that. You know all that it means.'

  "'Herminia!' he say. 'Surely you will not put me; away for a littlething like that!'

  "'I have no more to say,' she reply, and then she get up and go in thehouse and shut the door so I cannot see how he feel, but I am very sorryfor him if he did forget the smocks. Well! That evening I help Ana waterthe flowers in the front garden, and every once in the while we lookthrough the windows at La Tulita and the Lieutenant. They talk, talk,talk. He look so earnest and she--she look so beautiful. Not like adevil, as when she talk to Don Ramon in the morning, but like an angel.Sure, a woman can be both! It depends upon the man. By and by Ana goaway, but I stay there, for I like look at them. After a while they getup and come out. It is dark in the garden, the walls so high, and thetrees throw the shadows, so they cannot see me. They walk up and down,and by and by the Lieutenant take out his knife and cut a shoot from therose-bush that climb up the house.

  "'These Castilian roses,' he say, very soft, but in very bad Spanish,'they are very beautiful and a part of Monterey--a part of you. Look, Iam going to plant this here, and long before it grow to be a big bush Icome back and you will wear its buds in your hair when we are married inthat lovely old church. Now help me,' and then they kneel down and hestick it in the ground, and all their fingers push the earth around it.Then she give a little sob and say, 'You must go?'

  "He lift her up and put his arms around her tight. 'I must go,' he say.'I am not my own master, you know, and the orders have come. But myheart is here, in this old garden, and I come back for it.' And then sheput her arms around him and he kiss her, and she love him so I forget tobe sorry for Don Ramon. After all, it is the woman who should be happy.He hold her a long time, so long I am afraid Dona Carmen come out tolook for her. I lift up on my knees (I am sit down before) and look inthe window and I see she is asleep, and I am glad. Well! After a whilethey walk up and down again, and he tell her all about his home faraway, and about some money he go to get when the law get ready, and howhe cannot marry on his pay. Then he say how he go to be a great generalsome day and how she will be the more beautiful woman in--how you callit?--Washington, I think. And she cry and say she does not care, sheonly want him. And he tell her water the rose-bush every day and thinkof him, and he will come back before it is large, and every time a budcome out she can know he is thinking of her very hard."

  "Ay, pobrecita!" said Francesca, "I wonder will he come back. Thesemen!"

  "Surely. Are not all men mad for La Tulita?"

  "Yes--yes, but he go far away. To America! Dios de mi alma! And men,they forget." Francesca heaved a deep sigh. Her youth was far behindher, but she remembered many things.

  "He return," said Mariquita, the young and romantic.

  "When does he go?"

  Mariquita pointed to the bay. A schooner rode at anchor. "He go to YerbaBuena on that to-morrow morning. From there to the land of the American.Ay, yi! Poor La Tulita! But his linen is dry. I must take it to iron forI have it promised for six in the morning." And she hastily gathered thearticles from the low bushes and hurried away.

  That evening as the women returned to town, talking gayly, despite thegreat baskets on their heads, they passed the hut of Faquita and pausedat the window to inquire for the child. The little one lay gasping onthe bed. Faquita sat beside her with bowed head. An aged crone brewedherbs over a stove. The dingy little house faced the hills and was dimlylighted by the fading rays of the sun struggling through the dark pinewoods.

  "Holy Mary, Faquita!" said Francesca, in a loud whisper. "Does Lisetadie?"

  Faquita sprang to her feet. Her cross old face was drawn with misery."Go, go!" she said, waving her arms, "I want none of you."

  The next evening she sat in the same position, her eyes fixed upon theshrinking features of the child. The crone had gone. She heard the dooropen, and turned with a scowl. But it was La Tulita that entered andcame rapidly to the head of the bed. The girl's eyes were swollen, herdress and hair disordered.

  "I have come to you because you are in trouble," she said. "I, too, amin trouble. Ay, my Faquita!"

  The old woman put up her arms and drew the girl down to her lap. She hadnever touched her idol before, but sorrow levels even social barriers.

  "Pobrecita!" she said, and the girl cried softly on her shoulder.

  "Will he come back, Faquita?"

  "Surely, ninita. No man could forget you."

  "But it is so far."

  "Think of what Don Vicente do for Dona Ysabel, mijita."

  "But he is an American. Oh, no, it is not that I doubt him. He loves me!It is so far, like another world. And the ocean is so big and cruel."

  "We ask the priest to say a mass."

  "Ah, my Faquita! I will go to the church to-morrow morning. How glad Iam that I came to thee." She kissed the old woman warmly, and for themoment Faquita forgot her trouble.

  But the child threw out its arms and moaned. La Tulita pushed the hairout of her eyes and brought the medicine from the stove, where itsimmered unsavourily. The child swallowed it painfully, and Faquitashook her head in despair. At the dawn it died. As La Tulita laid herwhite fingers on the gaping eyelids, Faquita rose to her feet. Her uglyold face was transfigured. Even the grief had gone out of it. For amoment she was no longer a woman, but one of the most subtle creationsof the Catholic religion conjoined with racial superstitions.

  "As the moon dieth and cometh to life again," she repeated with a sortof chanting cadence, "so man, though he die, will live again. Is itnot better that she will wander forever through forests where crystalstreams roll over golden sands, than grow into wickedness, and goout into the dark unrepenting, perhaps, to be bitten by serpents andscorched by lightning and plunged down cataracts?" She turned to LaTulita. "Will you stay here, senorita, while I go to bid them makemerry?"

  The girl nodded, and the woman went out. La Tulita watched the proudhead and erect carriage for a moment, then bound up the fallen jaw ofthe little corpse, crossed its hands and placed weights on the eyelids.She pushed the few pieces of furniture against the wall, striving toforget the one trouble that had come into her triumphant young life. Butthere was little to do, and after a time she knelt by the window andlooked up at the dark forest upon which long shafts of light werestriking, routing the fog that crouched in the ho
llows. The town was asquiet as a necropolis. The white houses, under the black shadows of thehills, lay like tombs. Suddenly the roar of the surf came to her ears,and she threw out her arms with a cry, dropping her head upon them andsobbing convulsively. She heard the ponderous waves of the Pacificlashing the keel of a ship.

  She was aroused by shouting and sounds of merriment. She raised her headdully, but remembered in a moment what Faquita had left her to await.The dawn lay rosily on the town. The shimmering light in the pine woodswas crossed and recrossed by the glare of rockets. Down the street camethe sound of singing voices, the words of the song heralding the flightof a child-spirit to a better world. La Tulita slipped out of the backdoor and went to her home without meeting the procession. But before sheshut herself in her room she awakened Ana, and giving her a purse ofgold, bade her buy a little coffin draped with white and garlanded withwhite flowers.

  PART III

  "Tell us, tell us, Mariquita, does she water the rose-tree every night?"

  "Every night, ay, yi!"

  "And is it big yet? Ay, but that wall is high! Not a twig can I see!"

  "Yes, it grows!"

  "And he comes not?"

  "He write. I see the letters."

  "But what does he say?"

  "How can I know?"

  "And she goes to the balls and meriendas no more. Surely, they willforget her. It is more than a year now. Some one else will be LaFavorita."

  "She does not care."

  "Hush the voices," cried Faquita, scrubbing diligently. "It is well thatshe stay at home and does not dance away her beauty before he come. Sheis like a lily."

  "But lilies turn brown, old Faquita, when the wind blow on them toolong. Dost thou think he will return?"

  "Surely," said Faquita, stoutly. "Could any one forget that angel?"

  "Ay, these men, these men!" said Francesca, with a sigh.

  "Oh, thou old raven!" cried Mariquita. "But truly--truly--she has had noletter for three months."

  "Aha, senorita, thou didst not tell us that just now."

  "Nor did I intend to. The words just fell from my teeth."

  "He is ill," cried Faquita, angrily. "Ay, my probrecita! Sometimes Ithink Ysabel is more happy under the rocks."

  "How dost thou know he is ill? Will he die?" The wash-tub mail had madetoo few mistakes in its history to admit of doubt being cast upon theassertion of one of its officials.

  "I hear Captain Brotherton read from a letter to Dona Eustaquia. Ay,they are happy!"

  "When?"

  "Two hours ago."

  "Then we know before the town--like always."

  "Surely. Do we not know all things first? Hist!"

  The women dropped their heads and fumbled at the linen in the water. LaTulita was approaching.

  She came across the meadow with all her old swinging grace, the bluegown waving about her like the leaves of a California lily when the windrustled the forest. But the reboso framed a face thin and pale, and thesparkle was gone from her eyes. She passed the tubs and greeted the oldwomen pleasantly, walked a few steps up the hill, then turned as if inobedience to an afterthought, and sat down on a stone in the shade of awillow.

  "It is cool here," she said.

  "Yes, senorita." They were not deceived, but they dared not stare ather, with Faquita's scowl upon them.

  "What news has the wash-tub mail to-day?" asked the girl, with anattempt at lightness. "Did an enemy invade the South this morning, andhave you heard it already, as when General Kearney came? Is GeneralCastro still in Baja California, or has he fled to Mexico? Has DonaPrudencia Iturbi y Moncada given a ball this week at Santa Barbara? HaveDon Diego and Dona Chonita--?"

  "The young Lieutenant is ill," blurted out one of the old women, thencowered until she almost fell into her tub. Faquita sprang forward andcaught the girl in her arms.

  "Thou old fool!" she cried furiously. "Thou devil! Mayst thou find atarantula in thy bed to-night. Mayst thou dream thou art roasting inhell." She carried La Tulita rapidly across the meadow.

  "Ah, I thought I should hear there," said the girl, with a laugh. "Thankheaven for the wash-tub mail."

  Faquita nursed her through a long illness. She recovered both healthand reason, and one day the old woman brought her word that the youngLieutenant was well again--and that his illness had been brief andslight.

  THE LAST

  "Ay, but the years go quick!" said Mariquita, as she flapped a piece oflinen after taking it from the water. "I wonder do all towns sleep likethis. Who can believe that once it is so gay? The balls! The grandcaballeros! The serenades! The meriendas! No more! No more! Almost Iforget the excitement when the Americanos coming. I no am young anymore. Ay, yi!"

  "Poor Faquita, she just died of old age," said a woman who had beenyoung with Mariquita, spreading an article of underwear on a bush. "Herlife just drop out like her teeth. No one of the old women that taughtus to wash is here now, Mariquita. We are the old ones now, and we teachthe young, ay, yi!"

  "Well, it is a comfort that the great grow old like the low people. Highbirth cannot keep the skin white and the body slim. Ay, look! Who canthink she is so beautiful before?"

  A woman was coming down the road from the town. A woman, whompassing years had browned, although leaving the fine strong featuresuncoarsened. She was dressed simply in black, and wore a small Americanbonnet. The figure had not lost the slimness of its youth, but the walkwas stiff and precise. The carriage evinced a determined will.

  "Ay, who can think that once she sway like the tule!" said Mariquita,with a sigh. "Well, when she come to-day I have some news. A letter, weused to call it, dost thou remember, Brigida? Who care for the wash-tubmail now? These Americanos never hear of it, and our people--triste demi--have no more the interest in anything."

  "Tell us thy news," cried many voices. The older women had never losttheir interest in La Tulita. The younger ones had heard her story manytimes, and rarely passed the wall before her house without looking atthe tall rose-bush which had all the pride of a young tree.

  "No, you can hear when she come. She will come to-day. Six months agoto-day she come. Ay, yi, to think she come once in six months all theseyears! And never until to-day has the wash-tub mail a letter for her."

  "Very strange she did not forget a Gringo and marry with a caballero,"said one of the girls, scornfully. "They say the caballeros were sobeautiful, so magnificent. The Americans have all the money now, but shebeen rich for a little while."

  "All women are not alike. Sometimes I think she is more happy with thememory." And Mariquita, who had a fat lazy husband and a swarm of brownchildren, sighed heavily. "She live happy in the old house and is not sopoor. And always she have the rose-bush. She smile, now, sometimes, whenshe water it."

  "Well, it is many years," said the girl, philosophically. "Here shecome."

  La Tulita, or Dona Herminia, as she now was called, walked brisklyacross the meadow and sat down on the stone which had come to be calledfor her. She spoke to each in turn, but did not ask for news. She hadceased long since to do that. She still came because the habit held her,and because she liked the women.

  "Ah, Mariquita," she said, "the linen is not as fine as when we wereyoung. And thou art glad to get the shirts of the Americans now. My poorFaquita!"

  "Coarse things," said Mariquita, disdainfully. Then a silence fell,so sudden and so suggestive that Dona Herminia felt it and turnedinstinctively to Mariquita.

  "What is it?" she asked rapidly. "Is there news to-day? Of what?"

  Mariquita's honest face was grave and important.

  "There is news, senorita," she said.

  "What is it?"

  The washing-women had dropped back from the tubs and were listeningintently.

  "Ay!" The oracle drew a long breath. "There is war over there, you know,senorita," she said, making a vague gesture toward the Atlantic states.

  "Yes, I know. Is it decided? Is the North or the South victorious? I amglad that the wash-tub mail has not--
"

  "It is not that, senorita."

  "Then what?"

  "The Lieutenant--he is a great general now."

  "Ay!"

  "He has won a great battle--And--they speak of his wife, senorita."

  Dona Herminia closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them andglanced slowly about her. The blue bay, the solemn pines, the goldenatmosphere, the cemetery on the hill, the women washing at the stonetubs--all was unchanged. Only the flimsy wooden houses of the Americansscattered among the adobes of the town and the aging faces of the womenwho had been young in her brief girlhood marked the lapse of years.There was a smile on her lips. Her monotonous life must have given herinsanity or infinite peace, and peace had been her portion. In a fewminutes she said good-by to the women and went home. She never went tothe tubs again.