Amy Ella Blanchard

“ And do you call yerself Spanish or American, or is it English ye'll be? My head is all queered with it."
"I would rather call myself American, although I have least claim to that," acknowledged Anita. "I love Spain, and I love England, too, but it is America which seems most my mother country, for it is there that I have been happiest and there I have suffered most."
"Ah, yes, ah, yes," sighed the old lady. "Joy and sorrow, joy and sorrow, the memories of them, and the old laughter and tears; they make a place the heart clings to. I know, I know."
"You have always lived in Sussex?" ”

“ This was the beginning of what might be termed the stormy season for Anita. Don Manuel began a series of attentions such as in the old days Anita had dreamed of, but which, strange to say, now failed in their appeal. The night after the Russian tea she was awakened by music under her window. She threw a cloak around her and stole out on the balcony to see a shrouded figure standing there in the garden singing an emotional love song to the strains of a guitar. A serenade! What must one do when one is so complimented? ”

“ I could not bear to hear her, and so I never did mention the name of mother to her."
"That is what rouses my indignation," cried Anita, clenching her hand. "To think that they should have set you against your dear, sweet mother, that they should have believed evil of her." She spoke passionately.
Her mother laid a restraining hand upon her arm. "Never mind that, dear," she said. "It is all past. At last we are together. Let the dead past bury its dead. Should you like to go back to Spain to live, Pepé?"
"Joseph," cried Aunt Manning. "Don't call him Pepé. ”

“ Good Mrs. Lippett, Patterson, his sister Betty, the Carters, the Browns, Dr. Plummer and, last of all, Mr. Weed. To him Nancy stretched forth her hand from the car window as the train began to move. He ran like a marionette to give her a final hand-clasp. "Good-bye, my best friend, good-bye," said Nancy brokenly. Then as the train moved faster it seemed as if it were the group which slipped away. With misty eyes she watched the little crowd disperse, her last impression being that of a sobbing old mammy, and the wooden features of the lawyer strangely distorted into something like emotion. ”

“ Unhappiness comes to each one in some form or other, but we need not magnify it, dwell on it, nurse it, hug it to our breasts. We need not be selfish about it and imagine our griefs greater than those of any other. We must rise above them and try to help those whose sorrows are greater than ours."
Nancy gave a deep sigh. At that moment she did not think any sorrow could be greater than her present one. She was emotional, enthusiastic, with an eager belief that life must hold for her all that her ardent nature could demand. ”

“ Madre, that curate, that Mr. Kirkby, has he ever married?"
"No, he is living in a town, a little village rather, not far from my native home. He has a very good living now, is rector and is greatly beloved by his people."
"How faithful some men are," sighed Anita. "I suppose he has never forgotten you."
"No, he has not forgotten me, but long ago we accepted our relationship upon the basis of a warm friendship. There is no romance there, Anita dear, so don't be building up one." ”

“ Aunt Manning turned to Mr. Kirkby. "Is it that young man who is hurt? Who is he?"
"He is Pepé, my brother Pepé," cried Anita.
"I don't believe a word of it," declared Aunt Manning. It was too new a fact for her to accept at once. "Pepé, such a name. Why don't you call him Joseph? Come here, young man, and I'll look at you. I can soon tell if you are an impostor. Pepé, such a silly nursery sort of name."
Mrs. Beltrán, clasping her son's arm, turned him around to face the old lady. "This is our very dear Aunt Manning," she said, "your great-aunt, my son." ”

“ Rodrigo told Anita as they turned up a narrow lane, and finally came upon a gate set in one of the high walls between which they had been walking. Inside the gate was a typical homestead of northern Spain; a garden of flowers, apple trees neighboring orange and lemon boughs, chestnuts elbowing figs, geraniums as high as your head, roses, heliotrope making the air sweet, carnations swinging from balconies, an orio for corn, a cow stable, hen house and pigeon cote annexed to the house whose red tiled roof rose but a story higher. ”

“ Consider me as the friend who is happy to serve you. If there are other matters of business, of uncertainty in which I can advise, do not hesitate to call upon me. I am at your service."
So, comforted and reassured, they went out into the bright sunshine and back to their room at Gracia.
"Did you ever know such a dear?" said Anita when they were on their way. "Mother, I think Spaniards are wonderful. Señor Garriguez made me feel that troubles were rolling off us like water over a waterfall. I feel so free, and it will be so lovely to just be free to enjoy ourselves. ”

“ Anita went back to her mother with this information, and from that afternoon they watched each day for the appearance of the two violinists. The young man always strode along with his head in the air. He was broad-shouldered, free of motion, athletic. "Like our boys at home who live out of doors," remarked Mrs. Beltrán. "I'd like to know him."
"I like the uncle's looks, too," returned Anita. "He has such a humorous face, and such kind eyes. I met him one day face to face. He dresses like an Englishman but he looks like an American. I wonder if they could be Americans." ”

“ Then throwing something around her she went out on the balcony. The breeze coming from the sea and the nearer mountains, was full of sweetness caught from blossoming plants, from fresh-cut hay, from ripening fruits. The queer jangling voices of the night insects, the occasional lowing of a cow, the distant strumming of a guitar fell upon the girl's ears unnoticed. She clasped her hands and looked up at the calm stars. "Where are you, Terrence?" she whispered. "Would it make any difference to you if you could know that I am here? Have you forgotten? Where are you, Pepé? ”

“ I used to see him as a baby boy; now he appears a tired, hopeless, homeless lad thrust out by unkindness into the world to fight his way alone."
"Oh, mother dear, mother dear," said Anita caressingly, "don't, don't feel that way. You are all tired out with the long journey, and it seems more to you than it should. You remember that Anselmo told us that he had many lifts by the way, and he was not so tired, perhaps as you believe. Remember that we have better reason to think we shall find him than ever before. ”

“ Anita gave her mother a quick glance. "That is strange," she said, "for, do you know after we saw him kneeling there in the cathedral I had a faint glimmer of hope that he might really be Pepé."
"What a fantastic idea. That is a time when your imagination ran away with you, for we know his name is not Pepé, that it is Donald, that he has an Uncle Bruce, and that they are English. We know that without doubt."
"Oh, yes, of course I told myself it was absurd. We haven't by any chance an Uncle Bruce, have we, madre?"
"No, indeed. You have no uncle at all. ”

“ Anita leaned over and touched her shoulder. "Lillian, dear, Lillian, dear," she said, softly, and Lillian sat up, dashing the tears from her eyes.
"I'm too silly for words," she cried, "but it came over me all of a sudden how I should feel to see Bertie march away."
"Of course I knew it was Bertie," responded Anita.
"It's always been Bertie, of course," continued Lillian. "Oh, for years and years. We're like that in England, you know. A man tells a girl he is fond of her, and if there is no prospect of marrying soon the girl just waits, waits, and doesn't mind how many years. ”

“ We have a clue. Do you realize that we have a clue?" She turned to her cousins and spoke in her broken Spanish. "You will help us; you all will help us to find him, I know."
Tears filled the eyes of the sympathetic company. "Ay, Ay," again sighed Doña Prudencia, "we will help all we can."
"I will make a vow to St. Joseph," declared Amparo, going over and taking Anita's hand. "If he will but find my Cousin Pepé, for a year I will wear no ornaments."
"And I," spoke up Rodrigo, "will not be outdone by my little Cousin Amparo. I will promise the good St. Joseph not to smoke cigarettes for a week." ”

“ Kirkby said, a good listener. Harry Warren always made a point of carrying on a most obvious and nonsensical flirtation with Eleanor, who understood him perfectly and laughed at everything he said.
"We were so afraid we should miss you," said Eleanor, as Anita came in with Harry.
"How dear of you to say that," cried Harry.
"I didn't mean you, silly," responded Eleanor. "Anita, dear, we do hope you and Lillian can come over to our little garden party on Monday. Not much of an affair, but these days when everyone is so anxious and looks so solemn we do want to try to do cheerful things." ”

“ She is jealous for this favorite saint of hers, and does not like that there are superior attractions at the fiesta of San Roque."
"She is not alone in that," Amparo asserted. "There are others as foolish, who close their houses so that a twinkle of light appears at night, and who complain of the dancing and the merriment which keeps up so late."
"But what has poor San Roque done to her. I thought him a very amiable saint," said Anita.
"He is all that," returned Rodrigo. "It is but a prejudice, a jealous prejudice. You will see why this is so when you talk to this Pilar. ”

“ It may be months before he learns anything of use to us, so we must make ourselves contented."
The autumn moved toward winter; winter was aging when the next news came, and in the meanwhile Anita busied herself with her Spanish lessons, learned one or two pretty dances, did much sightseeing, grew very weary of Don Manuel, and probed the very shallow depths of Imogene Ralston, discovered that she was superficial and vain, that she resented an attention paid to any but herself, could be spiteful and malicious, yet always outwardly sweet and smiling. ”

“ Nancy looked with deeper interest at the calm brow, the steady blue eyes, the sweet mouth, the fast-graying hair of the woman before her. "You are very brave," she said, "and very unselfish if you can forget your own troubles in doing for others. I am afraid I can never do that. It must be very, very hard not to dwell upon one's own griefs."
"It was hard at first, but one learns. To centre one's entire thoughts upon one's own sorrows that way madness lies. If we can not busy ourselves in some vital way we become worthless to ourselves and the world." ”

“ She did so much for me, me, a poor little waif but it is a shock to know that my name is Anita Beltrán and not Nancy Loomis, to know little of my father and nothing of my own mother. Do you know anything more about me than is contained in those letters?"
"Nothing. I know only that you were deserted by your own mother; that your father, in political difficulties, was obliged to leave Mexico, that he went first to Cuba and then to New Orleans, where he died of fever; that Mrs. Loomis took you, at the time of your father's flight, brought you back with her from Mexico and reared you as her own." ”

“ Beltrán and Anita.
"How good you all are," exclaimed the latter. "And you, Rodrigo, I am sure you will find out something at the village. It is a happy thought to seek others more communicative than this disagreeable Pilar."
At the sound of drums, violins and tambourines, Amparo sprang to her feet. "The dance!" she cried. "Come, Anita; come, Rodrigo. It is the music of the jota that we hear. I must not miss a partner. You, Rodrigo, will dance with Anita." ”

“ Anita was beginning to understand that Aunt Manning's bark was worse than her bite, and really felt that she could like her. There was a mocking glimmer in those sharp gray eyes which told the tale.
"She is having a lovely time," declared Lillian. "If there is anything Granny loves it is a bout with Mr. Kirkby. She adores him and he does her, although to hear them you would think they meant to tear each other's eyes out. There is Hotspur. You can make his acquaintance while I go speak to Tibbie." ”

“ Doña Prudencia agreed. "Pilar is not an approachable person. Explanations should come before Catalina is made known to her, and it will be better that you should speak than that I should, for Pilar has no love for me."
Doña Benilda gathered her enveloping veil around her and walked over to where Pilar was seated. The others, looking on interestedly, observed that an animated conversation was taking place. Each gesticulated magnificently; voices rose excitedly.
"Are they quarreling?" whispered Anita to Rodrigo.
"No; they discuss, argue; that is all." ”

“ Mrs. Beltrán took it eagerly. "Nita, Nita, see!" she cried. "It is something tangible at last. A piece of his own handwriting." She gazed at it fondly. "His name, his dear name as he writes it. And this place—what is this place?" She held the card to the light that they might both make out the name of the place which the picture represented. It was the cathedral at Chichester. "I am well and I like England. I have seen this cathedral. It is not much like Santa Cruz," were the words written.
"Chichester! In Sussex! My own county, Anita," cried Mrs. Beltrán. "It is there that we must go. ”