A SUMMER DAY WITH RAMONA
“Oh, I wish it was summer,” sighed Ruth, looking out at the bleak
landscape. “It looks as though it never in this world could be summer
again, doesn’t it? I wonder if it ever forgets to come—wouldn’t it be
awful, Rose, if it did! Just think, waiting and waiting, and thinking
that _surely_ next week summer would come, and still it didn’t, until it
was winter-time again!”
“Yes, that would be awful,” agreed Rose, joining her sister at the
window and looking out with her. “But wouldn’t it be nice if it forgot
to be winter sometime, and summer kept right on? That’s the way it is in
the tropics, I s’pose. Why don’t the inventors invent a way to spread
summer all over? Spring and summer and fall and then spring right off.”
“Of course, we couldn’t ever play in the snow,” Ruth remarked.
“I Hum-mm.”
“And it would be funny to have Christmas in summer.”
“Yep, that’s true. I guess bits of winter are imperative.”
“What’s imperative?”
“I guess it means nice, very nice. Yesterday Marmie said we needed to
have the kitchen done over, and Dad said ‘yes that’s imperative, and so
are two new horses.’ So it must mean something nice.”
Ruth nodded. “All the same, there’s much too much winter; it’s a greedy
thing, taking such a lot out of the year. I’d like to get somewhere
where it only lasts a few days.”
“Perhaps the fairy would take us to a place like that,” Rose put in. “We
haven’t seen her for a long time.”
“Maybe she’d take us to California.... Oh, Rose, perhaps we could go and
see Ramona!”
“Goody, but that would be larks! I’m sure she will; she’s so sweet and
obliging.”
“Which simply proves that listeners _do_ hear good of themselves,” said
the voice of Fairy Honeysqueak.
“Oh, fairy, have you been here long?”
“What do you suppose made you think of me, you funny dears?”
“Can’t we really think of you till you get here? That’s part of the
magic, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s part of the magic. And so you were wishing for summer, eh? Or
at least for summer weather.”
“We want to visit Ramona. Marmie read us all about her while we were
still sick, and we did like her so much. And though we didn’t like the
old Señora, the Moreno Ranch must be beautiful, even if they do raise
sheep. Poor Ramona, we do love her so much!”
“Well,” said the fairy, “you’ll love her all the more after seeing her.
But you’d better not say too much about being Americans, because you
know the old Señora hasn’t the slightest use for you.”
“I know—but she never really knew a nice American, did she? Some of
those Americans weren’t a bit nice, and I don’t wonder she thought we
were pretty bad. But Ramona won’t mind, will she?”
“I don’t think she will,” and the fairy slipped her leaf-cool hands into
theirs. “So shut your eyes, girls, and we’ll find out.”
The next thing the two girls knew they found themselves on the trellised
walk that led from the brook to the veranda in front of the house, the
delightsome place where stood the great red jars in which the Señora
grew her huge geraniums, her yellow musk and sweet-smelling carnations.
The white, adobe walls of the house, bowered in climbing and blossoming
vines, showed here and there between the tangled grape leaves that grew
so luxuriantly over the trellis. Behind them sounded sweetly the murmur
of the brook, mingled with the subdued laughter and chatter of the maids
who were at their labour of washing the linen, and with the singing of
many birds.
Rose and Ruth each drew in a long, rapturous breath.
“I guess this is where summer is born,” said Ruth.
“It smells like the middle of a rose,” agreed her sister. “But come on,
probably Ramona is on the veranda waiting for us.”
They sauntered up the wide walk, and presently reached the arched
veranda, where, in that raised portion at the westernmost end where the
Señora spent most of her time, the sisters saw two figures bending over
a large bird-cage. One of these, in its scanty black gown with a piece
of lace draped mantilla-wise over her head and shoulders, was surely the
Señora. The other, slender, youthful, in white, must be Ramona.
Just as the girls set foot on the steps that led from path to veranda,
this white-clad figure turned, and the next instant came running to meet
them ... Ramona!
Their hearts leaped to meet her, the gentle, adorable young thing, with
her blue-black hair hanging so straight, her olive skin beautifully
flushed, her deep blue eyes that seemed black under the thick, long
lashes. And how sweet was her voice as she made them joyfully welcome.
“This is indeed a happiness,” she said, “and the Señora too is glad that
you can come, for Don Felipe has been eager to see you. Will you come up
and speak to the Señora at once?”
[Illustration:
THE OTHER, SLENDER, YOUTHFUL, IN WHITE, MUST BE RAMONA
]
“Yes,” returned Rose, “but it is you, Ramona, whom we love. Will the
Señora let us spend this day with you?”
“Doubtless she will consent—” and the girl turned to precede them up the
steps.
The Señora turned slowly to meet the three. Her dark eyes met theirs
serenely, but coldly. She did not seem very much interested.
“Ramona will take care of you, my children,” she said. “I have given her
permission for this day to leave her duties in the house—it is nothing,”
she added, as the two visitors began to thank her. “Ramona does not
often see any one of her own age and station.”
Evidently the Señora took them for the daughters of some Mexican
landholder. Both breathed a little sigh of relief. The old lady looked
so dark and quiet among the radiant flowers, which tossed their heads in
the wind as though they were laughing, that she made the two young
Americans feel afraid of her. As Ruth said later, she felt like winter,
and they didn’t want anything to do with winter.
“Felipe is busy just now,” the Señora finished, “but he will join you in
the court, when you come in for the noon meal.” She bowed her head,
dismissing them.
“And the birds?” asked Ramona, hesitating.
“Oh, the birds ...” the Señora turned to the cage, where several little
brown and green birds were hopping about and chirping. “I will attend to
them, Ramona.”
The three girls turned away, running down the steps into the garden.
Never had Rose and Ruth imagined that one place could hold so many
flowers. And beyond the garden came orchards of oranges and almonds,
also in flower.
“How wonderful—Oh, Ramona, do you always live in the thick of such a
storm of flowers?”
“Almost always, Ruth, there are flowers, more than can be numbered. But
this is spring, you know, and best of all. But we must hurry ... I have
something to do ... I need your help.”
“What is it?” asked both girls. They saw that Ramona seemed troubled.
They had stopped under a group of pepper trees, whose feathery foliage
waved gracefully in the breeze. Beyond them rose the hills, blue and
serrated against the deep sky. Behind, from the elevation they had
reached, the house was plainly visible, long and low, white and green, a
lovely sight amid its spreading gardens and meadows. Figures were moving
about, dressed in white and pink and blue, girls at their work.
Ramona sighed.
“I do not know whether I am doing right,” she said, “but how could I
refuse? See, I have a basket hidden here that we must take with us.” She
bent down and from a tangle of fern leaves pulled out a covered basket.
Rose and Ruth were excited. This looked like an adventure.
“Tell us, Ramona. What are you going to do?”
“We must go to the hills and hurry, for the Señora expects us back by
noon. There is hidden a poor man, running from Americans who say he has
stolen a horse—they are bad men, they lie....” Ramona’s eyes flashed.
“Why don’t you tell the Señora?”
“This Indian was here last year working for the Señora, and somehow he
displeased her. It was not really his fault, but the Señora would not
allow him to explain. I am afraid that if she knew he were here now she
might not let him go on.”
All this while the girls had been following a narrow, vague path that
wound among the eucalyptus trees and was evidently rarely travelled.
Ramona led the way with the basket on her arm, promising to let Rose
take it when it began to tire her. Presently the path plunged into a
thicket of wild mustard, which Rose and Ruth recognised at once. The
filmy golden flowers floated high above their heads, and the fine
branching stems and leaves made an intricate tangle through which it was
slow work to force a passage. But the beauty and fragrance intoxicated
the youngsters.
“What a wonderful land!” Rose exclaimed. “You have never seen winter,
have you, Ramona?”
Ramona laughed. “We think we have winter here, when the nights grow
chilly and there are not so many flowers, but I have heard of lands
where everything dies and is covered with white cold snow, like that on
the mountain-tops. That I have never seen. It must be sad.”
“Well, no, not so sad in some ways,” Ruth answered, and the two sisters
launched out into a description of winter sports that made Ramona open
her great eyes very wide.
They now reached a little brook, which they crossed, and found
themselves among the foothills, threading along a little cañon where
occasional trees clambered up the broken sides and stood boldly against
the sky.
“He is hiding here,” Ramona said. Raising her voice, she gave a clear
call.
From a little further on came an answer, and presently, on a rock some
way up the trail, the girls saw a man standing. He disappeared, and then
came into view again, heading toward them.
Ramona stopped, setting down the basket.
“Poor fellow,” she said. “He has a hard trip before him, he is going to
join relatives and must cross desert land to reach them. It is hard, the
way the Indians are treated.”
“Why are so many people cruel?” Ruth wondered. “When you read history or
even stories, it seems as if the world were full of cruel people.”
“I guess they like to write about the cruel ones more than the kind
ones,” Rose explained. “What made them say this Indian had stolen a
horse?”
Ramona told them that the Americans were chasing the Indians from their
homes, and that sometimes they accused them of doing things in order to
get rid of them, or to kill them. “They wanted this man’s farm, and this
was the easiest way to get it,” she added, bitterly. For the gentle
Ramona was moved to the depths of her, and had heard many a sad tale
told over the sheep-shearings and among the servants.
The Indian came up at this moment, looking rather doubtfully at Rose and
Ruth.
“These are my friends, and have helped me carry this to you,” Ramona
said, giving him the basket. “But I fear it is too little to help you
far. Will you find any one else on the way?”
“Back among the mountains there will be some. May the Saints bless you,
Señorita. My horse is rested, and I must go at once.” He looked gravely
at the two sisters. “They accused me of stealing my own horse, the horse
I had raised from a colt,” he said. “There is no place left for the
Indians now, none at all! They must die ...”
“No, no,” cried Ramona, “things will get better, there will be a happier
time for you all. Now you must go. If any enquire after you, I shall
know how to send them back.”
The Indian whistled, bringing up to him a graceful black horse with
white feet and nose that trotted fearlessly forward and stopped close at
his side. He smiled at the girls.
“She knows me, it seems,” he said. “We are not strangers, eh?”
“What a darling she is,” Rose answered, “and as much of a pet as a dog.
I should think she did know you. Come, girls, let’s help him pack her.”
Quickly they all set to work to pack the contents of the basket on the
mare in such a way as not to interfere with her being ridden. And, as
they were all young and the sun shone and the soft wind blew fragrance
at them up the valley, they were soon laughing together. The Indian told
them how he had reared the horse, and how fleet she was, forgetting his
trouble in answering their questions.
Everything was finished, and he shook hands with all three and then
slipped into the saddle.
They stood watching as he threaded his way up the cañon until he reached
a turning high up. There he stopped an instant, waving a salute, which
they returned. The next moment he disappeared.
“I pray that all may be well with him,” murmured Ramona. “And now we
must hasten back. We have barely time to get to the house.”
Much relieved at the fortunate ending of the adventure, the girls set
off merrily on the homeward track. Ramona took them another way that
brought them to a road. It was shorter, and since they did not fear to
be seen now there was no need of keeping in the cover of the wild
mustard.
“We have no time to push our way through that,” Ramona told them. “There
is only a mile on this road, and then we gain a path through the orange
orchard straight home.”
But they had not gone far before a cloud of dust warned them that
horsemen were coming. Ramona quickly hid the empty basket in the green
thicket beside the road, and the three girls walked quietly on.
It took but a few more minutes for the riders to meet them. There were
three rough-looking men who pulled up their horses with a jerk.
“Hello, girls,” called one of these men, “tell me, ain’t ye seen an
Indian goin’ this way? Must of passed here about sun-up this morning.”
“We see many Indians,” replied Ramona. “But we have seen none pass here
this morning. What do you want with an Indian?”
“Never mind what we want,” returned the man, grinning at his companions.
“He’ll find that out when we get him. Ain’t seen him, hey? How long have
you been out here?”
“We have been watching the shepherds driving in the sheep from the
meadows since dawn, and now we are on our way home through the orange
orchard. If he had passed here we should have seen him, I think.”
“Look here, he’s a hoss-thief,” interrupted another of the men, “and we
don’t want any foolin’ about this. He must have come this way—there
ain’t no other.”
“Go on, then, and find him,” said Ramona, calmly. “But are you so sure
there is no other way?”
Beckoning to Rose and Ruth, she made as though to go on.
“Hold on,” said the first man. “Is there another way? And where the h——
is it?”
Ramona gave him a scornful glance, ably seconded by her two young
friends. The girls’ hearts were thumping, but they never quivered, and
continued to walk on toward the ranch.
But the man wheeled his horse so that it blocked their way.
“Look here, you got to show us that trail,” he said, and there was a
menace in his voice. “We ain’t ridin’ for fun.”
The girls stopped. No one was to be seen on the road in either
direction. What would Ramona do?
To their surprise she smiled gently at the man. “You do not need to talk
in that way,” she said. “I will tell you how to find the trail. But I am
the Señorita Ortegna and not a servant, to be commanded.”
With a laugh, the men all swept off their sombreros.
“We ain’t doin’ any commandin’,” said the first who had spoken, “but
we’d like to know where that trail leads off, if you don’t mind
tellin’.”
Ramona laughed too.
“About two miles back, you passed a group of adobe huts, did you not?”
“Sure. Broken down old things, been deserted.”
“Ride around behind them and to the left. You’ll see two old live-oaks
growing close together a little way ahead, and to the right of them the
trail leads off to the mountains.”
“That’s the stuff! Much obliged, I’m sure, Señorita—didn’t get all the
rest of it. Sorry to leave you, girls,” and he gave them all three a
bold smile, as he swung his horse around and galloped away with his two
companions.
“Crickey! but I wish his horse would throw him!” grunted Rose. “If he
isn’t a brute I never saw one. But how about it, Ramona? Will he be able
to catch up with the Indian? I guess not, with all the start he has, and
his horse is better than theirs, too.”
“It will be a long time before he catches the Indian that way,” smiled
Ramona. “That trail leads into a blind cañon, and after they have ridden
to the end, which will take them all day, they will have to ride back.
They will be three sick men before they get back where they came from.”
“Ramona, you’re a wonder!” Rose laughed for the joy of it, Ruth joining
in delightedly. “Won’t they be mad clean through, though! It makes me
feel good to think of it!”
“That is all very well,” remarked Ramona, laughing too, “but it is
getting late, and time we were home. Here, this is where we turn into
the orchard.”
Under the trees they hastened their steps, and presently saw a boy on
horseback coming toward them. He waved his hat on catching sight of
them, and spurred his horse in their direction.
“It’s Felipe,” explained Ramona. “The Señora has perhaps sent after us,
and he has been seeking. Are we late, Felipe?” she called, as he came
nearer.
He rode up, bowing and smiling. A handsome boy, dark of feature and hair
and slender of build, graceful as a cat.
“The Señora is troubled at your long absence, and sent me out to find
you, Ramona,” he told her. “These, then, are your friends? It is a
pleasure to meet them.” Dismounting, he kissed the girls’ hands
gallantly and yet with entire absence of affectation.
Hooking his reins over his arm, he joined them in the short walk that
remained to the house.
“It was lucky my riding in this direction,” he remarked, “but the orange
trees are so sweet now, and I know how Ramona loves them, so I thought
she might have led you this way.”
So, chattering easily together as though they had been friends for
years, the four young people reached the house. On one of the verandas
that surrounded the inner court the lunch table had been set out, and
here the Señora awaited them.
“You are late,” she said, in her soft, slow voice, “I hope you have
enjoyed the walk you have had. Sit down, and we will eat our
refreshments before it grows too warm for comfort.”
They ate the delicious Mexican dishes in silence, for the Señora did not
encourage talking. She spoke a gracious word every now and then, to be
sure, but to the girls she seemed to be thinking of something far off!
There was a gloom around the Señora that reached the hearts of all who
came near her. They were glad when the luncheon was over, and they were
left to themselves, the Señora retiring into her own room.
It was a thrilling thing to watch the sheep being penned, for that is
where Ramona and Felipe took the girls that afternoon. Wherever they
went there was a greeting and a smile for Ramona, who seemed sunshine
itself. Not a shepherd but called to her, not a maid but came to her for
a word. As the sheep were crowded into the pens, with much laughter from
the men and a deal of excited shouting, and with endless bleating by the
frightened animals, new flocks coming in all the time from the hills and
meadows, it seemed to Rose and Ruth that the world had fairly turned
into sheep.
“What heaps and heaps!” exclaimed Ruth. “Ramona, I think sheep are more
fun than cattle, after all. Only I wouldn’t dare say that at home.”
“No, they haven’t any use for sheep out our way,” Rose agreed. “Oh, see
them coming in there! And look at Felipe!”
For Felipe was everywhere, ordering this man, helping that one,
laughing, shouting. Now he came running toward the girls.
“We shall have a splendid yield this year, I feel sure,” he cried. “The
sheep are in fine condition, and have grown fat. And what a number of
lambs! Juan says it will be the best season we have had in years.”
The sun was setting as the last of the sheep were driven into the pens.
A cool breeze blew in from the west, sweet with innumerable perfumes,
and in the trees the mocking birds began to sing, while huge fireflies
flew diamond-bright over the fields and among the branches of the trees.
Ramona slipped her arms affectionately round Rose and Ruth.
“This has been a happy day,” she whispered. “And it is good to know that
the Indian is now safely away beyond the hills.”
And that was all—the visit to Ramona was over.