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Father Felipe.
I speak not the English well, but Pachita
She speak for me; is it not so, my Pancha?
Eh, little rogue? Come, salute me the stranger
Americano.
Sir, in my country we say, "Where the heart is,
There live the speech." Ah! you not understand? So!
Pardon an old man,--what you call "ol fogy,"--
Padre Felipe!
Old, Señor, old! just so old as the Mission.
You see that pear-tree? How old you think, Señor?
Fifteen year? Twenty? Ah, Señor, just
Fifty
Gone since I plant him!
You like the wine? It is some at the Mission,
Made from the grape of the year Eighteen Hundred;
All the same time when the earthquake he come to
San Juan Bautista.
But Pancha is twelve, and she is the rose-tree;
And I am the olive, and this is the garden:
And Pancha we say; but her name is Francisca,
Same like her mother.
Eh, you knew
her
? No? Ah! it is a story;
But I speak not, like Pachita, the English:
So? If I try, you will sit here beside me,
And shall not laugh, eh?
When the American come to the Mission,
Many arrive at the house of Francisca:
One,--he was fine man,--he buy the cattle
Of José Castro.
So! he came much, and Francisca she saw him:
And it was Love,--and a very dry season;
And the pears bake on the tree,--and the rain come,
But not Francisca;
Not for one year; and one night I have walk much
Under the olive-tree, when comes Francisca:
Comes to me here, with her child, this Francisca,--
Under the olive-tree.
Sir, it was sad; ... but I speak not the English;
So! ... she stay here, and she wait for her husband
He come no more, and she sleep on the hillside;
There stands Pachita.
Ah! there's the Angelus. Will you not enter?
Or shall you walk in the garden with Pancha?
Go, little rogue--stt--attend to the stranger.
Adios, Señor.
Pachita ( briskly ).
So, he's been telling that yarn about mother!
Bless you, he tells it to every stranger:
Folks about yer say the old man's my father;
What's your opinion?
"Well, you see, the fact is, Colonel, I don't know as I can come:
For the farm is not half planted, and there's work to do at home;
And my leg is getting troublesome,--it laid me up last fall,
And the doctors, they have cut and hacked, and never found the ball.
"And then, for an old man like me, it's not exactly right,
This kind o' playing soldier with no enemy in sight.
'The Union,'--that was well enough way up to '66;
But this 'Re-Union,'--maybe now it's mixed with politics?
"No? Well, you understand it best; but then, you see, my lad,
I'm deacon now, and some might think that the example's bad.
And week from next is Conference.... You said the 12th of May?
Why, that's the day we broke their line at Spottsylvan-i-a!
"Hot work; eh, Colonel, wasn't it? Ye mind that narrow front:
They called it the 'Death-Angle!' Well, well, my lad, we won't
Fight that old battle over now: I only meant to say
I really can't engage to come upon the 12th of May.
"How's Thompson? What! will he be there? Well, now, I want to know!
The first man in the rebel works! they called him 'Swearing Joe:'
A wild young fellow, sir, I fear the rascal was; but then--
Well, short of heaven, there wa'n't a place he dursn't lead his men.
"And Dick, you say, is coming too. And Billy? ah! it's true
We buried him at Gettysburg: I mind the spot; do you?
A little field below the hill,--it must be green this May;
Perhaps that's why the fields about bring him to me to-day.
"Well, well, excuse me, Colonel! but there are some things that drop
The tail-board out one's feelings; and the only way's to stop.
So they want to see the old man; ah, the rascals! do they, eh?
Well, I've business down in Boston about the 12th of May."