Francisco
Our Little Argentine Cousin

THE
Little Cousin Series

(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
By Mary Hazelton Wade
(unless otherwise indicated)

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.

"THEY SAT DOWN ALMOST UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE HIGH STATUE OF SAN MARTÍN."

(See [page 33].)

	FRANCISCO Our Little Argentine Cousin By Eva Cannon Brooks Author of "God, the King, My Brother," "Our Little Spanish Cousin," "Our Little Alaskan Cousin," "Our Little Grecian Cousin," "Our Little Brazilian Cousin," etc. Illustrated by John Goss Boston L. C. Page & Company MDCCCCX

Copyright, 1910
By L. C. Page & Company
(INCORPORATED)
All rights reserved
First Impression, June, 1910

TO
Katharine and Elizabeth Brooks

Preface

If you take a steamer in New York whose destination is the eastern coast of South America, and remain on it a little over four weeks, you will reach the great metropolis of our twin continent, Buenos Aires.

In all probability they will be weeks of infinite content and delight, for the southern half of the Atlantic Ocean is milder in her moods than the northern half, and there will be a sufficient number of stops en route to relieve the journey of monotony.

First comes the Barbadoes, then Pernambuco, Bahia, Rio-de-Janeiro, and Santos in Brazil, and then Montevideo, the capital of the Republic of Uruguay.

At Montevideo the steamer leaves the ocean and enters the mouth of the River Plata, which is several hundred miles wide at this point, and in ten hours the beautiful city of Buenos Aires, the gate-way to the Pampas, is spread out before the eye.

It is more like a city of North America than any of the South American metropolises, both in its appearance and its remarkable spirit of modernization.

Beyond, and about this attractive port, lie great tracts of level country known as the campo, and here you will find conditions not unlike those existing in some parts of our own western territory. Large ranches predominate, although the industries are varied.

The people are of mixed nationalities, but the greater proportion is of Spanish extraction and a new race, or type, is being welded with a sufficient infusion of Anglo-Saxon blood to counteract the inherent tendency of all Latin races towards procrastination. Because of this, and aided by an unequalled climate, a fertile soil, and definite aims, they are already achieving a part of their manifest destiny.

This, the year of 1910, the publication date of this small volume, marks the one hundredth anniversary of Argentina's independence; may it mark also the beginning of an era of even greater harmony and more splendid achievement.

Contents

List of Illustrations

Francisco
Our Little Argentine Cousin

CHAPTER I

FRANCISCO'S HOME

Francisco sat crosslegged in one corner of the patio under the shade of a small pomegranate tree which grew in a tub. He had moved halfway around the patio since morning, trying to keep out of the sun. Just after café he had started out under the shade of the east wall, where wistaria vines and jasmine grew in a dense mass of purple, yellow and green; then he had gone from one tubbed shelter to another as the sun mounted higher, until now only the heavy foliage of the pomegranate offered protection from the hot rays. All of the long varnished blinds at the doors of the rooms opening upon this central, stone-paved courtyard, had long since been closed securely, for it was middle December and the house must be sealed early against the noon heat of midsummer.

Francisco might have gone inside, where the darkened rooms furnished some relief, but he chose to sit crosslegged on the red and white square stones of the patio, with his back to the main part of the house, so that the mother and sisters could not see what occupied his busy hands.

Francisco's father was dead, and he, with his mother, La Señora Anita Maria Lacevera de Gonzalez, and his two sisters, Elena Maria, who was six, and Guillerma Maria, who was eighteen and very beautiful, lived in the Calle[1] Cerrito, in the city of Buenos Aires, Argentine Republic, South America.

Francisco, himself, was nine, and his uncle who was a colonel in the army and who supported his widowed sister and her family, expected him to be a soldier also. His great-grandfather had been a general, and because of his services during the revolution that had brought Argentina her liberty nearly one hundred years ago, his family was one of the most distinguished in the Republic. Francisco's own grandfather had given his life for his patria during the ten years' blockade of Buenos Aires, when the French and English forces combined to overcome General Rosas, who then commanded the city. His mother and his uncle, the Colonel Juan Carlos Lacevera, were then little children, but they were fired with a patriotism that comes only to those who have given of their own flesh and blood for native land.

"El Coronel Lacevera" was now retired, and with his wife and six daughters lived in a spacious, palatial home in the Calle San Martin facing the beautiful plaza, or park, where the statue of General San Martin on his rearing charger stands, a constant reminder to the hundreds of little Argentine boys and girls who daily play in the pebbled space around it, of the wonderful man, who, like George Washington, was first in war, first in peace, and is still first in the hearts of his countrymen.

The monthly allowance bestowed by Colonel Lacevera upon his sister was enough to keep them in comfort, but not sufficient to allow them to live in luxury, and to-day, because Francisco had not enough money to buy his Christmas pesebre at the toyshop, he was doing what many little boys of that country do,—he was making his own.

Now, you must know right here, that Christmas in these South American countries is not the greatest festival of the entire year, as it is with us; it is simply one of the many that are celebrated at frequent intervals, for Argentina is a land of fiestas; there is scarcely a month that does not allow three or four holidays from school because of some fiesta, either of church or state. Although they do not celebrate this great holiday as we do with Christmas trees and visits from Santa Claus, they have something in their places, and it is the "Coming of the Three Kings." In anticipation of this, all over the Republic, children erect pesebres or mangers.

A pesebre consists of a miniature open shed, or merely a roof of straw or bark, underneath which, in a tiny box, lies a porcelain baby doll to represent the infant Christ. Bending in adoration at the head of the wee box that holds this image kneels the mother, Mary, and at the foot, with folded hands, stands Joseph, the father. About them, placed in sand or moss, that forms the floor of the stable or yard, are figures to represent the worshipful neighbours, also the farm-yard fowls and animals; cows and donkeys predominating. They look like Noah's Ark people, stiff-legged and prim. Now all of this remains unmoved, a spot of reverent adoration, throughout Christmas week, New Year's day, and until "twelfth night," or the fifth of January. It is awaiting the great event for which it was erected, the "Coming of the Three Kings."

On that auspicious night, through the same magical means that aid Santa Claus to enter the homes of North American children while their eyes are closed in sleep, come the three richly decorated and delicately carved kings on miniature camels with costly trappings and bags of spices on their little brown backs.

On the morning of the sixth of January the children awake, all eagerness to see the arrivals of the night. Rushing to the pesebre they find the three little wooden kings kneeling beside the manger, the faithful camels standing in the grass without, and all about on the floor are the wonderful gifts that the kings have brought to their pesebre. Indeed, as you can see, it was erected for just this purpose, exactly as the fir tree with its glittering ornaments forms the nucleus in other lands for Christmas gifts.

It was these wooden people and animals that Francisco's small fingers were fashioning. He had cut himself several times, and one finger was bound up in an old handkerchief, but his enthusiasm was not lessened because of it. He knew exactly how they should be carved, and how many there should be, for in the toyshop windows there had been sets of them on display for weeks, and Francisco had studied each necessary bit carefully.

In a box beside him were the finished product of his penknife. Joseph and Mary were completed even to the paint; Mary's red and blue gown and Joseph's yellow robe were not quite dry, and the cows were too vividly red, but that would not matter; Elena was no severe critic, and it was mainly for her that he was carving them. Elena had been ill and this was to be her "getting well" gift. The flashing light in her great brown eyes when she should see them would be sufficient reward for cut fingers and weary back. Besides, this was the summer vacation and there was nothing else to do.

In all countries on the other side of the Equator the seasons are the reverse of those on this side. In Argentina the children are having their summer holidays in December, January, and February, when the children of the Northern hemisphere are busy in school, or skating and sleighing; and they are having their winter when the Northern children are dressed in their thinnest clothing and are going away to the seashore or mountains.

Francisco had just completed a wonderful set of bent pin horns for one of the red cows when he was called to breakfast, and it was half-past eleven. But you see their meal hours, like their seasons, are different from ours. At eight o'clock he had had his cafe con leche, or coffee with hot milk, and a roll; at half-past eleven he was accustomed to having his breakfast; at four he would have máte or tea; and at seven dinner would be served.

Francisco gathered his treasures into the tin box, and hurried to the bath-room to make himself ready for almuerzo. When he entered the dining-room his mother and Guillerma, the elder sister, were seated, and the little Indian serving-maid was arranging a tray to carry to Elena in the bed-room.

The meal consisted of beef broth and rice, called caldo and the usual beginning to every hearty meal in that country; then came fried fish with garlic, followed by a stew of mutton, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, and large pieces of yellow pumpkin, this being the native dish of the Argentines and commonly known as puchero. After that came fruit and coffee.

Guillerma chatted continuously of the wonderful new gowns which she had seen being packed at the great house in Calle San Martin, where she had been the day before, to bid her aunt and six cousins good-bye, before their departure for Mar-de-la-Plata, the fashionable watering place on the Atlantic Ocean, a day's ride by rail from Buenos Aires.

Meanwhile, as they sat thus, eating and talking, over in the great house of the Coronel[2] the master sat at his massive library table playing solitaire. He always ended his meals thus with his after-dinner coffee-cup beside him. The walls were lined with well-filled bookcases, for the Colonel was a scholar.

Indeed, he cared little for the gay life that ebbed and flowed about him because of his high social position, and because of the six comely daughters, ranging from fourteen to twenty-four; the eldest ones of whom were favourites in exclusive Buenos Aires society. He suffered it because of his love for them, but his natural fondness for quiet and study led him to think longingly of the large estate in the Province of Santa Fé, where he could spend the remaining years of his life in the free open air, enjoying the quiet and solitude he so loved. But the daughters must be educated and their mother did not like the country, so the Colonel was forced to live through the winter months in the noise and roar of the great city; contenting himself with a few months each summer at the estate, when he rode at will over the wide prairies on his swift Argentine horse, or read for hours under the shade of the wide spreading ombú trees which surrounded the country house. This estáncia, as they term a very large farm or ranch, was really his wife's; in fact, so was the city house, for no retired colonel's pay, nor general's pay, for that matter, could have met the expenses of his large family, accustomed to every luxury; indeed, it was just enough to cover his own personal expenses, and provide a living for his widowed sister, who had been left penniless, but dared not earn her own living, since the custom of the country forbids women of class to do work of any kind.

His matronly wife with her six daughters (large families are the rule among these Latin Americans) had left the evening before, with several French maids, for Mar-de-la-Plata to spend the entire summer; he would be detained in the city for two weeks, and then—for freedom and the life he loved.

But he was strangely lonely; the house echoed his and the servants' footfalls with an intensity that made him nervous; the pillared corridors rang with no merry girlish laughter, and the luxuriantly furnished patio with its marble floors, and softly pattering fountains, seemed to mock him of his loneliness. Always before, he had left for the estáncia before his family had gone to Europe or the seashore for their summer outing, and he never would have believed that he—an old soldier—could be so overcome by sentiment.

He was minded to take up his abode for the next two weeks, previous to his leaving for the country, in his widowed sister's humble home, when the splendid thought came to him;—he would bring Francisco, his nephew, there with him to the lonely house.

For some time he had been drawn towards the little fellow, partly because his heart was desolate that he had no son of his own, partly because the boy was developing so many manly traits, and reminded him frequently, when he turned his round brown eyes towards him, of his own long since fallen soldier father.

He desired to know him better, to get closer to the lad—and now this was his opportunity; he would ask Anita to let him have Francisco for the summer, and the boy would keep the empty house lively for the few days until they should both leave for his Tres Arroyas ranch. He clapped his hands sharply, and a servant appeared.

"Have Enrique bring the motor car at four, when the afternoon is cooler," he ordered, and turned to his bed-room for the siesta, or rest, that all tropical and semitropical climates demand of their residents.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Street.

[2] Colonel.

CHAPTER II

A WONDERFUL DAY

Promptly at four, the huge red machine puffed up to the front curbing. The Colonel was walking up and down in the Plaza opposite, smoking a cigarette; for when not eating or asleep, an Argentine gentleman is seldom seen without the thin, white cigarrillo between his lips. He looked most distinguished in his scarlet and green uniform.

It took but a few moments to reach his sister's casa,[3] and the maid who answered his ring in the narrow vestibule that opened directly onto the street told him the family were having máte in the patio, which was partly shaded in the late afternoon. He was welcomed heartily, and was kissed by each one twice, after the foreign fashion, once on either cheek.

The máte cup, an egg-shaped gourd, was passed from hand to hand as they sat talking, each one in turn sucking the fragrant tea through the same silver tube; the little Indian maid refilling the gourd again and again with hot water.

This is the universal custom in South American countries below the Equator, and aside from the benefits derived from the drinking of the pungent herb itself, it has a significance akin to the "loving cup" idea, and is a symbolization of family love and domestic ties.

A guest is always asked to partake of máte with the family, and if he is unaccustomed to the manner of its usage, the fact that he is expected to obtain his share by means of the one, universal tube, is at first disconcerting, but he dare not refuse under penalty of offending his host.

This herb is called "Paraguayian tea," or "Jesuits' tea," as it was used extensively by the early Jesuit Fathers, who were one of the most important factors in the civilization of the lower half of South America. It is grown mostly in Brazil and Paraguay and its cultivation has become quite an industry.

The dried leaves are placed in a small gourd, hot water is poured into it, and it is then sucked into the mouth through the long silver tube, which has a bulbous end, perforated with small holes so that the tea is strained. At the first taste it is exceedingly bitter, but one soon grows very fond of it. It is very stimulating and a gaucho, or cowboy, will sometimes, under stress of circumstances, ride all day with only his morning gourd of máte to sustain him, and then eat his first meal of the day at sundown.

The Colonel soon made known his errand, and Francisco was beside himself with joy. He danced about the patio clapping his hands, and then ran indoors to sick Elena to smother her with kisses, and to tell her of his good fortune.

"Oh, Elena, just think of it! Two whole weeks in the big casa with servants, horses and automobiles—and then two whole months in the campo[4] with uncle to ride with me, and teach me something new every day!"

"But Elena mia, you will miss me," and a note of sadness crept into his voice.

"Yes, Francisco, I shall miss you, but I shall enjoy myself every day thinking of what you are doing, and you will write to me; Mamá will read me your letters, and then there will be so much to talk about when you return,"—and Francisco embraced her another time.

Half an hour later, clean and shining in his best suit of clothes, exchanged for the long linen duster that all Argentine schoolboys wear to play in, he was spinning along the asphalt streets, sitting beside the man who stood, to his young mind, for every virtue assigned to his patron saint.

At first he was slightly shy, for this wonderful soldier uncle had never paid any particular attention to him, so engrossed was he always with his books and his family; but as they threaded their way in and out the traffic-crowded streets, among the heavy carts, the noisily clanging electric tram-cars, and low, open victorias filled with elaborately dressed women, and fleet wheeled automobiles of every size and class, Francisco began to ask questions, and forgot his timidity. They were soon chatting interestedly.

"How would you like a spin out to Palermo?" his uncle asked, as they reached the central part of the city.

"Better than I could say," replied the happy lad; his heart meanwhile bounding, for he seldom saw the trees and flowers of the vast park that is one of the city's most picturesque attractions.

"Then, Enrique—to the park, via the Avenida[5] Alvear," said Colonel Lacevera to the chauffeur.

It was late afternoon now, and being Thursday, the broad avenues were filled with hundreds of vehicles; since Thursday and Sunday are the afternoons chosen by fashionable Buenos Aires for the diversion of riding or driving to the great Prado to hear the military band, and to mingle in the long lines of carriages and motor cars.

The Avenida Alvear, broad and smoothly paved, with its magnificent residences on either side, makes a desirable avenue from which to approach the park. As they rode along, the odour of jasmine and roses hung heavy about them, coming from the beautiful gardens surrounding the palatial homes. Long arbours of American Beauty roses, looking like crimson lined tunnels; majestic palm trees, over which trailed Marechal Niel roses and cypress vines; bulky shrubs, with sweet scents; all these lent their charm to the scene, and Francisco, ever alive to the beauties of nature, felt this to be a foretaste of Paradise.

Soon they were in the palm bordered drives of the park; but they crept along at a snail's pace, as the speed on crowded afternoons is limited to a funeral pace, in order that the lines of carriages both coming and going may avoid confusion.

Through the trees and shrubbery Francisco caught glimpses of cool running streams, crossed by rustic bridges; clear, limpid lakes with swans and boats, and here and there, pavilions where ices and refrescos were being enjoyed by the gay crowd. At intervals, on splendid black horses, were stationed picturesque looking mounted policemen, their long horsehair plumes trailing over their shoulders, from which hung scarlet lined capes. It was their duty to keep the half dozen columns of vehicles in proper line.

The Colonel's car had entered the wide area of the Avenue Sarmiento when he leaned towards the chauffeur and said, "Turn towards the Zoological Gardens, Enrique." And then, to the boy beside him, he said, "How could you stand half an hour in the Zoological Gardens, Niño?"[6]

"I would try to bear up under it, Uncle," replied Francisco, as his eyes twinkled an answer to the merriment in the older man's. They alighted at the curbing, and entered the immense iron gates into that Mecca of all Argentine boyish hearts.

All of this seemed as a dream to Francisco for although his mother had frequently brought him here, she knew little of the animals and birds; and now with Uncle Juan he could ask questions innumerable without getting the reply: Yo no se.[7]

They paused first at the great cage, fifty feet in height and covering an area of half a city block, built over a small artificial mountain where hundreds of eagles and condors wheeled, fought and chattered.

"See the pavilion that looks like a Hindoo temple, Francisco; let us see what animal makes that its home."

"Elephants, Uncle Juan, and perhaps we can see the baby elephant that was born here a few weeks ago." Sure enough, in a park all their own, surrounding the Hindoo temple house, was a family of elephants and the baby elephant stood beside its mother, who was rubbing it affectionately with her long trunk.

The alpacas, llamas, deer, bison, guanacos and vicuñas came next, and Uncle Juan could answer every question that the eager boy put to him, for, during his active service in the army, he had spent much time on the frontier, and on the Cordilleras of the Andes, where these animals are found.

"HE PERMITTED FRANCISCO TO TAKE A RIDE ON THE TAME LLAMA"

He permitted Francisco to take a ride on the tame llama, who rivalled the Lilliputian steam engine in its popularity as a mode of progression around the garden. As it did not trot, but walked sleepily along with Francisco, having served all day, no doubt, as a vehicle for children visiting the "Zoo," Uncle Juan walked beside him, and, as they proceeded, he told him much about the small camel-like animal upon whose back he rode.

"You see, Niño, a llama is almost like a camel, but its size and strength are inferior. It has no hump on its back, but as you saw when you mounted it, it kneels like one. They thrive best at a high elevation where they browse on reeds, lichens, mosses and grass. If the grass is succulent they can go without water for a long time. When they are domesticated it is for their fine fleece. Their flesh when young is deliciously tender, and it is then that they can be caught with dogs and a lasso, but the old ones can only be shot at a distance, and their flesh is fit only to be dried and salted. I have seen them in Perú used as beasts of burden, and the Indians make a very beautiful and valuable cloth from the soft fleece. But come, lad, the sun sinks, and we may come here another time."

As they walked towards the gate where the car was awaiting them, they passed lakes where waded and swam many birds of brilliant plumage. Herons and flamingoes, red and gray and pink, stood on one leg, lazily, watching for minnows.

"Why are some of the flamingoes scarlet and some pink?" asked Francisco.

"Those with red plumage are the old ones and the delicate rose coloured ones are not yet in their second year. At old Roman feasts their tongues were considered the greatest delicacy; I have eaten their flesh roasted, and it is wonderfully palatable."

"Oh, Uncle, we haven't seen the lions, nor the bears, nor the monkeys, nor the boa-constrictors," coaxed Francisco, as they came in sight of the gates.

"But we shall see them another time, Niño. We cannot see the half of these great gardens in a day, for they cover many acres, and contain the finest specimens of any garden on the continent." As they passed out the bugles at the military post opposite were sounding for the soldiers' dinner and the avenues were no longer crowded.

"With haste now, to the casa," ordered the Colonel, and the enormous car plunged ahead, along the deserted boulevards where the electric lights were beginning to appear one by one. Francisco had never flown so fast and he cuddled close into his uncle's arm; the strong man held him tenderly, lovingly, and they entered the electric lighted patio of the casa arm in arm.

Now the Colonel's home was not unlike many others of its class, but to the little lad's eyes it seemed a palace. The main part of it was perfectly square, and built around an inner court from which many of the rooms were lighted and all were entered. The windows facing the street were heavily barred, and small balconies of wrought iron projected from each window, over-hanging the pavement a few feet below. The house was flat and of but one story; into this first court opened luxuriously furnished parlours, drawing-rooms, smoking-rooms and library. Behind all of this was another court with smaller rooms opening into it, exactly like a smaller house. Into this opened all the bed-rooms, the bath-rooms and the long elegantly furnished dining-room.

Quite separate, and reached by a rear street entrance, was yet another, a third court or patio, and into this opened the pantries, kitchen and servants' quarters. The walls of the high spacious parlours were richly decorated, and the chandeliers were of silver and crystal; while ornaments and valuable souvenirs from all parts of the world were displayed throughout the entire house.

Although only Francisco and the Colonel sat at dinner that night, the table was lavishly decorated, and the cut glass, silver and dinner of many courses, including fish, game, meats, vegetables and fruits, were a source of constant bewilderment and admiration to the boy accustomed to humbler fare and less luxurious surroundings.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] House.

[4] Country.

[5] Avenue.

[6] The affectionate name for all small boys.

[7] I do not know.

CHAPTER III

A LESSON IN HISTORY

Francisco awoke very early the next morning, for he was unaccustomed to sleeping away from home. He lay quite still listening to the unwonted sounds. He heard the servants scrubbing the marble floors of the patio and corridors; he heard the call of the panadero[8] and the hurrying feet to answer; for no private family ever bakes its own bread in Argentina, and the bakers have it all their own way, which isn't a very bad way since their bread is light and deliciously crisp; he heard the chattering of the parrots and paroquets in the servants' patio; then the clatter of a squad of mounted policemen on their way to the day's duty, the hoofs of their horses beating a tattoo of haste on the smooth asphalt still wet with the daybreak bath of the sprinkling carts.

Then he became interested in his room. Such luxury as surrounded him! He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, for he had never viewed these bed-rooms except from the corridor, on his infrequent visits to the house. His bed was heavily carved and overhung with a canopy of pale blue plush and silk; the walls were panelled and painted in delicate colours, with angels and cherubs everywhere; huge mirrors reflected each other as they hung in their frames of Florentine gold, and after he had viewed it all for a few moments, he buried his head in his pillow and wished for his own bare room and his mother. Then he longed for Elena that she might enjoy the beauties about him; and this reminded him of the pesebre, which was still unfinished, but which he had brought with him.

He wondered how he could get it to her without her finding out—and—he must have fallen into a doze, for soon he heard an imitation reveille blown through human hands, outside the closed blinds that shaded his door into the corridor, and his uncle called good-naturedly: "A pretty time for a soldier of the Republic to get up!"

Francisco hurried into his clothes and found the Colonel taking his coffee and rolls in a shaded corner of the patio.

"I am going to give you all of my time to-day, Niño, as I feel lazy, and I find there are many things here in your own native city that you know nothing about, and that a boy of nine should see and learn. Your mother could not be expected to do it, so it falls to me. We must start immediately, before the heat of the day drives us indoors. Get your cap, lad, and we will start over in the Plaza San Martín opposite, and have a lesson in history."

They donned their hats, and Francisco felt very proud to walk beside his uncle, who, if not a very large man in stature, loomed up big before the boy's worshipful eyes.

"What do you know of Buenos Aires, Niño?" he asked as they sauntered towards the centre of the park.

"Not much, Uncle Juan. I know it is the largest city on the South American continent, and that it has over one million inhabitants. My teacher said once that it is one of the largest produce markets in the world."

"Yes, and there is much more. It is the largest Spanish speaking city in the world, as it is twice as large as Madrid, the capital of Spain. But it is also very cosmopolitan."

"I don't think I know just what that means, Uncle Juan."

"Cosmopolitan? Why that, in this case, means that there are many nationalities represented in Buenos Aires. There are thousands of Italians, Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen and Russians; and one can hear half a dozen different languages in an hour's time walking along the streets. But, to-day, I want to start with a little history of our country. So let us sit here on this bench and begin. At this early hour we will not be disturbed."

They sat down almost under the shadow of the high statue of San Martín and the Colonel reverently uncovered his head. Without being told, Francisco took off his cap, and his uncle patted him affectionately on the back. "Good, good, my boy! He deserves it, for no greater soldier ever fought; but we will have to go back several centuries to get the run of things," and as he leaned back he paused and puffed thin clouds of smoke from his cigarette.

"You see, when Buenos Aires was really founded, it was in 1580, sixty-four years after the River Plate was discovered by Solis, who called it the River of Silver, because he believed silver could be found on its banks. They called the city 'Good Airs,' because of the fresh, invigorating quality of the air that blew over from the vast prairies. This first settlement grew, and others farther into the interior sprang from it; all of them Spanish settlements; and in 1661 the King of Spain recognized them as a colony and appointed a governor. Thus it continued until in 1806, when England was at war with Spain, and they sent Lord Beresford, with several thousand men, down to this colony to take possession of it.

"Buenos Aires then, as now, was the key to the entire country, and as it had but forty thousand inhabitants, and was without any military defence, he took it without trouble. But the Spaniards, at last, overcame him; and he was obliged to give up his prize and leave. England then sent another army, but this time the natives were prepared, and their victory was complete. General Whitelock, in command, capitulated, and his flag, the flag of the famous Seventy-First Regiment of the British army, hangs in the Cathedral over yonder, where you see the double spires beyond the house-tops. We are justly proud of that flag, for that Seventy-First Regiment is the one that caused Napoleon no end of trouble in Egypt.

"After this victory our people began to feel the stirrings of independence from Spain itself, and a spirit of revolution took hold of the officials and people. At last, an open revolt took place in the Plaza Mayo, on the twenty-fifth day of May, 1810, and under the leadership of splendid men—patriots all of them—our independence was declared.

"But this was only the first step, just as it was with the great republic of the United States when on the fourth of July they declared their independence from England. So our twenty-fifth of May was but the beginning of a long struggle. A Junta was formed to govern, but it was no easy task. To the north were Uruguay, Paraguay and Bolivia; to the west Chile and Perú; all Spanish colonies. The Junta sent troops to these countries to endeavour to arouse the people to throw off the yoke. They sent General Belgrano to—"

"Oh! Belgrano! I know about him, Uncle. His tomb is in the little square in front of the church in Calle Defensa, and it was he who originated our flag. He said the long blue bars were to represent our faithfulness, as true as the beautiful blue of our skies; and the white bar was to symbolize our honour, spotless and fair."

"Yes. Well, he went first to Paraguay; but the Spaniards had so intermarried with the Paraguayan Indians, whom they had found in that wild country, that they did not respond to the stirring appeal of General Belgrano. He, however, succeeded in some of the northern provinces, and thus encouraged, they organized a small navy. Do you know who was our first admiral? No? Well, it was an Englishman and his name was William Brown.

"With this navy, Montivideo, the capital of Uruguay, was taken. Enthusiasm ran high, and it was just here that Don José de San Martín came into the light of publicity, as commander-in-chief of the army. Now let us take the automobile, awaiting us over in front of the house, and ride to the Cathedral where the remains of our hero rest, and I will tell you more about him there."

They rode along the clean streets, the fresh morning air blowing straight into their faces, the curious, sing-song cries of the street venders following them as they sped along Calle Florida.

"Uncle Juan, why is it that most of these street peddlers are Italians? See, there goes an onion-man with his long strings of onions, their stalks knit together into yard lengths; there is a vegetable cart; there is a vender of fruit, and all of them speaking broken Spanish with an Italian accent."

"Yes, Niño, most of the peddlers are Italian. I do not know why, unless it is that each nationality turns to a special kind of work in this world. The Italians are naturally merchants, they like to bargain. They are also very fine mechanics. Did you ever notice that our plasterers, or masons, who plaster the outside and inside of all our houses, speak Italian?"

"And that group of men on the corner, see, Uncle, they are all dressed alike, and must be of the same nationality; what are they?"

"Those"—indicating half a dozen men wearing full trousers held up by red sashes, adorned with dozens of coins, their heads covered with round full caps also red. "Those are Basques or Vascongados. There are many here, and they come from a small piece of country to the west end of the Pyrenees, in Spain, bordering the Bay of Biscay. Like the Italians, they, too, follow the work best suited to them, and they are mostly porters, because of their physical strength and powers of endurance.

"I have noticed, too, that the majority of our milk men are Basques, and I account for that because in their native home they are a pastoral people and such pursuits attract them. Listen as we pass: their language is unintelligible to us although they come from Spain. It is unlike any other European language."

They were now entering the great square called Plaza Mayo. It is the heart of the city, although it is not in the centre. It covers about ten acres, and is two blocks back from the muddy La Plata River; and scores of masts and smoke-belching funnels of great ocean vessels can be seen from its benches.

"That is our Government House. That much I know," said Francisco, pointing to the rose-tinted building, modelled after the Tuileries, and facing the plaza. From its rear to the river intervened grass plots and groves of sturdy palmettoes.

"Yes, that is where our Senate convenes and where all the business of the Republic is done. The President has his offices there, and all the public receptions are held there. You see, our government does not provide a home for our President; that, he must look after himself. Why, we are just in time to see His Excellency now."

There was a clatter of hoofs under the wide porte-cochere and a smart closed coupe drew up before the side entrance. The liveried footman with a cockade of blue and white (the Argentine colours) in his high hat sprang to the ground and opened the door. A man, slightly above the usual Argentine height, quite handsome, with pure Castilian features, and dressed in afternoon garb of tall silk hat and frock coat, got out, and walked spryly up the wide stone steps, past the sentries in scarlet and green, into the vestibule.

"Do you know him, Uncle Juan?" asked Francisco, with awe in his voice.

"Señor Alcorta, El Presidente, is a warm friend of mine," replied the Colonel, and as he said it he grew fully half a foot in his nephew's estimation.

"A warm friend? Do tell me about him."

"Another time, Niño, we must hasten to yonder Cathedral; but he is a good man and a good President."

They turned towards the enormous building, shaped like the Pantheon with its blue tile-covered cupola, and its long portico supported by huge Corinthian columns.

It was built by the Jesuits in the seventeenth century and hundreds of Indians were employed by these pioneer fathers, in its construction. Like all houses in Buenos Aires, it is of masonry untinted except by years. With the Bishop's palace next to it, it covers an acre of ground.

Francisco and his uncle entered it and crossing themselves, knelt on the bare stone floor, for like most Argentines, they were Catholics, and this was their greatest cathedral. After a few minutes spent in devotion, the Colonel led the way to one of the naves, where the tomb of the great liberator, San Martín, stands, a huge sarcophagus upon a high pedestal of marble. The Colonel stood in meditation a moment, then drew the boy beside him on a bench. In a low voice he said:

"Francisco, San Martín, the father of our country, was not only a great general, but he was also a remarkable organizer, for his troops were composed mainly of gauchos of the wild uncivilized kind, who were not easily trained or drilled. It was he who originated the plan of crossing the Andes and liberating Chile and Perú from the Spanish yoke.

"With his army of five thousand men, and in the face of public derision, for the undertaking seemed impossible, he crossed the rugged Cordilleras in twenty-five days; met the Spanish general in charge of Chile and defeated him. He was thus the liberator of the Chilean people, for that battle on the twelfth of February, 1817, gave them their independence from Spain. In Santiago, Chile, there is a statue to General San Martín, and one to the city of Buenos Aires. After his wonderful achievement in crushing the power of Spain, in Argentina, Chile and Perú, he retired to private life, refusing to serve in any civil capacity.

"Following this revolutionary triumph, Brazil waged war with the Argentine Republic over the disposition of Uruguay. After three years, they agreed on its independence. This was followed by a dictatorship lasting twenty years, that was a period of the greatest tyranny in our history. Don Juan Manuel Ortiz de Rosas, at the head of a powerful troop of half savage gauchos, appeared on the political stage, and literally wrested the reins of government from Dorrego, who held them.

"Some time you will read in history of his twenty years of despotism. It was during this reign that my father, your maternal grandfather, lost his life in the blockade of Argentine ports, by French and English forces. Rosas was at last overthrown by General Urquiza, who organized the government upon its first solid basis, with a constitution modelled closely after that of the United States of North America. Since then, although we have had a few revolutions and several financial crises, we have maintained our freedom; and our wonderful natural resources and our rapid commercial development are giving us a stable place in the world's congress of nations."

Francisco listened attentively, and when his uncle concluded, followed him out a side entrance into the street, like one in a dream. They stepped into the Calle Bartolomé Mitre, which seemed congested with a torrent of vehicles pouring down its narrow channel like a noisy stream and discharging itself into the great Plaza in front of the Cathedral.

"What if San Martín could see this now?" ventured Francisco, still under the spell of the hero's achievements. "Wouldn't he open his eyes?"

"Yes, lad, the growth of this city has been phenomenal, and this afternoon I will show you more of it. Why, you're not homesick, are you?" he asked, noticing the far away look in the boy's eyes as they sped along the Avenida.

"Not exactly, but I would like to see Elena, and find out how she is to-day."

"Why, bless my heart! I had forgotten the sick sister. We will go past thy mother's house and if the little rose is well enough this afternoon, we shall include her in our ride in the city."

FOOTNOTE:

[8] Baker.

CHAPTER IV

CURIOUS SIGHTS

Elena was propped up with pillows in a deep chair by the window which opened out upon the street. She looked lonely, but when she saw the car sweep along the street and stop at their door, her face beamed happily. There was no jealousy in Elena's heart because her brother was being thus favoured by their uncle.

"Oh, Elena, mia," cried Francisco, throwing his arms about her, and kissing her on each pale cheek. "Do you feel able to take a ride with us this afternoon?"

"I think she is," answered his mother, entering the room, and taking her son into a close embrace. "But how I have missed my Niño, Juan," turning to her brother, the Colonel.

"Perhaps I have been selfish in taking him from you, Anita. Shall I leave him here?"

"Ah, no! The lad needs you, Juan. He has no father to teach him as he should be taught. It is the very opportunity for him; and I am most pleased. Only, let me see him often, and I shall be content."

"That you shall, and this afternoon just after máte, we will come to take you and Elena with us for a ride. It may bring roses to her cheeks," and he pinched the pale cheeks as he passed her on his way out.

True to their promise, at five o'clock the automobile drew up in front of Francisco's home and the Colonel, himself, carried Elena out to it, and placed her in the nest of pillows on the broad leather seat. Her mother followed and before Elena realized it, they were speeding toward the central part of the city.

"Where does the little White Rose wish to go?" inquired her uncle.

"Oh, anywhere—away from this horrid street. I am so tired of it. If I may, I should love to see the water."

"To the river, Enrique," laughingly ordered her uncle. "Only, the river isn't a very pretty sheet of water. It is so murky, and I think should be called the River of Bronze rather than the River of Silver."

"I know, Uncle Juan; but when I had the fever it was water, water, water I dreamt of, and now I want to see my fill of it."

"That you shall, White Rose, for right here at Buenos Aires the river is over twenty-five miles wide and the city has a frontage of four miles along the waterfront."

They passed through the Plaza Mayo, and Francisco had to tell Elena of having seen el Presidente that morning. Then they turned into the Paseo-de-Julio, a one-sided boulevard facing the river two blocks away. The intervening space was a maze of small plazas where palms, flowers, shrubs and statuary edge the waterfront like a band of solid green. Beyond, before Elena could see the water, were the busy docks, huge masonry basins, where over two thousand ocean-going vessels come and go during the span of a year.

Electric cranes were swinging the great cargoes of wheat and cattle into the yawning holds of the vessels, and on and on the sea of funnels and masts stretched until the muddy line of water at last broke on the sight. Francisco was alert, his brown eyes taking in every detail of the stirring busy scene; but Elena's hungry eyes looked past this to the water beyond.

"Some day, I hope to go away in one of those big vessels," she announced.

"Indeed, and which one will you choose, little White Rose? Here is a wide choice. That large one with the enormous smokestacks and the British flag flying above her, is a Royal Mail Steam-ship from England. One of these leaves every Friday for England, and besides the mail, carries about fifteen hundred passengers. On one of them you would travel in great luxury; electric fans, electric elevators, an orchestra with dances every evening, and dressing for dinner at night. Oh! it's gay enough, the life on those magnificent steamers!

"Then, alongside of it you see a smaller boat, a French liner from Marseilles. They go weekly also, and they bring us our champagne and our opera companies; why, this very automobile came on one of them. There's an Italian liner and just beyond are some German boats. In the South Dock is a river boat that goes up country to Paraguay; our oranges come on those. And all about are smaller boats, some sailing vessels that carry coffee from Brazil, and yellow pine from New Orleans in the United States."

"Why, that one just over yonder flies the Stars and Stripes of North America," cried Francisco, pointing to a small vessel.

"Not exactly, Niño. It is from Los Estados Unidos.[9] You must not confound them, for the United States are but a part of North America, although many of our people do not seem to think so. But you do not see many of their flags in our docks. The commercial relations between our two countries are as yet in their infancy. The most of our export and import business is done with Europe."

"Do they not send anything at all down here, but yellow pine, Uncle?" this from Francisco.

"Yes, oh! yes. They are sending us machinery, especially agricultural machinery. When you go with me to the country you will see their wind-mills, steam threshers and binders in great quantities. They send us other machinery, of many kinds, but in comparison with our trade with Germany and England it is very little."

"And do these big ships go back empty to Europe?" inquired Elena, pointing to the long wharves.

"By no means, little girl. See those heavy carts going towards the docks? Well, I don't suppose your young mind can take in the figures, but Francisco will understand, when I tell you, those carts carried one hundred and fifty million bushels of wheat last year to those returning ships, to say nothing of millions of sheep, frozen quarters of beef, wool, cheese and even butter and eggs. Anita," turning to his sister, "I doubt if you, yourself, have ever been to the Barracas, have you?"

"No, Juan. It is so far from the residence district and I never happened to drive that way."

"Then we will ride over there now and let you all see the largest wholesale produce market under one roof that you can find in all the world."

For two miles they sped through narrow streets; past crowded tenements, in front of which scores of dirty children quarrelled and played, and where the peons or working classes huddle, sometimes families of fourteen in one room; past tambos, where the cows and goats stand in sheds, open to the street, awaiting to be milked while the customer waits; past gray spired churches, their wide doors always open, inviting the pious passer-by to enter for prayer; passed fideos factories, where curious shaped macaroni hangs drying in the sun in the open courtyards; on and on they bumped, for the streets here were cobble-stones, until, at last, they reached the vast building covering many acres, where wheat, wool, corn and produce are bought and sold to the foreign trade.

"Were it not so late, we would alight and see it closer. However, Elena could not walk, anyhow. Already, I fear she has had too long a ride for her strength, and we hope not to tire her on this, her first outing; eh, White Rose?" But Elena was fast asleep, her head on her mother's shoulder.

The chauffeur turned the car towards the city, where here and there, in the gathering dusk, an electric light could be seen as if notifying the day, by these advance signals, that its duty was over.

Elena slept on and did not see the wonderful Avenida as they flew along its smooth surface, so like Paris as to seem a bit of that gay city picked up and transferred to American soil; the plane trees bordering it, with here and there a small newspaper kiosk like a miniature temple; the splendid building of "La Prensa," the richest newspaper in the world, where the Buenos Aires public can obtain the services of the best doctors, lawyers, or dentists free of charge; invitingly odorous confectioneries or restaurants with small tables on the sidewalks at which handsomely dressed men and women sit eating and drinking and watching the gay multitude; bewildering shop windows full of the latest Parisian novelties; fruit and flower boys, with their trays of luscious fruits and delicately scented blossoms balanced unaided on their heads; hotels just beginning to glitter with their myriads of electric lights; all of these passed by them as Elena slept the sleep of exhaustion.

Francisco, however, missed none of it, for his was the Latin spirit full of love of pleasure and display, bright lights and gay crowds. His uncle watched him intently from under his heavy brows.

Suddenly a weird, unearthly wail arose above the hum of the traffic all around. Elena started up, frightened and trembling, but, as she had heard it before, she recognized it, and fell back asleep again. Francisco had heard it also, but never so close, it seemed right beside him.

"Uncle, may we not go back by the Prensa building and see what has happened?" he cried excitedly.

The Colonel agreed and Enrique crossed to the other side of the street, entering the long line of vehicles going west, for the "rule of the road" in Argentina is "keep to the left." The hoarse, wailing steam whistle had drawn the crowds towards the handsome building from whose tower it was issuing, and they could not reach it within half a block. Mounted policemen were everywhere trying to disperse the crowd. It was good-natured as any Latin crowd, but refused to be moved; like a hot water bag, it bulged out in one spot when pressed down in another. And all of this—because the bulletin methods of this mighty newspaper are so unusual.

Whenever any unexpected occurrence takes place in Europe or any part of the world this enterprising "daily" apprises the public of it by blowing this stridently piercing steam whistle. It was blown when Queen Victoria passed away; its howl distressed the nervous citizens when San Francisco was almost in ashes, and its present message was that a son and heir had been born to the King and Queen of Spain. This was made known from the front steps of the building and very soon the crowd was a cheering, hat-waving mob. It was momentarily growing more excited and Enrique turned into a side street and sped towards the house in Calle Cerrito, where Elena, now thoroughly aroused by the boisterous tumult about them, could be tucked away into bed.

As Francisco and el Coronel Lacevera sat at dinner that evening discussing the event of the afternoon, while softly gliding servants in quiet livery served them, the Colonel said:—

"Did you know, Niño, that every time La Prensa blows that whistle as they did to-day, it costs them three hundred dollars?"

"Why, Uncle Juan, does it use up as much steam as that?" earnestly inquired Francisco.

"Scarcely," laughed the Colonel, as he lifted up an enormous bunch of muscatel grapes, weighing several pounds, from the platter of fruit before him, "scarcely that, Niño, but our city government fines them that amount every time they blow it, as they term it a public nuisance. Now, when they want to indulge in this sensational advertising, they send a messenger on to the Commissaria post haste to deposit the fine, timing his arrival just as the last howl of the whistle sounds across the city."

FOOTNOTE:

[9] The United States.

CHAPTER V

GREAT SURPRISES

On the Colonel's desk the little revolving calendar was set at "December 25th," and the letters were in red ink, showing by this that it was a feast day. The Colonel was writing, and evidently did not notice a little figure clad in a long linen coat standing behind his chair waiting a chance to speak. He wrote on and on, until Francisco's patience was exhausted and he coughed warningly.

"Not much of a soldier, Niño! A soldier must have patience if it is to wait all day."

But Francisco was used by now to his uncle's chaffing; indeed, they were close friends and Francisco went right to the heart of his errand.

"Uncle, it's El dia de Navidad."

"Why, so it is," looking at the calendar. "I had forgotten it was Christmas. We've so many feast days one cannot keep the run of all, and I can scarcely remember my own patron saint's day. If it wasn't such a well known and widely observed one, it would often pass before I knew it."

Francisco laughed. "Why, Uncle Juan, you couldn't miss St. John's day unless you were deaf and blind. They make such a noise and have such huge bonfires always. For weeks before it comes the children save every piece of wood and paper, and last St. John's night I stood on our roof and looked over the city. My! how pretty it looked; the whole city seemed on fire; for nearly every street had half a dozen bonfires. I wish my saint was as popular. But to-day, I want to ask if I may go home just for a little while."

"Indeed you may, lad, whenever you choose."

"Well, you see, to-day, I've a special errand, Uncle; I've been making a pesebre for Elena and it's finished now just in time. I would like to go and set it up."

"Let me see it," said the Colonel.

"Oh, it's fine, Uncle. I've got twenty-eight figures and the paint is dry on every one of them. I worked all day yesterday in the back patio, and José, the portero, helped me cut out the camels. He said mine looked like giraffes." And the boy began to lay them out on the desk, tenderly lifting each one as though they were alive and breathing.

As each little representation took its place in the long row the Colonel's face grew tender. He dared not smile at their crudity for behind the rough, unskilful carving, he saw the ideal that had been in the carver's mind. He was seeing some new thing each day in the little fellow's character that made him love him more; and when they were all placed formally together, he drew the little linen coated figure into the circle of his arm and together they discussed the merits of each wee wooden figure.

"Niño, we will go together! That's what we'll do," he exclaimed almost boyishly. "I am tired of these long army statistics, so let us go inmediatamente."

A span of Argentine thoroughbreds took them this time, for the Colonel was a genuine lover of horse flesh, and he owned several of the finest in the country. It is said that an Argentine will lavish as much care on his favourite horse as a mother will upon her child; and these two, Saturnino and Val-d'Or, were the pride of his heart.

"This pair, Francisco," he began, as they took their seats in the open victoria, and the silver studded harness tinkled as the splendid horses started off; "this pair are to be taken abroad next month with my two trotters, Benita and Malacaro. Our horses are attracting more and more attention in Europe as they see the fine specimens our stables are sending there.

"I shall enter them on the English turf, and I am ready to hazard their price that they will come back, at least one of them, with a blue riband. At any rate, I am sure there are no finer appearing horses anywhere than these; but all of our horses are good to look at. Of course, I except those miserable cab horses; they are a disgrace to their name, and should be called sheep."

Thus he chatted on, full of his subject, until they reached Francisco's home. They found Guillerma and her mother away. They had gone to celebrate mass and Elena, with the one servienta, was alone in the house.

"You entertain her, Uncle Juan, while I erect the pesebre," whispered Francisco.

So the gray haired soldier took Elena on his knee and told her the story of a little girl who was lost in a forest and of the convention of animals that met to discuss her fate. He put most eloquent speeches into the jaws and beaks of the different birds and animals, such as the deer, the puma, the ostrich, the jaguar, and many others. Elena's eyes were wide as the big bear growled out his belief that she should be cut up into half kilo bits, and divided among them; but just then Francisco entered the room and asked them to come into the dining-room where Estrella, the servant, was preparing máte.

As they entered the comedor[10] Elena spied the manger with its surrounding images in the corner, on the floor.

"Que hermosa! Que linda!"[11] she cried, clasping her hands in ecstasy. "Only yesterday did I tell Encarnación, when she came to bring me Christmas cakes full of almonds and raisins, that we should have no pesebre. She is to have one of ivory that cost a small fortune, but I had rather have this. Oh! it is so beautiful! Who could have brought it? Who could have put it here?" and she looked up inquiringly, first at her uncle and then at her brother. Uncle Juan's face pleaded "not guilty" but Francisco's was so beamingly tell-tale that she flew to him and embraced him and kissed him over and over again.

"'DID YOU EVER SEE SUCH GLORIOUS BLUE EYES!'"

When each figure had been carefully inspected and discussed Uncle Juan proposed a ride, this time behind his favourite horses. As they entered the house on their return he was pleased to see a faint colour on Elena's face and a brighter look in her eyes.

Thus the days passed, swiftly enough; New Year's with its fireworks and noisy crowds of celebrating peons, and at last came twelfth night.

Elena awoke on the sixth of January feverishly expectant. Surely, after having set up such a lovely pesebre, the Three Kings would not forget her. An excursion into the dining-room proved their faithfulness, for there they stood—three smartly covered camels, and three wee kings, bowing before the tiny babe in the manger.

Around the room were the gifts they had brought to her. A toy piano, a wonderful French doll with a trunk full of clothes, a few picture-books and a china tea set. She was still admiring them when Francisco arrived; he was dressed for travelling and was quite excited, but Elena could not notice that, so absorbed was she in her toys and doll.

"See this muñeca,[12] Francisco, mio! Did you ever see such glorious blue eyes, just like the English Señora's on the corner. Why, you act as though you had seen them before, Francisco, are you not surprised to see so many?" exclaimed Elena, impatient that he would not kneel with her among her gifts.

"They are beautiful, Elena, every one of them. But I am in a great haste for Uncle Juan and I are leaving from the Retiro Station in half an hour. The servant, José, has taken our trunks and large bags ahead, and I stopped here to bid you all goodbye, as Uncle Juan had another errand to do on his way down. We go a day earlier than we had planned in order that we may stop over for a day and night in Rosario. I am glad, Elena, that your gifts are so lovely, and if I were not in such a hurry, we would have a long play together. But I shall write to you, all of you;" and he embraced them, each one, mother and two sisters, hastily, not trusting himself to prolong the goodbye.

The Estación Retiro was full of a holiday crowd, for it was early morning. José was awaiting him, and they stood watching the long trains of cars coming and going, discharging their loads into the long sheds, and swallowing up another one and puffing out again. Francisco's knowledge of railroads was limited. He had never taken a long journey on one; his mother and Guillerma had taken him with them on one of their yearly pilgrimages to the shrine of Our Lady of Lujan, some forty miles distant, for being devout Catholics, this was never omitted. He began to grow nervous, fearing his uncle would be too late, as the train for Rosario was puffing and blowing just outside the iron gate and the guard was preparing to ring a huge bell, which announced the departure of all trains. Just before its first peal broke from its brass throat his uncle strode in, and, motioning the servant to follow with the bags, he hurried Francisco through the gate.

José, the portero accompanying them, was an Araucanian Indian by birth, but he spoke Spanish fluently. When a mere boy, the Colonel's father had brought him from Chile, when returning from a military expedition into that country; and he had been a faithful servant of the family ever since. As slavery is prohibited in Argentina he had been paid wages since he became of age, over forty years ago, but no power on earth could have induced José to leave the service of Colonel Lacevera.

He was but slightly bent and possessed the broad face and high cheek bones of the South American Indian. His skin was like parchment, and his eyes slanted peculiarly like the eyes of the Chinese. When Francisco had spoken of that last characteristic to his uncle he had been told that many people believed these Indians to be a tangent of the Oriental races, and upheld their theory mainly because of the peculiar similarity of the eyes.

José and Francisco were great friends and Francisco was much pleased that José was to be with them at the estancia, since his knowledge of animals, birds, herbs, in fact all out door life, was unlimited.

The car they occupied was a compartment car of the English type, although the ponderous engine was North American. As the railroads of Argentina are mainly under English control the English railway customs and equipments are largely in evidence.

The pretty stations at each suburb are surrounded by grass plots with beds of flowers, and the English system of overhead bridges across the tracks at all stations reduces the number of accidents.

Francisco found out all of this by a series of continuous questions as their train sped through the pretty suburbs with their numbers of summer homes, surrounded by well kept gardens. The villages began to grow fewer and fewer and Colonel Lacevera said:

"Now it's my turn, Niño! Can you bound the Argentine Republic?"

Francisco began in the sing-song manner of the Spanish schools:—"On the north by Paraguay, Bolivia and Brazil, on the west and south by Chile; on the east by Brazil, Uruguay and the Atlantic Ocean. Its area is one million, one hundred and eighteen thousand square miles and its population is over six million. It is—"

"There! There!" exclaimed his uncle, laughingly. "You may stop. No telling how long you could sing the praises of your native land. I want to tell you a few things that you may not have learned. Do you know what alluvial soil is?"

"It sounds like some metal," ventured the boy.

"But it isn't. You see, Argentina was once part of the ocean bed; for under the soil, way back in the interior of the country, I, myself, have found shells and gravel. This long level stretch of land between the Atlantic Ocean and the foothills of the Andes, that was once covered with water, is now called the Pampas; and you are now in that region.

"See that long, coarse grass stretching as far as the eye can reach; it is the finest pasture land in the world and explains why we produce such quantities of cattle, sheep and horses. You see, having this excellent pasture-land, so well watered, and a climate that insures grazing the whole year through, our expenses for raising and rearing cattle are very low. We are a larger country than we appear on the map, my boy. Why! we are twelve times as large as Great Britain."

"Uncle, as we have so many things that are the largest and best in the world, tell me, is this the longest railroad on the earth?"

"No, Niño, not quite that. Our railroads are developing our country at a rapid rate and we have some of the finest road beds in the world, but that is because our country is so level. Now that I think of it, we have got something connected with railroads that is interesting. We have the longest straight stretch of railway in the world, it is said. On the Argentine Pacific Railway from Buenos Aires to the Andes it runs like a surveyor's line two hundred and eleven miles without deviating a foot. But come, let us go into the dining car for breakfast; it is already half-past eleven."

This was Francisco's greatest surprise of all in a long list of the day's surprises. To eat in a railway car, speeding fifty miles an hour, with delicate china and napery, shining silver and food like he had been having daily at his uncle's table, seemed too wonderful to be true.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] Dining-room.

[11] How beautiful! How lovely!

[12] Doll.

CHAPTER VI

NEW EXPERIENCES

"Levantese! Levantese!" came José's voice to Francisco's ear, just as the latter was lassoing a llama he had been pursuing on the back of an ostrich.

Francisco rubbed his eyes and woke from his dream to a babel of voices, and the train was not in motion. Where could he be?

As he rubbed his sleepy eyes again his uncle took him gently by the shoulder.

"Wake yourself, Niño. We are in Rosario; come, follow me."

Francisco followed him through the long hall of the compartment car out into the big station where insistent porters and shouting cab-men made frantic grabs at them and their baggage, only to be beaten off by José, whose language as he scolded and berated them was not what is known as "polite Spanish."

Selecting a victoria from the long line of waiting ones, they entered, José sitting with the driver, and were soon before the lighted portals of a large hotel.

The building was two stories in height and perfectly square; the second story bed-rooms all opened on to a porch or corridor, which ran completely around and overlooked the central court on the first floor. The entrance was very imposing with marble staircases and marble pillars; and Francisco's sleepy eyes opened wide in astonishment. They were just in time for dinner; already the marble tables in the patio were filling with men and women sipping their afterdinner coffee in the cool open air.

As this was Francisco's first dinner in a hotel it might be interesting to know what he ate. Being an Argentine, he always ate several different kinds of meat, and began this meal with a platter of cold meats: tongue, pressed chicken and jellied veal. Second, a vermicelli soup with grated cheese; third, fried pejerey, the most popular fish of the country; fourth, partridge fried in oil; fifth, asparagus with melted butter; sixth, macaroni with tomato and garlic sauce; seventh, roast mutton; eighth, a salad of lettuce and tomatoes; ninth, a sweet jelly in wine sauce; tenth, fruits; and then they adjourned to the patio for coffee.

While his uncle smoked and talked with friends, whom he had chanced to meet, Francisco slipped away and José helped him undress for bed, as he was very tired.

He remembered no more after José turned off the electric light until he opened his eyes into the full glare of the sun, the next morning. It was nine o'clock and José was laying out clean linen for him. After a refreshing shower bath, he returned to his room to find his rolls and coffee on a table beside his bed.

"Why, José, I'm not a lady that I must have my café in bed!" exclaimed the lad. "Mother and the girls always do that, but I'm a man and I want to have mine in the dining-room with Uncle Juan."

José explained that in hotels one must always take one's morning coffee in one's rooms; and he talked on while Francisco ate and dressed.

"El Coronel will be busy all of the day and he has placed you in my hands. Rosario, I know like a book, and together we will see it."

"Oh! that will be great fun, José. Where shall we go first?"

"Would you like to see them load the vessels? This city is where much of the wheat of our country is brought to be loaded into the vessels for Europe. The river is so deep here that the largest ocean-going vessels can come up to the docks."

They walked through crowded, busy streets until they came to a high bluff, and from the edge of this they could look down on the very tops of the long rows of steamships below, all being loaded with wheat.

This was just the beginning of the busy season, for the harvest was scarcely under way. In January and February the whole city of Rosario would seem nothing but wheat, wheat, wheat.

Francisco saw all of this with deepest interest; he was beginning to comprehend the resources of his own country.

They sat watching the course of the wheat bags as they shot down the long chutes from the high bluffs to the vessels below, until Francisco's eyes grew tired and even when he closed them he could see long lines of bobbing bags, like yellow mice, chasing one another into the water.

So they walked along the bluff, counting the flags of the different nations displayed on the boats beneath them; English, French, Italian, Dutch, German and a few that Francisco had never seen before.

For a while they watched the lavaderas or washer-women pounding the clothes of the city on the rocks at the edge of the water; and spreading them on the higher rocks behind them to bleach and dry.

Steam laundries are uncommon in South America and all of the washing is done in this manner. The lavaderas carry the soiled linen from the houses to the river on their heads, balancing huge bundles as easily as though they were trifles, their arms folded across their breasts.

As they stood watching this cleansing process Francisco spied a raft-like boat piled high with small logs tied on securely.