Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

"I can understand that." Mrs. Beltrán was determined to be conciliatory. She yearned to learn all that could be told. "I hope he did not give you needless trouble," she said, "and that he was able to assist you."

"He was beginning to be a little useful, the ungrateful wretch, when he took it into his head to run away. What an ingrate! A good home during all those years of a child's most irritating and careless behavior, then when he could have earned his keep he must needs leave to better himself. To better himself! Hombre! Was not a good home, a comfortable bed, enough food sufficient for him? Was he the son of a nobleman that he must pine for richer fare? Ave Maria, what did he expect? I venture to say that many a night have his bones ached for his good bed, and he has wished for the guiso he scorned, for a roof to cover him. But he need not return; he knows that for I told him so."

"Then you knew he was going. Did you know where?" asked Mrs. Beltrán eagerly.

"He had hinted more than once that some day he would leave, when he complained of his work, the lazy bobo, of his prospects. Was he son of mine that I should promise him fields and crops? Que bobo! If you go you do not return, was what I said. So he has gone and he knows better than to return. No grief to me is that."

"You do not know where he went?" Mrs. Beltrán queried, finding it hard to restrain her indignation.

"Not I, unless to the city. It is along that road all triflers travel."

"The city? But what city?"

"How should I know? He has chosen his road. I did not choose it for him. Like a mono he imitates those who believe they will make their fortunes. He may have gone to America, who knows?"

"Have you any reason to think that?" asked Mrs. Beltrán, anxiously. Pilar gave a short sardonic laugh. "He has seen Americanos strutting around in their store clothes, their gold chains across their stomachs, their strange and ugly hats upon their heads. It would be just like him to admire such. He was always one to be discontented with simple things. 'Why should I cut hay all my life? Why should I lead the cow cart? Why should I tend a burro?' Borrico himself and well suited to herd with burros." She seemed to take bitter satisfaction in pouring forth her spite and scorn upon the mother and sister of the boy and no appeal affected her.

So at last the three returned to Doña Prudencia. In such a rage was Doña Benilda that her voice shook as she cried passionately: "It is the last time that I address myself to that piece of stone, Prudencia. Ay! Ay! she is worse; she is a hyena, a tigress to so tear the heart of a mourning mother, to give her no word of comfort. But," she turned to Mrs. Beltrán, "we will not give up, my cousin, we will the more apply ourselves to seeking information, the more will we pray to Our Lady of Pity to help you."