THE WANDERERS.

But those confiding arms, that baby kiss Upon his cheek, sent thro’ the aisles of his Great, generous heart, a flood of newborn Love. To part with her would be indeed to Part with life itself. He, thinking quickly And as quickly acting, fled—took the first Ship that sailed, nor asking whither it was Bound; rejoicing when it cleared the dock and Seaward turned its prow. When learning that its Course lay to the north, he changed to one bound For the South Sea Isles. Sailing to and fro, The changing seasons passed while they upon The ocean cruised like wanderers without A guide; he thinking only of his charge, And where he, in her tender years, the Best could care for her. Willing hands he found— Mothers’ hands outstretched to take the cherub From his arms. She, growing, Cedric saw in Her the image of her mother—the same Blue eyes and wavy hair which fell about Her shoulders; high arching brows and lashes Long but darker shaded, like his own. He Had thought to call her Lola; but when the Stranger asked her name, she lisping answered, “Zola,” he left it so. Tho’ long before The day when ox-carts plowed their dusty way Across the plains to reach the sun land slopes, The Eldorado of the west, he knew Of that fair land beside the sunset sea— That sunny, southern California. There they would go, where none would ever hear The story of the stolen, nameless child; And where the recreant father ne’er would Come. There would he seek and find in sylvan Quietude, the sweetest spot where Mother Nature reigns and in her lap, among the Birds and flowers, would she be reared in spotless Purity—educated—taught by him— As wise men of the olden times received Their learning from the doctors of the law. Thitherward they sailed; and thro’ the rocky Gateways of the cape—tho’ roughly shaken— Safely passed; then to the north thro’ calmer Waters, borne by Etesian winds, oft-times Delayed by traffic at the ports, or on A glassy sea becalmed. And once their ship Was overtaken by an ugly craft That bore the pirates’ flag; and every man On board was called to arms; then they were Well nigh overwhelmed and taken. Cedric, Joining with the crew, fought valiantly. Thro’ The thickest of the battle, Zola clung To him. When they would have taken her below, She cried, “Let me stay wiz papa; if he Go, zen me go too.” Cedric answered, “Be It so; we live or die together.” But Their fears were turned to great rejoicing when A shot crashed thro’ the pirate craft. They sailed Away and left it sinking in the deep. Cedric, by his bravery and coolness In the time of danger, won respect and Friendship of officers and crew. When they Left him at the mission of the holy Padres, on the bay of San Diego, Loaded him with costly presents, forced them On him, presents for himself and Zola. The angelic child had won the hearts of all. Cedric told the good Franciscan fathers He was going northward overland, and Joyously he set about preparing For the journey, she ever at his side, With childish prattle, asking, “What is zis?” “What is zat?” and “What for?” He answering Cheerfully and evermore explaining— Teaching her. In her sweet companionship And the certainty of keeping her, he Laid aside his sadness and became as Light of heart and happy as herself. At Last they were all ready to begin their Wild and free nomadic life—a dozen Gentle burros, packed with all that they might Need for months to come; a tent with costly Furs and rugs, and blankets of bright colors Bo’t from the Indians, with toys and gaudy Trinkets; a snow-white pony, showily Equip’d with Spanish bit and bridle, Upon its back a basket, sedan-like, With crimson canopy, lined with softest Silken draperies, for his “Gypsy queen.” A princess of the Romany was ne’er Provided with such luxuries as she. In the early morning, long before the Ringing of the mission bells, Zola and Her strange retinue set forth; the pony, With its precious burden, led by Cedric’s Hand; then came the white milk goats with tinkling Bells; to the sound, the meek-faced burros, trained To follow, trailed patiently behind; and Then a faithful shepherd dog to keep them All in line. They moved by easy stages, Stopping often in some shady dell to Rest and let their burros feed upon the Grassy slopes. Then would Zola gather flowers, Or chase the yellow butterflies, with shouts Of childish glee that echoed thro’ the glen; To him a sweeter music than the chime Of great cathedral bells or orchestra.