Padre Urbano, priest in charge of the Mission of San Diego, was in a bad
humor. If he had been asked what was the most necessary article in the
cargo of the supply ship Santiago on the first of her half-yearly visits
in the year 1830, he would almost certainly have said, the umbrella. The
candles were important, no doubt; so was the new altar-cloth, for the
present one had become shockingly worn under the unskillful treatment of
the Indian lavanderas; so were the seeds, all the more so because he had
included in the list seeds for an onion-bed, and onions were a delicacy
to which his soul had long been a stranger. And many others of the
articles he had named in his requisition had passed from a state of
shortage into one of absolute vacancy on the storeroom shelves. But
foremost in his thoughts was the umbrella. He had specified it with
care,--such an umbrella as he had used in Spain, before ever he came to
this destitute and heathen land; the size, a vara and a half across; the
material, silk; the color, yellow; and as the warm spring sun smote ever
more fervently upon his tonsured head, his thoughts had daily turned
with yearning towards the good, ample quitasol that was to shield him
from the fiery persecutions of his enemy, the prince of the power of the
air.
Well, the vessel had come that day, and with it the umbrella; and now,
most cruelly dashing his long-cherished hopes, one of his Indians had
stolen it! Moreover, to-morrow he was to start on his annual visitation
of the outlying stations, and he had especially relied for comfort, on
that long, hot, dusty round, upon the umbrella,--the fiend fly away with
the miscreant who had taken it! thought the Father in his wrath.
This is how it happened: The ship had sailed into the bay at early
morning, and the lieutenant at the fort had straightway sent a runner up
to the Mission with the cheering news, adding that the articles for the
Father's personal use had been thoughtfully packed separately from the
heavier goods, and the captain had obligingly kept the special package
in his own cabin, so that it could be delivered to the expectant
consignee at once on arrival. The Father had immediately dispatched two
of his most trusted Indians, Pio and Jose, to receive the goods, which
the captain had promised to have brought ashore in the first boat-load.
The sergeant who delivered the goods to the Indians, in order to make
the unwieldy package easy of transportation by the two men over the two
leagues of road that lay between the bay and the Mission, had unwisely
opened it in the presence of the Indians, so as to arrange the contents
in two loads. The men had each taken one of the bundles and started for
the Mission. In due course, Jose had arrived with his load, but alone,
and in explanation had reported that at a mile or two from the bay his
companion had fallen behind--to rest, as he supposed--while he continued
on his way. After a time he had waited for Pio to come up, but the
latter had not rejoined him. Jose had left his own load by the roadside
and gone back to see what had become of him, but no trace was to be
found of either Pio or his burden. There was nothing for him, Jose, to
do but to continue on his way with his own part of the Padre's property,
and here he was. Pio would doubtless come soon with the remainder.
But Pio had not come, and the Father's fears, born as he listened to
Jose's story, grew into angry certainty as hours passed and no Pio
appeared. Examination of Jose's bundle had revealed the altar-cloth, the
ink, the sugar, the onionseed, some books, and a few of the articles
of clothing he expected, but the umbrella and part of the clothes were
numbered with the missing; and though the clothes were not only valuable
but much needed, somehow it was the umbrella that made the head and
front of the crime in the Father's mind. Calling the Indians together
after vespers, he announced the theft, denounced the thief, and
pronounced his severest displeasure, with punishments proportionate,
against any who should fail to do all in his or her power toward the
apprehension of that ungrateful sinner, Pio.
Let us see what had become of the rascal from the time when he
disappeared. He had really dropped behind to rest, as Jose had supposed;
but while resting, the desire had come to him to look again at that
strange thing in his package. What could it be? He had seen the sergeant
take it out of the box, along, thin object; then he put his hand
somewhere on it, and pushed, and, wonderful! it had changed in an
instant into a huge flower! Such a flower! Yellow like a sunflower,
nay, like a thousand sunflowers, or the sun itself. Then he had done
something again, and all at once it was as it had been at first.
Talk about magic! All the things his father, old Kla-quitch, the
medicine-man, used to do were nothing to this. He simply must have
another look at it, and now was his chance, while Jose, who might tell
the Padre, could not see. He slipped the cords from the bundle and took
out the thing of mystery. A long stick, with some yellow cloth rolled
round one end: but how to turn it into the other wonderful thing? He
could not resist trying, and he felt about the stick, pushing this way
and that, as he had seen the soldier do, and it began to open. He pushed
again--it was done; behold the magic sunflower, beautiful, wonderful!
And turning it round and round he feasted his eyes on it, the most
astonishing thing he had ever seen; yes, and done, for he, Pio, knew how
to make the Big Flower open.
That is where the tempter caught him. What power that would give him
over the other Indians! What was Kla-quitch, with his painted sticks and
bones, compared with him, if only he were the possessor of this marvel!
He should need no other stock in trade as medicine-man. The people would
pay well to have it opened--that would be good medicine:--and simply
keeping it shut would be bad medicine:--delightfully easy! How did
it shut, by the by? He fumbled at the stick, but it did not close: he
pushed and pulled, it made no difference. He pressed on the cloth; an
ominous creaking warned him that Big Flower objected to being shut by
force, and threatened to break.
A nice fix he was in now: the genie he had raised would not down! He
grew hot and cold by turns. Jose was far ahead by now: he ought to
overtake him, but he could not appear before the Padre like this. He
did not know what the purpose of the thing was, but most likely it had
something to do with the Church, and he knew how strict the Padre was
about even the handling of such objects. What should he do? The tempter
had the answer ready,--there was only one thing he could do,--run away
with the magic thing and be a medicine-man, as his father had been, only
he would be a much more powerful and cunning one. Sly tempter! Poor Pio!
He had only meant to nibble, and here he was, fairly hooked.
Well, since he was in for it, he had better get away before any one saw
him. He caught up the clothes and the umbrella and hurried off into
the brush. It was not easy for him to make his way along with the
obstreperous load, and he soon discovered that the best way to manage
the umbrella was to carry it over his head. Very comforting he found it,
too, though it did not for a moment occur to him that this was its real
purpose. His plan was to go to his father's tribe, the Elcuanams, in the
mountains far away. There he should be safe from the Padre, and should
also have the prestige of his father's reputation. If there were another
medicine-man in the tribe Pio could easily outrank him and capture the
business. So he made a long detour, and came back by evening to the
valley, but a mile or two above the Mission. It would be easier to
travel with Big Flower by keeping to the river-bed instead of going
through the brush, which constantly threatened to tear it. He had a
faint idea that it might close of its own accord at evening, and glanced
up anxiously several times to see if it was doing so; but evidently it
was not that kind of flower.
He heard the bells of the Mission ringing the Angelus, and shuddered as
he thought of the wrathful Padre, no doubt now denouncing him publicly
as a thief and renegade, and he hurried on till dark, when he found a
sheltered spot and lay down. The night was chilly, and after a time the
thought came to him that Big Flower would make a fine shelter: so he
got up and arranged it so as to keep off the wind. Another idea: the
clothes, why not put them on and be warm? It seemed a terrible thing to
do, but he was running away from the Padre anyhow, so he might as well
be comfortable as not. He got up again and spread out the clothes in the
dim light: two woolen undershirts, two pairs of unmentionables to
match, four large handkerchiefs of red silk, three pairs of blue woolen
stockings, and a queer, three-cornered article, white, with strings,
which he took to be some kind of pouch, but, by a happy thought, found
to make an agreeable protection for the head. Also there was a pair of
thick slippers of dark felt. He rolled the handkerchiefs up in a
ball, and then drew on all the other garments except the slippers, not
troubling to first remove his own scanty clothes consisting of a cotton
jacket and pantaloons. He now felt pretty comfortable, and lying down
again was soon fast asleep.
When he awoke it was early morning. It was still cold, and he kept the
clothes on. Indeed, it occurred to him that this was just the thing to
do; it was much easier than carrying the bundle in one hand while Big
Flower occupied the other. He would still have the slippers to carry,
for he saw that they would soon be worn out if he wore them. With a
few edible roots and berries he made a sort of breakfast, not without
pensive recollection of the warm atole now being dished out at the
Mission. When he was ready to go on he thought of the morning prayers at
the Mission, and believing Big Flower to be something connected with the
Church, the natural thing to do was to say his prayers before it, which
he did, and then started on his way. After a few miles he knew he was
near the shut-in valley (which we call El Cajon) and he remembered that
there were Indians there who might know him. It is doubtful, really,
whether any of his acquaintances would have stopped to recognize him had
they caught sight of the figure he made, for it is safe to say that no
such spectacle had ever been seen thereabouts as our friend Pio made,
attired in the Father's underclothes, adorned with a nightcap, and
carrying in one hand a vast yellow umbrella and in the other a pair of
slippers. The handkerchiefs, much too fine to be wasted, he had tied
together by the corners and made into a sash, such as he had seen the
Mexican caballeros wear; and in his piebald of red, white, and blue, he
made altogether a decidedly striking appearance.
As he was considering turning aside and making another detour, he had an
object lesson of the effect he produced upon his countrymen. An
Indian appeared at a little distance. He was gathering wood, and as
he straightened from stooping his eyes fell upon Pio. With a yell he
dropped his load and fled at topmost speed, emitting such sounds as
we try, but vainly, to utter in a nightmare. This, though a tribute to
Pio's impressive aspect, and a gratifying omen of his success in the
role of medicine man, was also a warning of danger. He dived again
into the brush and devoted strenuous hours to threading his way through
thickets of chaparral until he emerged on the trail that led northeast
into the heart of the mountains. Big Flower was happily intact, and the
nightcap also except for a missing string, but the outer layer of the
other garments had paid toll to many an affectionate scrub-oak and
manzanita, and the stockings that had stood the brunt were practically
footless. Pio surveyed the damage ruefully, and rebuked himself for not
having preserved his new property by wearing his own clothes outside. He
would make the change now, and as it was getting hot he decided to
wear only one set of the undergarments (the damaged ones) under his own
clothes, and to carry the others. When the change was made, he hurried
on. He had made one or two more attempts to make Big Flower close, but
had not succeeded, so he now marched along in a businesslike way under
the great parasol, apparently an Indian gentleman more than usually
careful of his complexion, taking a brisk walk.
One thing, however, he had to attend to, the question of food, for he
was getting very hungry. He was now on a steep trail that led up to the
valley now known as the Santa Mar'a, and there, he knew, was another
rancher'a, or village. Here, too, he might be known, but he must take
the chance: he must have food, and would boldly go and ask for it. As
he pushed his way through the trees he came unexpectedly upon three
fat squaws who were sitting beside the creek, pounding acorns and grass
seeds into meal. Just as he saw them, they saw him, umbrella, nightcap,
slippers, and all. There was one shriek, or rather, a trio of shrieks
that sounded like one, and the women rushed like deer (albeit very fat
deer) down the creek, and Pio heard them gabbling at top voice to what
he knew must be the assembled and startled rancher'a.
Our friend was a philosophical fellow, as we have seen, and as the
natural thing to do was to gather up the little piles of meal, tie them
up in the extra shirt, and make off with them, he did it. There was no
need now for him to trouble the village, so he quietly withdrew by the
way he had come, and, guided by the excited sounds that still reached
his ears, made a roundabout way back to the trail, striking it beyond
the village. At the next water, he mixed some of the meal into a gruel
and ate it. It was not very palatable, and again he thought of the good
food at the Mission, from which he was now forever debarred. But a
look at Big Flower, gleaming like a great golden mushroom in the sun,
consoled him, as he thought of the wealth and power he would enjoy among
his tribe by means of this unparalleled marvel.
Night found him halfway between the Santa Mar'a Valley and the next
higher one, to which the Spaniards who had first seen it had given the
name of Ballena, from the long mountain, like a whale in outline,
that shuts it in on the northwest. He found water, made a fire in the
time-honored Indian way by rubbing two dry sticks together, and cooked
the remaining meal. There was enough for a good supper, and some over,
which he made into little cakes, drying them hard on the hot stones.
He put on all the clothes again to sleep in, and made a wind-break as
before with the umbrella. It was really more comfortable than the hard
bed in his hut at the Mission, and he felt more than contented, even
jubilant, over the change in his fortunes.
In the morning he said his prayers again before Big Flower, and started
on his way early. He had pulled on the extra clothing at night over what
he was then wearing, and as the morning was cold, and the trail good, so
that the clothes would not be harmed, he did not take them off, except
the extra stockings, nor change so as to wear his own outside. Thus he
again presented the tricolor aspect that had paralyzed the natives he
had met. It now occurred to him to make a little experiment, a sort
of trial canter, of his new profession, upon the Indians in the next
valley. He was not far now from his own village of the Elcuanams, and
might as well be getting into training. He would avoid surprising any
stragglers at the next village, and would get into touch with the head
men, explaining that he was the long-lost son of Kla-quitch, who had
escaped after all these years from the Mission, and had come back,
learned in all the knowledge of the white men and armed further with
this most wonderful appliance of magic, to take his place as hereditary
medicine-man of his tribe. He should see by that means what sort of
impression he would be likely to make on his own people. Nominally they
were Christians; but they were hardly ever visited by the priest, and he
knew that the bulk of them were still much as in his father's day, and
still placed reliance on the fetishes of the shamans.
Accordingly he made his approaches to the Ballena village with
caution. It was about noon when he came near, and he could see, as he
reconnoitered, that a group of men were talking together in the
open space about which the houses were irregularly placed. That was
excellent. He crept cautiously near, having some trouble to keep the
umbrella out of sight till the psychological moment: and then, holding
it high overhead with one hand and the slippers and extra garments in
the other, in token of amity, he uttered the orthodox Indian greeting
which answers to our "How d' ye do?" and advanced upon them.
They looked up all together: there was a yell that wakened echoes that
had slept for many a year; and in a twinkling the plaza (so to call it)
was empty but for himself, and the braves were dodging about behind the
houses in mortal terror of the hideous monster, worse than the white
men, for he was an unheard-of, polychromatic kind of being, not only
white, but red, blue, and yellow as well. It was no doubt the monster of
whom the priest had warned them, who would appear one day, if they were
not careful of their Christian duties (and they could not say they had
been), and destroy them all and burn their village. The thing he had in
his hand was doubtless the torch--see how it shone, just like fire! In
vain poor Pio declaimed his speech: it fell on ears too demoralized
to hear; and when one or two of them began to fit arrows to their
bowstrings, the best thing to do was plainly to beat a prompt retreat.
This he did, holding Big Flower ignominiously behind him to catch the
arrows that he expected every moment to hear whizzing about him.
He ran for some distance till he was out of sight of the inhospitable
village, and then sat down to rest and think. The adventure began to
take on an unpleasant complexion. If every one he came near acted like
this he could not be a medicine-man, for there would be no one on whom
to practice; and the bow and arrow episode was really alarming. What if
his own people refused to hear him? No one would recognize him there,
for he was a boy when he had been taken to the Mission, and he had
never been chosen to accompany the Padre on his rare visitations to the
Elcuanams, as it had been thought wise not to allow him to return to the
old surroundings. What had he better do? Of course he might discard
Big Flower and all the other fine things, and return to his people an
undistinguished runaway from the Mission (as not a few others had done,
to the scandal of good Father Urbano); but he could not bring himself
to that, not yet, at least. Well, he would go on: probably the
well-remembered name of Kla-quitch would make it all right.
His discouragement over the Ballena reception caused him to travel
slowly, and it was nearly sunset when he drew near the Elcuanam village.
It had been a cool day, so he had kept all the clothes on (except the
extra stockings). The village was in an open place, near the upper end
of a wide valley, and he could see it and be seen from it for a good
distance. He could not think of a better plan of operations than the
one he had tried at Ballena, badly as it had worked there: namely, to
maneuver so as to make his first appearance when a number of the chief
men were together, and then get the name of Kla-quitch to their ears
as quickly as possible. That would arrest their attention, and further
particulars could follow.
When he came in sight of the rancher'a he stopped and sat down to bide
his time. Only a few women and children and an old man or two were
about: the braves were probably out hunting, or, perhaps, bravely
sleeping until the squaws should announce that supper was served. So he
waited, hidden behind a rise of ground. At last the men, to the number
of ten or a dozen, had congregated for the evening lounge and pow-wow.
Pio slipped into the shadow of one of the little houses whence he could
issue in full view of the conclave. He settled the nightcap on his head,
grasped the umbrella in one hand and the slippers and stockings in the
other, and at a lull in the conversation advanced. He had decided to
dispense with the "How d' ye do?" in order to play his best card at
once: so as he stepped into the light of the fire he merely uttered in a
loud tone the word "Kla-quitch," to catch their attention. He succeeded.
A dozen startled heads turned toward him, and as he spoke his talisman
again, and moved toward them, there came a hysterical howl from a
dozen most unmusical throats, and his audience, followed by the women,
children, and dogs of the village, all shrieking in chorus, vanished
into the night. It was a striking tribute to the memory and prowess of
Kla-quitch (who, it was naturally supposed, had appeared and announced
his return from the spirit world); but it was far from being what his
son and intending successor had hoped.
This was the very dickens (or whatever the Elcuanam equivalent may be),
for poor Pio! Whatever was he to do now? He prowled about among the
houses trying to find some one to whom to explain, but the panic had
swept even the old men and women away. He could hear the people calling
to one another from their spots of refuge, and ever the burden of
the shout was either "Kla-quitch!" or "Yellow!"--that is to say, the
Elcuanam word for that suddenly unpopular color. He began to feel
bitterly toward Big Flower, the cause, it seemed, of so much trouble,
and even toward his departed parent, whose name, so long after his
death, was such very bad medicine as to wreck his son's chances
everywhere.
He squatted down by the fire, hoping that some of the men would return
after a time, but none came. After sitting again by the fire for two
hours or so, hoping vainly for company and pondering on his doubtful
future, he felt sleepy, and stretched out with his feet to the blaze,
not forgetting to set up his wind-break, really the only thing, he began
to think, that Big Flower was good for.
He did not wake till morning, when he looked round anxiously. He could
see the whole population gathered a quarter of a mile away, pointing
toward him and skirmishing for the best positions for viewing his
actions. Evidently he was taboo for good and all, and the vision he had
had of himself, as the feared and prosperous medicine-man of his tribe
had been a very fancy portrait: feared he certainly was, but there it
ended. It looked as if he had to choose between being a medicine-man
all by himself, or abandoning all his paraphernalia and, after a day or
two's judicious absence, rejoining his tribe in the humble capacity of a
mere runaway from the Mission.
Meanwhile he found some food--with difficulty, for the proprietors had
removed their valuables during the night and made a middling breakfast.
He had not fully determined what to do, so he stayed where he was until
his next step should become clearer. The morning passed slowly, with no
developments. He kept an eye on the crowd of watchers, and once or twice
he was puzzled to see that they pointed not only at him, but along the
trail to the south, by which he had come.
Let us now go back a few hours, and take a look at Padre Urbano. We
shall find him, not at the Mission, but only a few miles away--in fact,
at Ballena. He had started on his visitations the next day after Pio's
defalcation, and in anything but good temper. He had come, with his
little party of half a dozen Indians, by the same general route that Pio
had traveled, and had been only a few hours behind him. He did not stop
at the Cajon and Santa Mar'a villages, as he meant to attend to his
pastoral duties in those places on his return; but rumors reached him
of some apparition having been seen by the natives. He knew these
superstitious people only too well, however, and smiled at their
credulity. At Ballena he stayed for the night, and was entertained with
a more circumstantial account of a parti-colored demon who had been
chased out of the village at arrow's point: but as he had not had time
to check up the shortage in his clothes before leaving home, he did not
recognize Pio under the description. He told the Indians, on general
principles, that it was, as they supposed, a monster who had scented
their slackness in religious affairs, and who would certainly call again
if they did not amend, and next time would not be so easily put off.
He left the Ballena rancher'a early and started for Elcuanam. This was
the farthest from headquarters of all his parishes. An outpost station
had been established there nine years before, under the name of Santa
Ysabel, but, with only yearly visits since then, it was in a moribund
condition and had not progressed beyond the architectural stage of a
ramada, or brush shelter. A message had been sent a few days before
(without Pio's knowledge, as it happened), telling the Indians to get
the ramada ready for use, and giving the time of the Padre's intended
arrival.
The little procession, Padre, six Indians, and two burros carrying the
necessaries for the observance of mass, wound its way slowly up from the
lower to the higher valley, and just before noon arrived at the top of
the last rise before the Elcuanam, or Santa Ysabel, village should be
reached. The Father was in the lead, our early acquaintance Jose close
behind. They halted for a moment to rest before going on to the village.
The Father noticed with gratification that the whole population was
stationed on a hillock just beyond the village, evidently in expectation
of his arrival; but he wondered why the foolish people waited there,
instead of hastening to meet him. They had caught sight of him, for he
saw them gesticulate, and it seemed to him that they pointed toward the
houses, as if to draw his attention to something. So he looked, and his
eyes caught the gleam of a large yellow object, set up as if it were a
shrine, in the center of the village. Very odd, he thought; what had the
silly Indians been up to now? They moved on toward the village, and
as they approached, the Elcuanams cautiously approached also. When the
Father arrived pretty near, he stopped, gazed hard, rubbed his eyes,
gazed again, and then said to Jose, "Jose, your eyes are better than
mine: what is that in the village?" Jose's eyes were already starting
from his head, as if to get a better focus on what he saw. "Padre,"
he said, almost in a whisper, "I think it is the yellow thing that Pio
stole. The sergeant made it open when we went for the package, and it
was like that." "Holy Saints!" cried the Father; "it looks like that to
me, too, but it cannot be. How could my umbrella get to Santa Ysabel?
And what has become of Pio? If it is the umbrella, he must have brought
it here." "Padre," said Jose, "there he is. I think it is Pio, but he
looks very funny, and he is kneeling in front of the yellow thing as if
he was saying his prayers." "Saying his prayers!" said the priest with
warmth; "indeed, he had better say his prayers if it is he!" And the
party hurried forward.
As we know, there was no mistake about its being Pio. As for the
prayers,--an unusual demonstration from the Elcuanams had caused him to
glance again to the trail where they were pointing. There his horrified
eyes had seen what seemed a miracle, but a most unfortunate miracle for
him Padre Urbano himself, a sight as unmistakable as unbelievable.
Panic seized him, but on the instant he had an inspiration, too: he was
caught, and something awful was bound to happen; but why not at least
make an attempt to disarm the Father's indignation by being caught in
the attitude of worship, which the Padre was everlastingly inculcating?
It might not mitigate his wrath, but then it might. He propped the
unlucky Big Flower up so that it would stand, hurriedly stuffed a pair
of stockings into each slipper, dropped them beside the umbrella, and
then fell on his knees and began to patter Ave Marias, faster, and
much more fervently, than he had ever said them before the altar at
the Mission. In his haste he forgot to take off the nightcap, though,
indeed, he hardly viewed it in the light of a hat, or cap.
In this position the culprit was found by the Padre and his escort,
and also by the Elcuanams, who, emboldened by the Father's fearless
demeanor, had ventured back to the zone of danger. "Pio!" cried the
Father, "get up and show yourself, if it is you. Sancta Mar'a! what
is all this? Why, those are my clothes you are wearing, you graceless
rascal! Take them off instantly, and tell me what you mean by this
outrage. Bring him to me in the ramada, Jose, and be sure you bring
the umbrella. Praise to the Saints! I have found it, and it seems to be
undamaged, after all."
On the way to the ramada the Father could not help looking round once or
twice at the prisoner, who followed with hangdog look, escorted by the
scandalized Indians from the Mission and a mob of astounded Elcuanams.
His indignation began to melt as he thought of the miraculous recovery
of the umbrella, and, since he was a genial and lenient soul, each
glance he took at the wretched Pio tickled his risibles more and more,
until his shoulders shook with merriment. Arrived at the court of
justice he managed to get up an aspect of terrific severity as the
malefactor was led in by Jose. The umbrella and the other incriminating
evidence were deposited beside him. The Elcuanams and the other Indians,
crowding about the entrance, crooked their necks with anxiety to
see what would happen. Pio had not yet disrobed, and stood dolefully
awaiting the worst, from nightcap to stockings a clown like and
altogether incomprehensible figure. Again the Father's funny vein got
the better of him. He knew that he was compromising himself forever, but
for the life of him he could not help it--his lip trembled, he tried to
control it but failed, he chuckled, giggled, cackled, and burst into a
roar of laughter.
It was no use to think of punishment after that. When Father Urbano
at last got the shreds of his dignity together, the whole history was
extorted from the trembling Pio, who, however, was shrewd enough to say
nothing of his pagan dream of turning medicine-man. Gladly enough he
shed the unlucky clothing. Vast quantities of water were brought from
the spring and blessed by the Padre: the umbrella was sprinkled and
sprinkled till no taint could remain; and then Pio, guarded by Jose,
spent the afternoon in scrubbing the desecrated garments with bucket
after bucket of holy water, while the assembled village, down to the
smallest papoose, jeered at that most ignominious of spectacles--a man,
washing clothes like a squaw!
To complete Pio's penance, it was his task to carry the umbrella over
the Padre during all the rest of the round of visitations, which, it
seemed to him, as he marched mile after mile with aching arms, would
never end. But end it did, and Father Urbano's umbrella at last arrived
at its original destination, San Diego Mission. Finally, after many
and various further peregrinations, it ended its travels at the sister
Mission of Santa Ines, where to-day the reader may find it reposing,
a treasured item in Father Alexander Buckler's curious collection of
relics. It is but fair to say, however, that I am doubtful whether Good
Father Alexander will vouch for my story of its early adventures.