FATHER FELIPE

I speak not the English well, but Pachita,
She speak for me; is it not so, my Pancha?
Eh, little rogue? Come, salute me the stranger
Americano

Sir, in my country we say, " Where the heart is,
There live the speech. " Ah! you not understand? So!
Pardon an old man, — what you call " old fogy, " —
Padre Felipe!

Old, Senor, old! just so old as the Mission
You see that pear-tree? How old you think, Senor?
Fifteen year? Twenty? Ah, Senor, just fifty
Gone since I plant him!

You like the wine? It is some at the Mission,
Made from the grape of the year eighteen hundred;
All the same time when the earthquake he come to
San Juan Bautista.

But Pancha is twelve, and she is the rose-tree;
And I am the olive, and this is the garden:
And " Pancha " we say, but her name is " Francisca, "
Same like her mother.

Eh, you knew HER? No? Ah! it is a story;
But I speak not, like Pachita, the English:
So! if I try, you will sit here beside me,
And shall not laugh, ch?

When the American come to the Mission,
Many arrive at the house of Francisca:
One, — he was fine man, — he buy the cattle
Of Jose Castro.

So! he came much, and Francisca, she saw him:
And it was love, — and a very dry season;
And the pears bake on the tree, — and the rain come,
But not Francisca

Not for one year; and one night I have walk much
Under the olive-tree, when comes Francisca, —
Comes to me here, with her child, this Francisca, —
Under the olive-tree.

Sir, it was sad; but I speak not the English;
So! she stay here, and she wait for her husband:
He come no more, and she sleep on the hillside;
There stands Pachita.

Ah! there's the Angelus. Will you not enter?
Or shall you walk in the garden with Pancha?
Go, little rogue — st! attend to the stranger!
Adios, Senor.

PACHIIA(briskly)

So, he's been telling that yarn about mother!
Bless you! he tells it to every stranger:
Folks about yer say the old man's my father;
What's your opinion?