The night before there had been processions all through the night, crowds upon crowds going up the hill; she would not have been lonely then. But she could not get away, because of little Josef’s being ill and needing the water heated for his bath every hour. Yes, it would have been nicer last night, with all the priests, and all the chanting, and all the flaming torches. But the good God knew all about it,—why she did not come then, when she wanted to. She would not worry, but she said her prayers with chattering teeth, and many furtive looks behind her.
At last she reached the summit, where in a little chapel burned the light that could be seen for miles around Malaga. There a solitary brother knelt, saying his beads, and keeping watch. She said her last prayers at the altar, and left the votive oil with the friar, who commended her piety and was very kind. As she came out, the clouds broke and the Paschal moon shone through them, and the broad road led down with smooth ease towards the sleeping, silent city. Her steps made just as lonely echoes on the stones of the deserted streets, but she felt herself favored of heaven, as no doubt she was, and all her fears were gone.
It was after three o’clock when she let herself in at the kitchen door; and it was several weeks before her mistress learned, by accident, of the dolorous little pilgrimage.
—Miriam Coles Harris.
THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE
| cleave | lea | roseate | tenderly |
| mold | fruitage | verdurous | crimson |
| haunt | sojourners | fraud | rhymes |
Come, let us plant the apple tree.
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;