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JOSE: OUR LITTLE PORTUGUESE COUSIN
* * * * *
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE
(unless otherwise indicated)
Our Little African Cousin
Our Little Alaskan Cousin
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Arabian Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little Argentine Cousin
By Eva Canon Brooks
Our Little Armenian Cousin
Our Little Australian Cousin
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Belgian Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little Bohemian Cousin
By Clara V. Winlow
Our Little Brazilian Cousin
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Brown Cousin
Our Little Canadian Cousin
By Elizabeth R. MacDonald
Our Little Chinese Cousin
By Isaac Taylor Headland
Our Little Cuban Cousin
Our Little Dutch Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little Egyptian Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little English Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little Eskimo Cousin
Our Little French Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little German Cousin
Our Little Grecian Cousin
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
Our Little Hindu Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little Hungarian Cousin
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Indian Cousin
Our Little Irish Cousin
Our Little Italian Cousin
Our Little Japanese Cousin
Our Little Jewish Cousin
Our Little Korean Cousin
By H. Lee M. Pike
Our Little Mexican Cousin
By Edward C. Butler
Our Little Norwegian Cousin
Our Little Panama Cousin
By H. Lee M. Pike
Our Little Persian Cousin
By E. C. Shedd
Our Little Philippine Cousin
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin
Our Little Portuguese Cousin
By Edith A. Sawyer
Our Little Russian Cousin
Our Little Scotch Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little Siamese Cousin
Our Little Spanish Cousin
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Swedish Cousin
By Claire M. Coburn
Our Little Swiss Cousin
Our Little Turkish Cousin
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "A SLIM SLIP OF A BOY ... WALKED AT THE HEAD OF A PAIR
OF FAWN-COLORED OXEN." (_See page 1_)]
JOSE: OUR LITTLE PORTUGUESE COUSIN
by
EDITH A. SAWYER
Author of "The Christmas Makers' Club,"
"Elsa's Gift Home," etc.
Illustrated by Diantha Horne Marlowe
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
MDCCCCXI
Copyright, 1911, by
L. C. Page & Company
(Incorporated)
All rights reserved
First Impression, May, 1911
Preface
ONE of the important historic events of the present century is the
revolution which took place in Portugal on the third day of October,
1910, when King Manuel II lost his throne. The king and his mother were
exiled and fled from Lisbon, the capital city, to England. A republic
was proclaimed throughout Portugal, and a new, progressive government
was adopted on December 1st, 1910.
Portugal is often described as "a garden by the side of the sea."
Its strength as a country lies in its agriculture, especially in its
vineyards, which are the chief source of wealth.
Education in Portugal has generally been at a low ebb. At the time of
the revolution less than one-fifth of the Portuguese people could read
and write. Plans for the new government include the opening of many
primary schools and the development of a system of higher education.
The Portuguese are an earnest people, enthusiastic yet serious-minded.
Even the children play soberly. Whether rich or poor, Portuguese
children are taught to respect age as well as to honor their parents.
Throughout the country even a small boy takes off his cap and makes
a bow when he meets an older person. Little girls also are taught
gentleness of manner. The home life is simple and happy.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE v
I. JOSE'S SECRET 1
II. THE ELDER BROTHER 11
III. A PORTUGUESE HOME 17
IV. GARDEN AND VINEYARD 28
V. THE HUSKING OF THE MAIZE 38
VI. AN AUTUMN RAMBLE 45
VII. WINTER WORK AND PLAY 56
VIII. WHEN SPRING UNLOCKS THE FLOWERS 67
IX. ON ST. ANTONIO'S DAY 71
X. BETTER TIMES 85
List of Illustrations
PAGE
"A SLIM SLIP OF A BOY ... WALKED AT THE HEAD OF A PAIR OF
FAWN-COLORED OXEN" (_See page 1_) _Frontispiece_
"JOSE CALLED TO THE DOG TO LEAVE OFF BARKING" 12
"JOANNA, WITH A BOAT-SHAPED BASKET OF CLOTHES UPON HER HEAD" 34
"SHE WAS A PICTURE OF YOUTH, BEAUTY AND GRACE" 43
"FOR A LONG TIME THE BROTHERS WERE SILENT" 50
"HE AND JOSE LOOKED ACROSS THE CITY" 82
Jose
Our Little Portuguese Cousin
CHAPTER I
JOSE'S SECRET
"The childhood shows the man."--_John Milton._
A SLIM slip of a boy, with dark brown eyes and pale olive skin, walked
at the head of a pair of fawn-colored oxen as he turned homeward from
the market-place of a small village in the north of Portugal.
The village was just a humble collection of narrow streets paved with
round, worn cobble stones; a few shops and a long, one-storied inn; a
group of cottages and two or three larger houses, and a little white
granite church.
Along the street through which Jose Almaida passed with the oxen, the
market-day produce was spread out under the trees. There were great
piles of maize-cobs, potatoes, chestnuts and beans; baskets full of
grapes, figs and apples; strings of garlic and onions; heaps of giant
early yellow gourds, scarlet pimentos and deep red tomatoes; panniers
of fish, fresh and salted, and red earthenware household dishes, crocks
and water-jars.
Jose had exchanged the grapes, onions and tomatoes, which he had
brought from the home farm, for a small amount of tea and of hard,
brown salted codfish,--now the only luxuries of the Almaida family. In
the rough ox-cart, Carlos, his dog, a thick-nosed pointer, white with
brown spots, mounted guard over these provisions.
The market-place was no new sight to Jose. He did not stop in passing
along the street, except at the village fountain to fill a jar with
water for an old woman. Around the fountain good-natured looking
groups of women were talking over village affairs,--women in peasant
dress of dark, full short skirts, bright-colored waists, and gay red,
blue or orange kerchiefs over their shoulders and hanging from under
their round pork-pie black hats. Each woman carried a boat-shaped
basket or a water-jar upon her head.
Little Jose was a familiar figure on the market-day. For five months
past, he had done the family marketing, sometimes with his oldest
sister Joanna as companion, but often, as to-day, alone. At each
greeting, he bowed and pulled off his long black knitted stocking-cap.
To-day, early in October, the market-place had confused him. He had
heard groups of men saying that the king had gone away from the
country, never to return, and that there would be great changes in
Portugal.
Jose had three miles to travel before dark. There was no time to lose,
so he urged on the oxen. But every now and then, out on the main road,
he turned to look back toward the village, shading his eyes with his
hand. Not seeing what he sought, he urged on the oxen again with the
goad, which was twice as long as himself.
The road was steep. The oxen plodded on with low-bowed heads. They
were small and intelligent-looking oxen with strong shoulders and
wide-branched horns. Above their heavy yoke rose the _canga_, or
head-board, the pride of the Portuguese farmer. This was a piece
of hard wood, about eighteen inches high and five feet wide, and
handsomely carved in open work. It was the same kind of head-board
used by the Romans two thousand years ago, when they held control of
Portugal.
The up-hill road had many sharp stones. But the boy's hardened bare
feet heeded them not. Carlos jumped from the cart to run by his
master's side. Jose gave the dog a loving pat: "Ah, Carlos, brother
Antonio does not come yet."
The dog was the only one who knew Jose's secret. He looked up with eyes
which seemed full of sympathy, and put his nose into the boy's hand.
Along the wayside were rows and rows of oaks, chestnuts, planes,
and most of all, white poplars. The poplars were covered to the top
by trailing vines, loaded with purple grapes. On the hillsides were
scattered little cottages, whitewashed or painted pale blue, pink, or
buff, with red-tiled roofs. Every cottage which Jose passed had its
shady porch built with trellis covering, and heavy bunches of grapes
hung over the heads of women spinning at the open doorways, surrounded
by quiet, bare-foot children.
In the distance stood green pine-covered hills. Farther away rose vast
mountains, peak upon peak, purple now in the shadows of the October
afternoon.
It is a beautiful, mountainous country, this Minho region around
Guimarães, the old capital city. Minho is Portugal's richest province.
And here, it is said, faces are brighter and manners gentler than
anywhere else in Portugal.
Up-hill the road wound always. Jose met many other boys, barefooted
like himself, but usually older, driving oxen or pannier-loaded
donkeys. The boys were dressed, as he was, in loose white linen shirt
and blue cotton trousers which came just to the knees, a scarlet sash
wound three times around the waist, a long, knitted black cap, and a
jacket of brown homespun slung upon one shoulder. Sometimes the cap was
red or green, but oftenest black; and it ended in a tassel which hung
down the back.
Many a bare-foot girl, too, trudged along the road, dressed in peasant
costume, and driving a donkey with a short stick.
With a last wistful look in the direction of the village, Jose turned
the oxen from the main road into the rough wooded lane which led to his
father's home. The ox-cart creaked and rumbled over the uneven ground.
Like all such carts in Portugal, it was made of four or five boards
laid flat and resting upon two supports. It had two wheels of solid
wood, without spokes, and with iron tires, fixed fast to an axle which
turned with the wheels. Long as the three mile journey was to Jose, it
was easier to walk than to ride in the jolting car.
Jose felt very tired. Although it was almost sunset time, he stopped
the oxen and threw himself down near a clump of fragrant shrubs to rest
before the last half mile of the hard journey. Carlos came and licked
his master's face, then darted off after a red-legged partridge.
Upon this young boy had fallen the man's duty in a family of six,
including himself,--a now helpless father, a hard-working mother, and
three sisters. Since May, when the Senhor Almaida had a stroke of
paralysis, Jose had done the heavy work--for a young boy--of caring for
the oxen, the cow, the chickens and pig. Besides, he had done what he
could, with the help of Joanna, the seventeen-year-old sister, to carry
on the farm garden and the vineyard.
There was an elder brother, Antonio, now twenty-one years old. He had
left home, four years ago, to seek his fortune in America. It was this
elder brother whom Jose had been eagerly looking for during the last
four months.
Joanna had at once written to Antonio of the father's illness, but had
not suggested Antonio's return. "We must not send for Antonio," she and
her mother decided. Three times each year they had received money from
this elder brother; and the money would be even a greater help now that
the father could not work.
Jose had been given the letter to post on a village market-day. It
was then that the plan for his secret came to him. At the _correio_,
post-office, he spent all the money he had ever owned for a post-card
and stamp,--twenty _reas_, two cents, for the card and twenty _reas_
more, for a two-cent stamp. On one side of the card he copied in
printed letters, Antonio's American address; on the other side he wrote
the words: "Please come home. We need you. Jose."
How glad the boy was then that in the evenings last winter his father
had taught him to write and to spell,--something which very few
Portuguese children know.
For a long time after mailing the post-card Jose felt very guilty with
the heavy burden of his secret. As days and weeks went by, the burden
grew lighter, but the desire for Antonio's return grew stronger.
No letter had come from Antonio since Joanna had written. No money had
come, either. This fact, which caused anxiety to the elders, gave Jose
strong hope. He felt that Antonio's not sending any money meant that
Antonio himself was coming.