The Beautiful Eyes of Ysidria | Page 3

misfortune.
In time Madre Moreno grew proud of this distinction awarded to her,
dressing and acting so as to lead the people to believe her to have
supernatural assistance, and when in the time of the next generation, the
night of the marriage of my father with Neves Arguello, (to which
celebration Madre Moreno was uninvited), the adobe house in the
grove of figs, which had stood untenanted for years, was burned to the
ground, her reputation as a witch was firmly established throughout the
country; many a good woman after that event, when the wind carried
off the clothes drying on the hedges, or the soot fell down the chimney
into the kitchen at night, knew that the Madre was about, playing her
mischievous pranks.
One day Mercedes Dana, a girl whom we rather felt sorry for, (her
mother, who was a de los Santos, having married an American from
Boston), having less faith in Madre Moreno's power than the rest of her
neighbours had tried that never-failing test for witchcraft, and placed a
piece of steel under the chair where the Madre was sitting, but she, too,
was at once converted from her skepticism, for when the Madre wanted
to leave she was unable to move until the bit of steel was taken away.
It was considered a dangerous experiment, and even Mercedes' little
spark of Yankee "devil-may-care" burned very low after it, although
the only thing that went wrong at the Dana's that year was that the hens
laid soft-shelled eggs, which trouble was soon remedied by mixing a
powder with their feed, which powder Madre Moreno herself supplied,
and I strongly suspect that it was made of burned cockle shells.

Madre Moreno dressed peculiarly; she wore when I first remember her,
a short black skirt and waist; a little cape of red woolen cloth hung over
her shoulders, about her neck was a white ruff which set off her peaked
face and made it look even more withered and yellow; her hair was
short, and over a silk skull cap was drawn a black reboso, the ends of
which were embroidered in colour with odd designs. Her whole person
was the perfection of neatness, and she was welcome from Bolinas to
San Rafael for the good she did, as her knowledge of herb and even
mineral medicines was extensive.
At my christening it was thought that the curse would be removed, as
Madre Moreno was invited to the ceremonies, and from that time was a
constant visitor at the rancho for some years, always received with a
welcome, mingled, perhaps, with a little fear, by all save Catalina, who,
despite her dread of the queer woman, never could conceal her hatred
for her, and when the sudden death of my father was closely followed
by that of my mother, she forbade Madre Moreno the house. To this I
could say nothing, as I have always a reverence for the woman who
rules at home, and Catalina now was my housekeeper, in charge of
broom and wash tub, and grand almoner of my dinners and luncheons.

II.
Madre Moreno never came again to my house, but always seemed to
take an interest in me, who, when I reached an age when I could be
trusted away from the garden, would wander with her through the
woods while she was gathering her herbs, and from her I learned much
that was of great benefit to me in after years. After my return from
Mexico, we greeted in friendly manner, and she seemed to take great
pleasure in my company.
I never approached the ruin without a strange foreboding of something
terrible about to happen, which always disappeared after I had been
there a while and the charming beauty of the quiet spot had turned my
thoughts into pleasanter channels; perhaps the feeling of fear was
attributable to the stories I had heard during childhood, and had never

outgrown.
One day I saw Madre Moreno's red cloak showing out brightly from
behind the rank growths of nightshade, the tenderer leaves of which she
seemed to be carefully gathering. She was muttering to herself words
unintelligible to me, and did not seem to notice me, although I stood for
a long time very near where she was at work.
"Good morning, Madre; you are very busy to-day," I said, after a while.
She looked up, nodding in a friendly way, but not answering, while she
continued her jargon as she carefully laid in the basket the oval-shaped,
pointed leaves. As I drew nearer I noticed for the first time that it was
not the common nightshade, which grew wild about the country, but
was the atropa, a plant not indigenous to California. It was in flower;
the bell-shaped blossoms, of a