Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

"I think he is the dearest man," said Anita as they turned down the crooked street which led from the bank to the cathedral. "Dear old Weed is just as good, but he is not so attractive as this nice Señor Garriguez. He reminds me of Don Quixote, he is so lean and brown and so caballero. When he talks in that quiet, polite way he makes me feel absolute confidence in him and I come away just as satisfied as if he had really promised to send Pepé to us some time to-morrow."

Her mother smiled. "I must say that he inspires confidence in me, too, and I am thankful, indeed, that Providence led us to him."

They rarely missed a visit to the cathedral whenever they were anywhere in the vicinity, and to-day they followed their usual inclination and entered the dark, dignified, solemn place about noon. Only a few persons were within, kneeling women with rapt, expressive faces, a few tourists tiptoeing around with Baedeker's in their hands, and one or two men in worshipful attitude before the altars. As mother and daughter paused before a sculptured tomb, Anita suddenly touched her mother on the arm, and directed her attention to a kneeling figure at the altar nearest them. It was the young man, their opposite neighbor whom they had so often heard called Don by his older companion. He was evidently absorbed in prayer, his hands clasped rigidly, his eyes uplifted towards the Holy Mother to whom he was directing his petitions. In passing him they were obliged to go so near that Mrs. Beltrán's dress swept the lad's feet. They could not forbear a glance at the smooth broad brow, at the fair skin, the waving brown hair. They left him there and went out with a feeling of having intruded upon an acquaintance.

"I have always thought they were Scotch," remarked Mrs. Beltrán, as the mother and daughter were descending the long flight of steps leading to the street. "I have called him Donald in my mind and we know he calls his uncle Bruce. It is unusual to see a Scotchman anything but Presbyterian."

"Perhaps he is. Perhaps he wanted to make a prayer and didn't see why he should not. One does feel very religious and solemn in the old cathedral. They are houses of God and I do not see why any Protestant should not use them."

"I feel that way myself," her mother admitted, "so perhaps our young friend does, too. He is a dear lad. I wish we knew him."

"We might change our boarding place and go to that in which he and his uncle lodge," said Anita with sudden inspiration. "We could still take our meals at Doña Carmen's."

"We are very comfortable where we are," returned Mrs. Beltrán, "and I should not like to offend Doña Carmen when she is so good to us. Perhaps some accident will throw us in their way."

But the very next day Anita, watching from the window, saw the departure of these interesting neighbors. "Oh, mother," she called, "come here. The Ingleses are going. Uncle Bruce is there with the bags and there comes Don with the violins. They are getting into a cab."

Mrs. Beltrán came to the window. "Oh, dear me," she said, "but I am sorry. I shall miss them. I felt so at home with them, and there will be no more music to cheer us. I am sorry."