Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

"Tell me all, all you can," Mrs. Beltrán made room on the bench for the young man. "Begin at the beginning."

"He was a little lad when first I saw him," began Anselmo, sitting down. "We were at school together but he did not come regularly, for if there were hay to be cut, if there was extra work to be done, young as he was he had to help. He loved books, music, all such, and made the most of the instruction he received. He had an old violin on which he played, we thought marvelously, by ear. It was his best friend. The uncle was not unkind except in making the boy work when he should have been studying. He allowed him to play on his violin though his aunt Pilar disapproved."

"Poor little lad, poor little lad," murmured Mrs. Beltrán with tears in her voice.

"It was after the uncle died," Anselmo went on, "that Pepé came to me to say, 'I leave the pueblo, Anselmo. No longer can I remain. My aunt has taken my violin and locked it up, saying I am wasting time and that I shall no longer be allowed to play. But I know where it is. I shall break the lock and take what is my own. When she did this thing I told her I would not stay. I was angry, never was I so angry, so beside myself with rage. I told her I would go, so if you hear I have gone you will know why; you will know that I cannot live without my violin. It is my comfort, my friend. I should die of unhappiness, deprived of it.'"

Mrs. Beltrán sat with clenched hands, her lips quivering while Anita wept openly. "Car-r-ramba," growled Rodrigo, "but she is a malvada, an old bruja. Continue, Anselmo."

"Then," Anselmo went on, "he said, 'You have been kinder to me than anyone else, Anselmo.' Pardon me, señora for telling you this," Anselmo interrupted himself, "I but wish to explain why I know what others may not. Few ever saw Pepé after his uncle's death, for he was not permitted recreations. It was work for him from morn till night. The widow of Don Marcos was twice as grasping as her husband and would consent to nothing which lightened labor or encouraged idleness. However, I would manage to seek out Pepé, for I found him very simpatico, and we would talk of those things which boys like, of the world outside, of our hopes and ambitions. 'So, I go,' he said, 'to-night, I think. I go to Barcelona, for it is there I shall find my best chance for work of a kind to advance me. I shall get there somehow, and my violin will earn me food by the way.'"

"And did he expect to walk all the way?" inquired Anita solicitously.

"Perhaps not all the way; he expected to encounter travellers who would give him a lift in one way or another," Anselmo told her. "You will write to me, Pepé, I said, and I do not blame you for going. Perhaps some day I shall go to Barcelona myself and then we may meet again."

"And you say he did write several times?" Mrs. Beltrán questioned.

"He wrote, but cautiously. He had been a long time on the way, but had arrived at last, had been helped over the worst part of the road by more than one viajante, had played in the villages, had slept in the hay, had sometimes fared badly, sometimes well, but there he was and looking for work."