Mayflower (Flor de mayo)

the least of the Rector's earnings. He had established himself now solidly in his uncle's grace, for the old man, with very slight risk to his own hi

le! The cutter put in there at the height of the storm-and that

ourse have to do with the sea; for Pascualo was not the man to sit around in an easy chair, like his uncle, and skin poor people on shore alive! Smuggling, meanwhile, as a regular thing, was out of the question. That's a thing a young fellow ought to do once, to get his hand in; just as he ought

into a boat, not an ordinary boat, you understand, but the very best, if that were possible, of all the craft that ever set sail from the beach in front of the ox-barn there. His day had come at last, rediel! No

a now walked along the Gas House drain past the boat yard, with envious eyes they noticed the Rector always hanging around there chewing the end of a cigar, and supervising the carpenters as they sawed and hammered and planed away at the long yellow pitchy brand-new timbers, some of them straight, and strong, and thick, others of

usual up at sunrise to carry her baskets of fish to Valencia or even to Torrente or Betera, at times-always on foot-to save the price of a wagon. And when the weather was not right for fishing, she spent her days in her hovel, in company with her poverty and her despair. But Tonet, her Tonet, was handsomer than ever, in a new suit of clothes, with money in his pockets all the time, and a regular seat in the café, exce

ome home late at night to go to bed, scowling and cursing between his teeth. But woe to Rosario if she ventured any protest. For periods of two or three days, at times, he would not be seen there at all. Not so, however, in his brother's house. There he went frequently, loafing about the kitchen with Dolores, if the Rector was not at home, listening with bowed head and resigned humility, to the lectures she gave him on his scandalous conduct. When Pascualo happened

re to good account. And to avoid any chance of gossip, he showed himself day after day with the Rector up at the boat-yard, watching the prog

d with fantastic names, and, to distinguish one camp from so many others like it, flag-staffs on the gables with banners of all colors, and above the flags, queer weathervanes-boats, dragons, dolls, gew-gaws of every shape and form. In a second line, farther from the shore, and speculating on the appetite that salt air awakens in dyspeptics, came the more pretentious and the more permanent structures of the restaurants and eating-places, with stairways and verandas, fa?ades of ornate but inexpen

f pure joy; or crowds of people pressed their way, with the murmur of many, many voices. It was the humming of a bee-hive, varied with the calling of vendors, the thrumming of guitars, the nasal screaming of accordions, the clack-clack of casta?ets, the wailing of

yes, but without taking part in all its jollity. Let them enjoy themselves-if they were willing to pay f

deck to point! A bit thick amidships! But I wanted her like that-handles rough water better. But just take a peep at that bow of hers! Sharp enough to cut paper with! Black along the scuppers, but with a shine like the patent leather shoe of a Grandee of Spain; and the body of her, white, but smooth as an eel, and just as fast, by God, in the water!" The rigging, the

the dreamy pose of a chromo troubadour, sat Tonet, picking at the strings of a mandolin. On the walk in front some fish were frying on a little earthen stove. A number of children, Pascualet among them, were chasing a dog abou

s of skin that drooped about them. Old long before her time, and from heartbreak, mostly, the spite and the worry that men had given her! And this she said with a nod in Tonet's direction, but with her thoughts, almost certainly, on the guardsman who had long before betrayed her. Besides, times had been getting harder and harder! What the tavern now brought in was nothing, practically. Roseta had had to go to work in the tobacco factory in town; and every morning,

o knows all there is to know, kept looking from Dolores to Tonet and from Tonet to Dolores. At the fulsome praises that Pascualo kept showering upon his brother-for drifting away from the waster's life he had been leading to spend more and more of his time in that house where he found a peaceful, homelike kindliness he had never known in his own-the young half-sister smiled sarcastically. Oh, these men, these men! Just as she and mama had a

disconnected chords from his mandolin. The band of youngsters playing in the street were staring up at t

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of adoration to Diana's glory, with barks

. Everything, except one thing, futro! And that had occurred to him that very moment! Of course! She never had been named ...! Well, what shall we call her? This unexpected and exciting problem set the

oat, the one he had died in, and that, later on, had been the home of all the family. But now it was the men's turn to shout something down. No, that would bring bad luck, as the fate of Fleet-Foot herself had shown. Dolores had a good one. Why not "Rose of the Sea" ... a pretty name ... as pretty as she was, and in fine taste.... But the Rector observed that that name was on a boat already.... Too bad, too.... It was a beauty! Roseta, who had pouted in disdain at every sugg

the famous brand of Gibraltar! Well, the boat was built of tobacco, you might say. Most of the money in her had come from

suspecting the charm attached to it by that historic boat which carried the Puritans to the new world and marked the birth of the great republic of the West!... The Re

ficant happenings that did not escape the watchful eyes of little Pascualet. He deserted his orphéon of tiny c

or's new boat was to be christened Flor de mayo. And when, the evening before the blessing of the vessel, she was dragged down to the water's edge

l. He took the crew he had engaged for the first trip and went off to the church to escort don Santiago, the curate, to the beach. The priest welcomed him with one of those smiles he kept for his very best parishioners only. "What! Ready so soon? Well, son, won't you just run around and tell the sacristan to get the water and the hyssop ready! I'll just get into my cassock, and be with you in a jiffy...." "Not quite so fast, don Santiago!" observed the Rector.

In one hand don Santiago was carrying his book of prayers, in the other the train of his old but sumptuous cope, to keep it out of the mud. The handsome robe was of a white

good-natured soul-never too harsh on penances, but able to see through you, just the same, if you tried to fool him. Don Santiago had the secret of adapting himself to the weaknesses of his flock. Many a time he would stop in the st

ng. There, on a stretch of beach that was quite free of boats, the Mayflower rose from the middle of a swarming crowd, her bright varnished sides gleaming white in the sunlight, her rakish mast, gracefully tilted for

to sate their eyes on him. On the ground, with Roseta, was his Rosario in the least shabby of her gowns, and sure not to make trouble with Dolores on such a solemn day. The Rector, for his part, had turned Englishman over night. He was sporting a blue woolsey suit that a friend of his, an engineer on a steamer, had brought on from Glasgow. On his vest shone a watch chain as big as one of the stays on his boat-and that was the real surprise he had saved for the celebration. He was sweating like a stoker in that garment that might have done very well in winter. He had taken upon himself the task of keeping order, shoving people back when they edged up too close to the priest and the baptismal p

rcam Noe ambulantem in diluvio; and he straightened up to his full height in pride, at the vague feeling that his boat was being likened to that ancient craft, the most famous in Christian annals! So he was a real comrade now of that wicked old patriarch who invented wine and became the first and best sailor of his time, on earth! Si?á Tona could stand the strain no longer. She crammed her handkerchief into both eyes to keep the t

urate, smiling at the earnestness of the young man's plea, went up, finally, to the ladder that had been set up against the Mayflower's bilge, and began the ascent, catching the floundering cope underneath his feet on every rung. And the vestment of white

l's side. "Candy, eh! It's candy you want!" He well knew what all the good things he had brought to eat had cost-one whole onza-gold-to keep on good terms with nephew! And he bent over, and sunk his hands into the baskets between his legs. "Well, candy it is!" And he began to rain nuts and cin

pass around by the jugful. Everybody was drinking-the beach guards, their guns on their shoulders, retired sea-captains from the village, men from other boats-barefoot,

y no longer, started to climb the ladder, kicking out at every rung at the crowd of pestering "cats" who gathered round for one look at the ankles of the pretty girl as she went higher. The Rector's wife knew that her real element was up there where there was so

rd to for so long, he felt a strange return of his affection for the poor old woman. He forgot his beautiful wife and ev

and over the memory of that mad adventure with the guardsman, to a similar christening she had witnessed in her youth. Tio Pascualo rose before her memory, strong, young, handsome, as she had known him in the days of their courtship. And his departure fro

oved the boy enough, not half so much as he deserved. Her affection was overflowing now-she must make up for all the past. Then, she was afraid, yes, sir, afraid, that her Pascualet, her poor little Rector, would go t

home with her husband's corpse in her hold. No, she could not be happy. All that roistering and carousing was a sin. It was making fun of the sea, that hypocrite with the smiling face out there, that purring cat that was meek enough for the moment, but that would show her claws when once the Mayflower was in her power. Her boy

for so long, perhaps. But you can make that right by lighting a good fat candle to the old sailor, in case his soul is still in Purgatory. Come now, mama, brace up. No more prophesying! The sea is a good fine lover of mine. I won't lis

luck! That's the sailor's creed! The sea? The sea gives us everything. It raises us when we are little. And it feeds us when we're grown up. We're always asking something of the sea! Well, we have to take a storm now and then, along with the big runs. Besides, somebody's got to risk his skin, if folks are going to have fish to eat. That somebody is me. Out to sea I go, as I've always gone. And that's the