Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

A Clue

It was Doña Benilda who at last turned the conversation into those channels which would lead up to the subject in which Mrs. Beltrán and Anita were so vitally interested. "You must hear Catalina's story, Prudencia," she said, "so romantic, so pathetic it is, and we so misled by false reports."

Doña Prudencia sat with folded hands and grave face looking thoughtfully into space. "It is well to hear both sides of a question," she responded at last. "I never believed half I heard, and since I have seen Catalina I believe still less. Will you tell us, Catalina, so much as you would like us to hear?"

"We have come, as perhaps you know," began Mrs. Beltrán, leaning eagerly forward, "to learn, if possible, something of Pepé, my son Pepé. Benilda thinks you may have heard something of him. Have you?"

"Not lately," returned Doña Prudencia after a pause.

"Tell her your story," urged Doña Benilda, and Mrs. Beltrán began a recital of her experiences. As she continued she was frequently interrupted by such fervent exclamations as "Ave Maria Sanctissima! Madre mia! Que lastima! Que desgracia!" accompanied by the sign of the cross made solemnly.

"So you perceive," Doña Benilda came in eagerly at the end of the story, "it was not as we were told by our Uncle Marcos, nor as Pilar would have us believe. The mother was not in the wrong; she did not desert her children; it was José Maria who deserted her."

"Pobrecita, pobrecita," murmured Doña Prudencia. "Poor José Maria, so impetuous, so mistaken. Ah, if he had but sent his son to me all would have been well, but alas, it was to our Uncle Marcos he was sent, the uncle of your husband, my poor Catalina. Had he but come to me all would have been different. He would have taken the place of my own child, my little boy who died. But it was this way: My father Candido and his brother Marcos had a bitter quarrel and did not speak for years. I do not know whether José Maria was aware of this, but he knew, I think, of my father's death, and probably realizing that Uncle Marcos was his nearest relative he considered him the proper person to take charge of the boy. But Uncle Marcos was a hard man, a hoarder of money, and his wife, a woman of the lower class, was equally parsimonious and unloving, so that the little child had not a happy life. They live in another village, but I saw him once at a fiesta; he was pointed out to me as the son of my cousin, José Maria, but I did not think he resembled the father."

"Tell me," interrupted Mrs. Beltrán, palpitatingly, "is he still living?"

"That I do not know. He lived with his Uncle Marcos until he was about fifteen, at least he lived at his farm, for the uncle died and shortly after the boy went off, and I hear none has seen him since. Pilar will not allow his name to be mentioned, we are told, and is in a rage if one attempts to question."