IQ ^ 
 
 LIBRARY OF THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 PRINCETON. N. J. 
 
 Presented by 
 
 c^'ne. C^^-VV^or*. * 
 
 Division 
 
 ai 
 
 scE> 
 
 ‘ioifi 
 
 Section 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 Compiled by 
 
 GEORGE H. TRULL 
 
 Editor of “Missionary Studies for the Sunday School,” 
 First, Second and Third Series. Author of “Mission- 
 ary Methods for Sunday School Workers,” “Five 
 Missionary Minutes,” “Missionary Programs and 
 Incidents,” “Talks on Latin America;” joint 
 author of “The Sunday School Teacher 
 and the Program of Jesus.” 
 
 Sunday School Department 
 Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian 
 Church in the U. S. A. 
 
 New York City 
 
Copyright 1916 
 
 GEORGE H. TRULL 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 INTRODUCTION Page 5 
 
 I. MEXICO 
 
 Why a Couple at Seventy Took a Thirty-mile Walk. 7 
 
 Why a Mexican Lawyer Changed His Mind 8 
 
 A Mexican Mother’s Lament 10 
 
 Boy Life in Mexico 12 
 
 Hopeful Hope 16 
 
 “The Servant in the House” 17 
 
 A Mexican Elisha 18 
 
 Pen Pictures of Mexico 19 
 
 A Story of Sacrifice 27 
 
 Juan, Panchita and Paz 30 
 
 A Mexican Girl 37 
 
 II. GAUTEMALA 
 
 Pills of Hate 43 
 
 A Little Girl of Guatemala 43 
 
 Stealing Jesus in Guatemala 45 
 
 A Product of the Gospel 46 
 
 III. COLOMBIA 
 
 What She Did When Persecuted 49 
 
 A Secret About Colombia 51 
 
 The Story of a Bible Which Escaped the Fire 52 
 
 A Day in Bogota 52 
 
 Felipe, the Fisher Boy 54 
 
 IV, CHILE 
 
 The Country Where There Are More Pianos Than 
 
 Bath Tubs 57 
 
 A Doorkeeper in the House of the Lord 58 
 
 Prayers That Cost Money 60 
 
 Life in the Tenements in Chile 61 
 
 The Conversion of a Chilean Terror 62 
 
 V. BRAZIL 
 
 The Worship of the Saints 65 
 
 Out of the Dark Into the Light 66 
 
 The Scare Crow Image 68 
 
 Why a Man of Sixty Learned to Read 69 
 
 Why So Paori Would Not Worship the Image.. 71 
 
 Afraid of the Bibie 72 
 
 Our Little Cousins in Brazil 73 
 
 VI. VENEZUELA 
 
 Moving Stores 77 
 
 Selling the Bible on Lake Maracaibo 78 
 
 VII. BOLIVIA, PERU AND ECUADOR 
 
 Carrying the Bible to South America’s Darkest Fields, 81 
 
 VIII. NEW MEXICO 
 
 The Power of God’s Word 83 
 
 Children’s Day in Purgatory 87 
 
 The Penitentes of New Mexico 87 
 
 Burning in Hell 91 
 
 IX. CUBA 
 
 Child Life in Cuba 93 
 
Index 
 
 INTRODUCTION Page 5 
 
 I. MEXICO 
 
 A Mexican Elisha 18 
 
 A Mexican Girl 37 
 
 A Mexican Mother’s Lament 10 
 
 A Story of Sacrifice 27 
 
 Boy Life in Mexico - 12 
 
 Hopeful Hope 16 
 
 Juan, Panchita and Paz 30 
 
 Pen Pictures of Mexico 19 
 
 “The Servant in the House” 17 
 
 Why a Couple at Seventy Took a Thirty-mile Walk. 7 
 Why a Mexican Lawyer Changed His Mind 8 
 
 II. GAUTEMALA 
 
 A Little Girl of Guatemala 43 
 
 A Product of the Gospel 46 
 
 Pills of Hate 43 
 
 Stealing Jesus in Guatemala 45 
 
 III. COLOMBIA 
 
 A Day in Bogota 52 
 
 A Secret About Colombia 51 
 
 Felipe, the Fisher Boy 54 
 
 The Story of a Bible Which Escaped the Fire 52 
 
 What She Did When Persecuted 49 
 
 IV. CHILE 
 
 A Doorkeeper in the House of the Lord 58 
 
 Life in the Tenements in Chile 61 
 
 Prayers That Cost Money 60 
 
 The Conversion of a Chilean Terror 62 
 
 The Country Where There Are More Pianos Than 
 Bath Tubs 57 
 
 V. BRAZIL 
 
 Afraid of the Bible 72 
 
 Our Little Cousins in Brazil 73 
 
 Out of the Dark Into the Light 66 
 
 The Scare Crow Image 68 
 
 The Worship of Saints 65 
 
 Why a Man of Sixty Learned to Read 69 
 
 Why So Paori Would Not Worship the Image 71 
 
 VI. VENEZUELA 
 
 Moving Stores 77 
 
 Selling the Bible on Lake Maracaibo 78 
 
 VII. BOLIVIA. PERU AND ECUADOR 
 
 Carrying the Bible to South America’s Darkest Fields. 81 
 
 VIII. NEW MEXICO 
 
 Burning in Hell 91 
 
 Children’s Day in Purgatory 87 
 
 The Penitentes of New Mexico 87 
 
 The Power of God’s Word 83 
 
 IX. CUBA 
 
 Child Life in Cuba 93 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 Introduction 
 
 The following stories have been collected from a 
 wide range in order to depict conditions and needs 
 in Latin America. They are suitable for use in any 
 grade in the Sunday school, for either class or plat- 
 form instruction. Such adaptation as may be neces- 
 sary for the different grades or departments should 
 be made. 
 
 The stories will be particularly valuable for use 
 in connection with ‘'Talks on Latin America,'’ by 
 George H. Trull. These Talks present the work in 
 the fields in Latin America, where the Presbyterian 
 Church is at work through its Foreign Board. 
 
 Latin American Stories will also be enjoyed as 
 a general reading book by young people and chil- 
 dren. 
 
 A.cknowledgment is hereby made to the various 
 authors of the different stories, to “Over Sea and 
 Land,” and to the Mission Boards which have pub- 
 lished many of the stories in leaflet form. 
 
 George H. Trull 
 
 New York City, 
 
 September 14, 1916. 
 
 5 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 Princeton Theological Seminary Library 
 
 https://archive.org/details/latinamericanstoOOtrul 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 I 
 
 MEXICO 
 
 Why a Couple at Seventy Took a Thirty-mile 
 Walk 
 
 “In a wooded valley, miles from any other hu- 
 man habitation, lived Jose H , an old ranchero 
 
 (ranchman), whose boys and girls had grown up 
 and scattered far and wide, leaving him and his 
 Maria alone in the smoky cabin in which genera- 
 tions of his family had lived. 
 
 “One day a man with a pack on his back 
 stopped at the door. He had books to sell. Jose 
 was proud to say he had seen one before. Maria 
 never had. Neither could read, but there was 
 Manuel, their son, fifteen miles away, who could. 
 The book was purchased, and the two walked over 
 the hills that evening to ask Manuel to read it to 
 them. To their dismay, Manuel said this was a 
 Protestant book, and cursed by the priest. 
 
 “'Take it out of the house,’ said Manuel’s wife, 
 with flashing eyes. 'Carry it home,’ said Manuel, 
 when the three were out of doors; 'I’ll come and 
 read it to you next saint’s day.’ He added in a 
 whisper, 'These are God’s words.’ 
 
 “Jose and Maria trudged back again. They were 
 both over seventy years old, but this was not much 
 of a walk for them. The days seemed long, but 
 Manuel came at last, bringing a friend with him. 
 
 7 
 
both as eager as the old couple to hear the ‘won- 
 derful words of life.’ They would not have dared 
 to read them in their own village. This was the 
 first of a series of such readings in that secluded old 
 cabin. Their numbers increased until its one room 
 was filled at each meeting. Men and women, some 
 of them as old as Jose and Maria, with children of 
 various ages, sat huddled together on the floor, lis- 
 tening, often with streaming eyes, as Manuel, by 
 the light of a tallow candle, read the story of Jesus 
 and His love in the Gospel of St. Luke. After some 
 months of precious privilege, this little company of 
 believers, for such they had become, were attacked 
 by a mob instigated by the parish priest from Man- 
 uel’s village. Stones were thrown in at the open 
 door, killing one person and injuring several more. 
 The meetings were temporarily broken up, but in 
 time this became one of the numerous small con- 
 gregations scattered throughout the country. These 
 are often unexpectedly discovered by the mission- 
 aries, and ministered to by them as they have 
 opportunity.” 
 
 — Quoted in “Home Life in Lands Not Christian,” 
 Mexico. 
 
 Why a Mexican Lawyer Changed His Mind 
 
 Alberto came to our school to matriculate as a day 
 scholar. His father brought him and begged that he 
 should be allowed to enroll as a student, but that he 
 must not study the Bible, which was required of all 
 our students. After several interviews and many 
 
 8 
 
hours spent over it, he finally decided to leave him in 
 spite of the fact that he must have a daily lesson in 
 the Word of God. The class that he entered was 
 studying the life of Gideon. Gideon appeals to any 
 normal boy, and so he appealed very strongly to Al- 
 berto. He borrowed a Bible from the desk each day, 
 and his teacher reported that he always had his lesson 
 prepared and a great many verses memorized. 
 
 By the time the class was ready to take up the life 
 of Samuel, Alberto kept the Bible in his desk instead 
 of returning it to me each night; by permission, of 
 course. He had not gotten very far in that wonder- 
 ful life when he asked me what a Bible would cost, 
 showing me the kind of binding he wished. I told 
 him, and he asked me to sell him one. This I did. 
 I wrote his name and the date in it. He wanted to 
 take it home that day at noon, which was Monday. 
 So he asked me to wrap it up for him in paper. Boys 
 were often hooted at for carrying Bibles, and often 
 times the Bible disappeared from beneath their arms 
 before they reached home. Alberto came back with- 
 out his Bible, and my heart sank; for many of our 
 children had Bibles confiscated from them the first 
 day they went home with them. The Bible didn’t 
 come back. I inquired of the teacher how Alberto 
 was reciting his Bible, and she said, “He always 
 knows that lesson better than any other.” So I 
 prayed that wherever the Bible was, it might be bring- 
 ing blessing into some one’s life. 
 
 The week passed and on Friday morning the 
 knocker on the door sounded just as we were open- 
 ing school. I went, and there stood Alberto’s father. 
 
 9 
 
and with him his five beautiful little girls, ranging 
 in age from five to fourteen. On his face was a gen- 
 erous smile, and tucked securely under his arm, with- 
 out any paper covering, was that Blessed Book. He 
 said, '‘Senorita, did you notice that Alberto did not 
 bring his Bible back?” Of course, I told him I had, 
 and then he asked, “What did you think?” I re- 
 plied, “I was afraid that it was confiscated, but I did 
 not ask the boy.” “Yes, I confiscated it. I am a law- 
 yer, as you know. I had never seen a Bible. My 
 wife was nearly heart-broken that her son was in this 
 Protestant school, and so when Alberto brought home 
 this Bible I decided I would find out what it was that 
 he was studying. I took it to my office, and I stopped 
 for nothing this whole week. I started with the first 
 verse of Matthew, and last night I finished with the 
 last verse of Revelation. Now I have brought my 
 little girls, for I said to my wife, if that is the kind 
 of religious training my boy is getting I shall not let 
 my girls be cheated out of it. Here they are. Give 
 them each a Bible and teach them just as much about 
 Jesus as you possibly can.” 
 
 — By Blanche B. Bdnine. 
 
 A Mexican Mother’s Lament 
 
 One evening very late, as I was coming home 
 from making a call, I saw a woman slip out of the 
 house and crawl along the wall of her corrall and 
 pour something out of vessel on the ground. I won- 
 dered what she was doing. Something in her man- 
 
 10 
 
ner told me it was, in her mind, almost an offering 
 that she was making. 
 
 So the next day, with my Bible under my arm and 
 a bag of loaf sugar and a face with a smile on it, I 
 walked up to the enclosure, and, calling the children, 
 gave them the sugar. The mother, seeing me, in- 
 vited me inside. I went, of course. Pretty soon I 
 asked her to let me see the baby. You are always 
 sure there is a baby ; but, in this case, her face fell and 
 she said, “My babies died; they were twins.'’ I sym- 
 pathized with her and asked what was the matter. 
 
 She didn’t know; but added, with an awful pain 
 in her voice as she whispered to me, “Senorita, they 
 were not baptized.” 
 
 I said, “That doesn’t matter, Senora, they are in 
 Heaven waiting for you.” 
 
 She immediately said, “Oh, no, Senorita, don’t 
 you know that unbaptized babies go to another place, 
 where they burn up all the time? But we Mexican 
 mothers know what to do for them. We bury them 
 near the house where we can get at them, and then 
 at night we pour water over their graves, and that 
 keeps their little eyes from drying out and their little 
 throats don’t burn so badly. Otherwise they would 
 thirst forever and forever. My husband doesn’t be- 
 lieve that; but the priest says so, and so we do all we 
 can ; but oh, my heart longs to see my babies, and oh, 
 why did they die before I could get them baptized?” 
 
 I opened my Bible and read her the story of Jesus 
 with the little children, and she listened; but then 
 she said, “Yes, yes, that was for the baptized ones, 
 but not for mine.” 
 
 II 
 
I assured her finally that I was right, but she 
 looked at me, and said, “If that is true, won’t you go 
 and tell it to all the other Mexican women before 
 they lose their babies, for that can’t mean mine 
 now?” 
 
 When I think of the American mother, sure that 
 her departed baby is safe in Heaven and waiting for 
 her, my whole soul cries out that the Mexican mother 
 shall have the same joyous expectation, too. It isn’t 
 fair that she has never heard that her precious baby 
 is safe in the arms of Jesus. 
 
 — By Blanche B. Bonine. 
 
 Boy Life in Mexico 
 
 Our next door neighbor, Mexico, is a beautiful 
 and interesting country to study and most enchanting 
 in many respects. As we learn more about the life 
 of the boys and girls and men and women we shall 
 see it is not all romance and beauty. 
 
 Suppose we take the life of a rich boy whom we 
 will call Antonio, the name of the favorite children’s 
 saint. When he was born his mamacita (mother) 
 put a saint’s tooth on his head to keep off sickness 
 and evil. She also put a little rosary about his neck 
 to prevent the evil one from kissing him and thus 
 making the baby wicked. Every morning and eve- 
 ning he was sprinkled with holy water. When he 
 was six years old a boy was hired to be his servant I 
 and go everywhere with him, carrying his books or ! 
 
 12 
 
playthings and obeying his slightest wish. Indeed, 
 a rich boy is never allowed to go anywhere alone. 
 Sweetmeats he may have in abundance, and the result 
 is Antonio is pale and lazy. 
 
 Antonio’s home is a low, flat house of adobe, 
 painted in colors and built around an open court, 
 which is gay with fountains, plants, flowers and birds. 
 Everyone who can afford it has a court or “patio” 
 of this kind. The flat roof has a wall about the edge 
 and upon this roof the family sleep in hot weather — 
 not a bad plan, is it? 
 
 Antonio’s father has a large farm surrounded 
 by a hedge of cactus. Here nearly all the food of 
 the family is raised — coffee, fruit, vegetables, sugar- 
 cane, as well as live stock; ponies, of course, for 
 nearly every boy of means owns a pony or burro and 
 learns early to ride and throw the lasso. 
 
 On Sunday and on feast days he is taken to 
 church, where he is taught to repeat prayers and 
 bring gifts to the Virgin Mary and to so many other 
 saints that he scarcely knows who is the true God. 
 If he has a toothache he prays to one saint, if a fever 
 it is to another saint, another for rheumatism, and 
 so on. 
 
 When eight or ten years old he is confirmed, an 
 important but mysterious ceremony. He is taught 
 no reverence for sacred things and most of the 
 priests are unworthy of reverence. He is never al- 
 lowed to see a Bible and is taught that no one can 
 pray to God but the priests. If he wishes God to 
 bless him or forgive his sins he must go to the priest 
 and pay for it, then the priest will pray for him! 
 
 13 
 
Catholics, yes, but not such as we know in the 
 United States. In their cathedrals we should see 
 gold and silver and precious stones everywhere. 
 Images of God and of the angels and the saints are 
 made in solid gold, yet all about a miserable, poor 
 people, hardly knowing the meaning of the prayers 
 they are saying. “Gold all about them w^hich they 
 cannot touch and no golden love of God inside to 
 lift them above it, theirs is not a live Catholic re- 
 ligion.” 
 
 Sunday afternoon is the favorite day for seeing 
 the bullfight, and blood-thirsty and cruel as the sight 
 is, boys are taught to love it. 
 
 But the rich families are few. What of the many 
 who are poor? Let us look at little Juan (pro- 
 nounced Hwan). His home was a little house 
 shaped like a tent, made of wooden rafters and 
 thatched with straw. It had no windows, but only 
 a door without hinges, just lifted into place at night 
 and set aside in the daytime. A little open stove 
 with a few coals was all that gave warmth in the 
 coolest weather. In babyhood he rode on his moth- 
 er’s back when she went out. When she went to 
 the stream to do her washing he went, too, and 
 waited while the clothes were washed on the stones 
 and dried upon the bushes. Later, as he lived in 
 the country, he rode on the mule’s back with father, 
 and perhaps one or two other children. Clothes were 
 no matter. A few rags, if any, were all he expected. 
 
 When old enough to begin to help father or moth- 
 er, he was a little fruit pedler trudging about with a 
 tray of fruit on his head. Sometimes he was a milk 
 
 14 
 
boy going from door to door with a jar of milk. 
 Later he was a water pedler with a pigskin full of 
 water on his back. When he had saved enough to 
 invest in a barrel and a donkey and cart, then was 
 he prosperous indeed ! Other boys hired out as 
 “peons’* to the wealthy families. The rich boy de- 
 spised work, but Juan must work some of the time 
 at least. 
 
 There are schools in the cities, but they are not 
 for such boys as Juan. Only the few can afford to 
 pay for the education of boys, and certainly not for 
 girls. Religious ceremonies, too, belong to the rich 
 and not to the poor. When Juan’s parents had saved 
 up a little money they took him to a priest to be 
 baptized. If the sum was enough, well and good; 
 if not, they were sent away until more could be 
 brought. But Juan’s parents were not poor com- 
 pared with many, many others. Often two or three 
 families live huddled together in a one-room hut, and 
 the children, ragged and dirty, are sent out to spend 
 the time in begging. Indeed, most of them would far 
 rather beg than work! 
 
 Two very bad things most Mexican children learn 
 — no matter where they live or whether they are rich 
 or poor — intemperance and dishonesty. The Mexi- 
 can drink is called pulque and is as bad as any other 
 intoxicating drink. 
 
 Mexican children are as fond of play as any the 
 world over. Two popular plays are “fighting 
 roosters” and “throwing the barrel.” The first is 
 played by holding the right foot up behind with the 
 right hand and striking the enemy with the knee 
 
 IS 
 
while hopping around on the left foot. The one who 
 falls is defeated. Throwing the barrel is played by 
 all boys, big and little. It consists of tossing a barrel- 
 shaped toy tied to the end of a stick and catching it 
 on the sharpened end, a trick requiring some little 
 skill. Another play especially popular at Easter time, 
 is burning effigies of Judas. The little figures known 
 as Judases are pieces of fireworks and go off with a 
 bang and a fizz. 
 
 The little boys and girls of Mexico are bright 
 and responsive and well repay time and sacrifice to 
 teach them. The need of more schools and more 
 teachers is great, and as the opposition of the priests 
 is lessening there is a large opportunity to teach them 
 the true gospel and open the Bible to them. 
 
 — J. T. M., Women’s Board of Missions of the 
 Interior. 
 
 Hopeful Hope 
 
 Esperanza (meaning hope) was a pupil in the 
 Presbyterian Normal School for Girls at San Angel, 
 a suburb of Mexico City. She appreciated the bless- 
 ings of the “glorious gospel of the blessed God,” 
 which, remember, “was committed to my trust’ and 
 yours, so much that she could not keep it all to her- 
 self as you and I can and do, but must pass it on to 
 others. She wrote home to a younger sister (we saw 
 the letter with our own eyes), “Ask father to let 
 you come to school with me next year. We will both 
 pray our Hea/venly Father, also, that He will help us, 
 so that you may come. You do not always wish to 
 
 i6 
 
be a mere drudge, grinding, grinding corn all day, 
 do you? We will pray much that you may come to 
 school.” »The pathos and yearning in that letter echo 
 the desire of many a Mexican girl’s heart. The 
 Mexican situation may seem hopeless. Such girls are 
 not. Your part of the commission is to make schools 
 possible for all the sisters of every Esperanza in 
 Mexico. Our part is to go, teach, preach and live 
 the glorious gospel, on the native heath of every 
 Esperanza. 
 
 — From “Studies in Life,” by Mrs. William 
 Wallace. 
 
 “The Servant in the House” 
 
 Her name was Rafaela. She came, a mere child, 
 to help with the washing, the baking, and the stewing, 
 at Coyoacan Manse some years ago. Coyoacan is 
 just outside of Mexico City. Many a time Rafaela 
 was reprimanded by her only living relatives, a fa- 
 ther and a sister, because she would read her Bible; 
 because she persisted in attending the “cultos” or 
 church services of us heretics. She not only dared 
 to like us, but she liked our religion as well. She 
 finally brought matters to a head by uniting with our 
 church. Rafaela was persecuted but not forsaken: 
 being persecuted she suffered: but she was blessed 
 when her father persecuted her and she prayed for 
 that sister who likewise persecuted her. Later the 
 father died, but not until he had become reconciled 
 to his heretic daughter. One cannot fight alone, and 
 the sister, too, finally adjusted herself to the trying 
 
 17 
 
circumstances as best she could. Though she never 
 became enthusiastic over her only sister renouncing 
 the faith of her fathers and becoming a despised 
 Protestant, she did at least cease her persecution. 
 All doubters of a saving grace, all doubters of the 
 power of the everlasting gospel to transform Mexi- 
 can and all other lives, are cordially invited to come 
 to our home and see Rafaela with their own skeptical 
 eyes. 
 
 — From “Studies in Life,’' by Mrs. William 
 Wallace. 
 
 A Mexican Elisha 
 
 A man of God! our own dear old Dr. Arcadio 
 Morales, pastor of our largest church, “Divino Sal- 
 vador” (or Divine Saviour) in Mexico City. When 
 we see this Mexican Elisha coming our way, we al- 
 ways murmur to ourselves, “Let us make a little 
 chamber on the wall; and let us set for him there a 
 bed, and a table, and a stool, and a candlestick; and 
 it shall be, when he cometh to us, that he shall turn 
 in thither.” (II Kings, 4:10.) Dr. Morales is our 
 “Moody of Mexico.” He has perhaps been the means 
 of bringing more souls into the kingdom than any 
 man on earth. He was converted in his youth by 
 simply reading the Bible, his God book, as he calls 
 it. He read alone for seven years before he heard a 
 Bible sermon or knew anything about an evangelical 
 church. He says that the first time he read the Ser- 
 mon on the Mount he was tremendously impressed. 
 Think of never reading those blessed “blesseds” until 
 you were in your teens! How would it feel? Dr. 
 
 18 
 
Morales’ work among the prisoners of the Mexican 
 penitentiaries has been only short of the marvelous. 
 For years he has carried tlie Message to the worst 
 of criminals and men as vile as the cells into which 
 they are thrust. When unable to go in person he 
 writes letters to those who can read. As these must 
 all pass through the hands of the prison authorities, 
 a few Mexican jailors have had the same experience 
 as he who guarded Paul and Silas. 
 
 — From “Studies in Life,” by Mrs. William 
 Wallace. 
 
 PEN PICTURES OF MEXICO* 
 
 By Mrs. D. B. Wells 
 Only a Mexican Woman 
 
 She was sitting on the ground, leaning against 
 the brick wall of the railroad station house in Mon- 
 terey, one of Mexico’s old women, my first ac- 
 quaintance. Her gray hair was uncombed and hung 
 matted over her shoulders; her dress was ragged 
 and dirty; her mouth was closely covered with a 
 piece of soiled cloth lest the fresh morning air 
 should enter her body and do her harm. Her face 
 was wrinkled and dirty, her hands and bare feet the 
 same; and her eyes looked off into the distance with 
 the dull motionless stare of indifference and hope- 
 lessness. While waiting for my personal conduc- 
 tor, I went out to her, with no medium of commu- 
 nication but a smile and a small coin. Neither 
 
 * Adapted from “A Bit of Mexico Personally Obserred.’ 
 ig 
 
seemed effective or was accepted. I could get no 
 response. She glanced at me a moment and then 
 resumed her gazing into the far-away. Hardly a 
 muscle had moved. Weeks after I saw her still 
 sitting in the same place in the same position, still 
 gazing. I wondered, — had she -not stirred all those 
 weeks? And yet, why should she? Life held so little 
 of hope or joy or even comfort for her, an old woman. 
 A heathen? Perhaps, and one of so many. 
 
 Carmencita 
 
 I want to tell you the story of Carmencita, one 
 of the girls in the Boarding School at Saltillo. It 
 was just sunset as I stepped over the threshold of 
 the school one evening into its flower-filled patio. 
 They were expecting me, and ranged round three 
 sides of the patio were the hundred or more girls 
 of the school, who at once began to sing in greet- 
 ing the Mexican National Hymn, said to be the 
 most artistically beautiful of all national hymns, 
 while one girl came forward and laid in my arms 
 a great bunch of roses, kissing my hand with all 
 the grace of an accomplished courtier. Later dur- 
 ing family prayers, I supposed of course that the 
 principal of the school would be the one to offer 
 prayer. Instead I heard a voice at the far end of 
 the room which profoundly impressed me by its 
 sincerity and devotion of tone, since of course I 
 could not understand the words. I was told the 
 speaker was a member of the Senior Class, by name 
 
 20 
 
Carmencita, “little song/’ the girl of the roses. I 
 saw her frequently during my week’s stay, a girl of 
 quiet, dignified presence, not handsome but attract- 
 ive, always neatly and tastefully dressed, of large 
 influence with the other girls. Sunday evening she 
 led the C. E. meeting in such a way as to command 
 my admiration and appreciation of its value. This 
 is a three-picture story. This is the first picture. 
 
 The second picture: One day I was taken to a 
 little place up in the mountains that I might see vil- 
 lage work. Slowly we climbed up the range on the 
 narrow gauge railroad in the little narrow-gauge 
 coaches in which both men and women were smok- 
 ing freely. I was told that there was but one place 
 in all Mexico where smoking was forbidden, a 
 Pullman car. I certainly saw people smoking 
 everywhere, even in the great Cathedral in Mexico 
 City. 
 
 In the course of our calls about town we visited 
 an old shoemaker. He began pleading with my 
 companion, the principal of the school, to send 
 them a teacher for their school. “Our pastor is 
 gone ; our teacher is gone ; we have no school. Our 
 children are out on the street; they do not learn 
 any good. If you send us a teacher, I will board 
 her for nothing.” I could appreciate his earnest 
 desire. The final call took us to the outskirts of 
 the village, across a barnyard, to a queer sort of a 
 shed built of cornstalks, without windows, called 
 in the vernacular, “a jackal,” only pronounce the 
 j as h. A man and a woman came running out, 
 whose faces beamed with joy when they saw my 
 
 21 
 
friend. We were invited in; but the one room al- 
 ready entertained a burro, some pigs, and number- 
 less chickens, making it seem overfull without addi- 
 tions. So the woman ran across to a neighbor’s 
 and borrowed two chairs which she placed for us 
 outside among the cornstalks. They seemed de- 
 lighted to see my companion. As we left I asked 
 who they were, and why I was taken to see them. 
 
 ‘‘You admired Carmencita down at the school?” 
 
 “Indeed I did.” 
 
 “Well, those are her parents and that is her 
 home.” 
 
 There flashed into my mind that verse in Isaiah, 
 “The hole of the pit whence ye are digged.” 
 
 “But what of her future ? Is it a blessing to her 
 to educate her so far above her parents and her 
 surroundings ?” 
 
 “Wait and see.” 
 
 The third picture: The following year a well- 
 written letter in English from Carmencita told me 
 she had returned to her home after her graduation ; 
 had opened the village school the old shoemaker 
 wanted; was helping her parents to build them- 
 selves a little home; was assistant to the pastor in 
 Sunday School, C. E. meetings, and Mothers’ 
 Meetings; and was so very happy in all her work. 
 She wanted me to buy for her an organ for their 
 church, enclosing the money which had all been 
 raised under her direction. From others I learned 
 that at the time of her graduation the Government 
 had offered her a position in the public schools at 
 a salary three times as much as she was receiving 
 
 22 
 
in her own village. She declined the offer out of 
 filial love and a sense of gratitude to those unknown 
 friends in the United States who had supported her 
 during her school life, since in the Government posi- 
 tion she could not teach of Christ. 
 
 The Duchess 
 
 Yes, there was the ‘‘Duchess’' as she was called 
 in the Girls’ Boarding School in Mexico City, an- 
 other splendid school with so wonderful a record of 
 accomplishment. The Duchess, a little girl of ten 
 or twelve, and her mother appeared one day at the 
 school, having walked down from the mountains 
 almost a hundred miles, only to be told that there 
 was no room, even though the mother carefully 
 opened her little bundle and proffered ten Mexican 
 dollars. They went away with faces looking back- 
 ward. The next year they came again, and again 
 they went away with backward glances. The third 
 year they came, long before the opening of the 
 school, and the ten dollars had grown to fifty. The 
 mother went up the mountain track alone, looking 
 backward, but happy. At first the girl must be 
 watched every night to see that she went to bed 
 properly, else she would be found still dressed, 
 curled up on the floor under the bed. She liked it 
 better that way. When I saw her, after six years 
 of training, a member of the Senior Class, tall, 
 finely developed, graceful, the leader of the whole 
 school, trusted alike by teachers and comrades, she 
 seemed to me the embodiment of sweet, true, noble 
 Mexican womanhood. 
 
 23 
 
Won by the Word 
 
 He had been living in a small town south of 
 Mexico City. For several days he noticed that 
 his small purchases of family supplies were 
 wrapped in the leaves of a book which the merchant 
 tore from its covers, always making the sign of the 
 Cross. The man’s curiosity was roused, and he 
 began to read them. To his surprise and rather to 
 his disapproval they proved to be leaves from a 
 Protestant Bible. He tried to stop reading them, 
 but could not let them alone. Finally he asked the 
 merchant where he had obtained the book, and 
 was told he had taken it away from one of his 
 children whom he had allowed to attend a Mission 
 school. He regarded the book as dangerous and 
 diabolical; but his habits of thrift decided him not 
 to burn it but to use it as wrapping paper. The 
 customer bought the remaining leaves, read with 
 increasing conviction, and became a most earnest 
 Protestant Christian. Thus another instance of the 
 fulfilment of the promise, ‘‘My Word shall not re- 
 turn unto Me void.” 
 
 Images in Mexico 
 
 Images in Mexico, and in fact in all of Latin 
 America, are grotesque. The Saviour and the 
 Saints are represented in every style of clothes, 
 from that -worn by the wild Indians to suits finished 
 in the most extravagant and fashionable patterns— 
 from mere rags to velvet mantles embroidered with 
 
 24 
 
gold and jewels. Offerings of thanksgiving consist 
 of fine clothes and costly pieces of jewelry. 
 
 These images are regarded by the people with 
 superstitious reverence. To doubt their miraculous 
 power is regarded as little less than blasphemy. 
 
 The Virgin Mary, whose images are by far the 
 most numerous, is called by various names accord- 
 ing to the places where she is said to have appeared. 
 The most famous is the “Virgin of Guadalupe,” 
 proclaimed the patron saint of Mexico by Pope 
 Clement VII. It is said that the Virgin appeared 
 on two occasions to the pious Indian Juan Diego 
 on the barren mountain of Tepeyac. She told him 
 that she was to become the patron saint of the 
 Mexican Indians, and ordered him to tell the 
 Bishop that she wished to be worshiped at the foot 
 of that mountain. The Bishop required Juan to 
 give a token of his mission, so the Virgin appeared 
 to him the third time and told him to ascend the 
 mountain, cut roses, and bring them to her. Al- 
 though the mountain was perfectly barren, he 
 found the roses, and brought them to her. She 
 threw them into his tilma or mantle and said, “Re- 
 turn once more to the Bishop and tell him that 
 these flowers are the credentials of your mission.” 
 “When he found himself in the presence of the 
 prelate, he unfolded his tilma to present the roses, 
 when lo, there appeared on the garment that pic- 
 ture of the Virgin, which now, after centuries, still 
 exists without having suffered the slightest injury.” 
 The church was built, and is the most famous in 
 Mexico. The sacred picture, in a frame of pure 
 
 25 
 
gold, is on the high altar, receiving the adoration 
 of multitudes. Many of the men and women of 
 the countr}^ are called “Guadalupe,” and the image 
 is found in almost every house. On the anniver- 
 sary of this supposed miracle, a great festival is 
 held and attended by all, including the archbishop 
 and high officials, and orations are delivered by dis- 
 tinguished men in commemoration of the event. 
 
 Another celebrated image is “The Virgin of 
 Remedios.” On the morning after the noche triste 
 (the night when the Spanish were expelled from 
 the Capital), one of the invaders found a small doll 
 in a maguey plant, and proclaimed it to be a mirac- 
 ulous image of the Virgin, and a token of success. 
 Afterwards a church was built on the spot, and the 
 little lady, dressed in satins embroidered with 
 pearls, emeralds and diamonds, was called the “Vir- 
 gin of Remedios,” or “remedies,” because she ap- 
 peared at so critical an hour. To this day she is the 
 patroness of all in misfortune. She is hired out by 
 the day in times of distress, often for enormous 
 sums. Images of less power can be had for less 
 money, and a sick bed is not infrequently surround- 
 ed by a number of them. At the beginning of the 
 disease, if the people are poor, a cheap image is 
 hired, perhaps for twenty-five cents, but as the 
 gravity of the case increases more powerful saints 
 must be brought at any cost. 
 
 —Question Book Series, Mexico. Pages 14-16. 
 
 26 
 
A STORY OF SACRIFICE 
 
 It was the week before Christmas. Miss Turn- 
 er’s heart was heavy. The year had been a terrible 
 one. No crop had been made. People were starv- 
 ing from want of food. They had pawned every 
 article of furniture and nearly all their clothing. 
 Here was the happy Christmas season, and abso- 
 lutely nothing with which to have a treat for the 
 little Sunday school children. 
 
 However, a Christmas program was in prepara- 
 tion. The children were so happy, for a Mexican 
 child loves a fiesta of any kind. Then, too, there 
 were hordes of other little children on the streets, 
 even poorer than these. They would not dare at- 
 tend the Christmas celebration at the Protestant 
 Church. 
 
 How could one help? And then the missionary 
 had a happy thought. Why not invite the Sunday 
 school children to repeat their program in the school 
 house and invite all these other children to attend? 
 It was thought that two hundred could be accom- 
 modated. Invitation cards were given out only to 
 the very poorest children. 
 
 As the Christmas day approached the missionary 
 felt she wanted to give them a feast. Not even the 
 little Protestant children would expect anything, 
 for they had never gotten it. But this was a very 
 bad year and she did want them to have a fine day. 
 
 She planned for candy! Not a person in that 
 town had seen candy for months. And she dared 
 
 27 
 
to hope for oranges. And there had not been an 
 orange in town for weeks! And then her better 
 sense told her to get some corn to make some tor- 
 tillas. (Pronounce tor-te-yas.) These are to be 
 Mexican table what bread is to ours. How would 
 you like to go to a Christmas festival and receive a 
 piece of dry bread? But were you a Mexican child, 
 you would jump with joy at the thought of it. 
 
 Miss Turner sent a man out to visit the ranches 
 to buy oranges. She begged a rich man in the town 
 to sell her some corn. From a wholesale grocer she 
 bought chocolate and sugar. 
 
 Where did she get the money? She said, “That 
 was easy. I couldn’t send any presents, I couldn’t 
 receive any; so 1 spent what I might have spent 
 and what my friends might have spent, and what 
 was over was my Birthday present to th^ King.” 
 
 She made hundreds of tortillas. She made a 
 mountain of chocolate candy. And then she stripped 
 her bed of its mosquito netting and made tarletan 
 bags for the goodies. And, oh joy! at the very last 
 moment a man came in from the north with nuts 
 to sell. She filled each bag with its orange and nuts 
 and candy. And then she made two hundred and 
 fifty bunches of tortillas. You see she had two hun- 
 dred invited guests, and twenty-five performers. 
 The extra twenty-five were for an emergency. 
 
 Three o’clock Christmas afternoon arrived. 
 Long before the street was crowded with children 
 and their mothers. The gate had to be opened with 
 care so the children would not trample each other 
 in their eagerness. Soon three hundred children 
 
 28 
 
and the mothers of fifty families were inside. Then 
 those who held those precious grimy cards were 
 singled out and seated, while the rest stood around 
 the back of the room. 
 
 The twenty-five little Protestant children 
 stepped on to the platform. How they sang and 
 recited! And how they repeated from memory the 
 Story of His Birth I And how delighted and ex- 
 cited they were ! . 
 
 And then they waited in an adjoining room 
 while the missionary told the simple story of Jesus’ 
 love to those poor, hungry, dirty little brown broth- 
 ers and sisters of yours and mine, who had never in 
 all their lives listened to such a strang tale about 
 Jesus. He had always been a dead Jesus to them. 
 He hung upon a cross in the church and had the 
 saddest face you ever saw. Their mothers strained 
 their ears to catch every sound of this wonderful 
 story. And then the missionary bowed her head 
 and prayed, and she was talking about them, and 
 calling them His little ones ! 
 
 The missionary went out for a minute and came 
 back with baskets and baskets of tortillas. The lit- 
 tle Protestant children had been surprised by the 
 treat in the other room and were now on the plat- 
 form singing madly, they were so happy. And then 
 it was discovered that many more than two hun- 
 dred had gotten in the front seats with the cards, 
 and the twenty-five emergency bags would not suf- 
 fice. What should she do? Her own little children 
 each with his precious bag hugged close to his 
 breast never guessed what the missionary was suf- 
 
 29 
 
faring for them, for she was planning to test those 
 little ones who were singing so joyfully about the 
 love of Jesus. 
 
 The song over, the children ran back to their 
 room.. Miss Turner went in and spoke to them. 
 Her voice was very sad as she said: ‘'My little 
 children, listen. I didn’t know so many children 
 would come in on the invitations, and I don’t have 
 enough bags to go around, and I wondered if my 
 little people”— and then she couldn’t ask them, and 
 anyway she didn’t need to, for at once twenty-five 
 pairs of little brown hands were thrust out at her, 
 holding their only Christmas gifts, and twenty-five 
 little voices eagerly said, “Here’s mine, Senorita, 
 here’s mine, don’t let them go home sorry.” 
 
 I wonder if Jesus ever received a more precious 
 Birthday gift than the one those little Mexican 
 children gave Him that afternoon? 
 
 —-By Blanche B. Bonine. 
 
 JUAN, PANCHITA AND PAZ 
 A Story of Child Life in Mexico 
 
 My story begins when Panchita was standing 
 in the shadow of the little hut-like home with her 
 doll tied on her back, —at least Panchita, being only 
 ten years old, would be supposed to have a doll. 
 
 It could open and shut its eyes and cry and— 
 dear, dear ! it turns its head, opens and shuts its lit- 
 tle hands and is alive! In fact Panchita’s doll is 
 her baby sister Paz, which means Peace. But there 
 really was not much peace unless Paz was asleep. 
 So, very often she was on Panchita’s back, a little 
 
 30 
 
warm, wriggling creature, calling for much more 
 attention than any well-behaved doll ever expects. 
 But Panchita was watching eagerly for her brother 
 Juan, who had gone to the city early in the day 
 with watermelons to sell. Two big string bags 
 he had — one on each side of his little donkey — and 
 very green and tempting the melons looked, shin- 
 ing through the network. He had also carried two 
 baskets of vegetables, but many a time he had gone 
 as heavily laden and returned before this hour. 
 
 Panchita’s mother sat in the shade of a huge 
 cactus weaving baskets. 
 
 ‘Tt is time for Juan to come,” said Panchita, 
 looking away to the beautiful mountain in the west 
 behind which the sun was seeking to hide. 
 
 Her mother turned smilingly toward the little 
 girl, arose slowly — for Mexico is a land where no- 
 body hurries — and laid aside her half-finished 
 basket. 
 
 She expected Juan, and he must have his sup- 
 per. She had ground some corn that morning after 
 I soaking it in lime water. 
 
 Panchita could make tortillas (torteeyas) from 
 I the flour, so now, while her mother took Paz, she 
 ; made a stiff dough of the corn-flour and water, 
 lighted a charcoal fire in the mud fireplace and sat 
 down on the floor beside it. Then, taking a small 
 lump of dough, she patted and patted it until it was 
 round and flat. It was as good fun as making mud 
 ' pies! 
 
 After the pat-a-cake was ready she laid it on a 
 griddle which was now hot over the charcoal. When 
 
 31 
 
a cake was cooked she laid it in a basket and soon 
 had a nice pile. 
 
 The frijoles (beans) were already cooked and 
 these she warmed. Then again she ran out to watch 
 for Juan and the donkey. “He is not coming and 
 the sun shines no longer/' she said. 
 
 The mother put little Paz into a funny ham- 
 mock-like cradle which swung from the rude ceil- 
 ing, as she answered: “He was late selling to-day; 
 we will eat,” and soon they were sitting beside the 
 tortillas and beans. Chairs? No. Table-cloth? 
 No. Knives, forks, napkins? No, no,- — they had 
 their fingers and the tortillas for spoons and were 
 quite satisfied. 
 
 Panchita made short work of her meal and ran 
 out again to watch for Juan. The stars came out 
 and the air grew cool, but there was no clattering 
 of hoofs such as always told of the donkey’s home- 
 coming. Finally Panchita lay down upon a mat in 
 one corner of the little hut, dressed as she had been 
 all day, and sobbed herself to sleep. She had no 
 clean white nightgown or bed, and could not pray 
 as you do because she only knew the Virgin Mary 
 and the Saints. Her mother grew very anxious, too, 
 for Juan had never stayed away so late before. Since 
 the father’s death a few months earlier, he had 
 worked like a man, and w^as always merry even 
 when burdens were heaviest. All night she dozed 
 and waited, but no Juan! 
 
 Early the next morning she told Panchita she 
 was going to the city to search for him. Of course 
 the little girl must go, too, but she had no pretty 
 
clothes to wear— only the poor gown we have seen 
 her in, and her brown feet were bare. Her mother 
 wrapped a long, wide scarf, called a reboso around 
 her own shoulders, and in it she also wrapped little 
 Paz, whose bright eyes peeped out of its folds be- 
 hind her shoulders. After a breakfast of tortillas 
 and beans they started on the three-mile walk with 
 heavy hearts. 
 
 But where was Juan all this time? He and his 
 little donkey had walked slowly along the street 
 after reaching the city, as he cried : “Sandias, buena^ 
 y baratasT (watermelons, good and cheap!) and 
 it was not long before he had sold several. The 
 homes of the wealthy Mexicans are very fine, and 
 are built around a patio (court) to which there is 
 but one wide doorway guarded by a porter. So it 
 was only when this man called Juan and opened 
 the door that he could take in his watermelons and 
 other vegetables. But when once inside how he 
 gazed with wide-open eyes at the beautiful flowers 
 and shrubs, the fountain, and the daintily dressed 
 ladies whom he sometimes saw in the balcony ! His 
 own home was very poor, but he loved beauty and 
 hoarded every glimpse of such homes to report to 
 Panchita. 
 
 He loved to see the boys on their way to school, 
 and the girls, too, each with a servant to carry the 
 books and guard the children from harm. Perhaps 
 5^ou may w’onder if the boys tried to steal Juan’s 
 watermelons while he was inside a court. No in- 
 deed! that would not be like the polite Mexicans. 
 Have you noticed that in every country the people 
 
have some good traits which we might well copy? 
 So in Mexico, rich and poor alike are courteous, 
 and even Juan would doff his coarse, wide-brimmed 
 straw hat very quickly when he met a person older 
 than himself. 
 
 No one harmed the donkey while Juan was sell- 
 ing his produce within the house, but on that special 
 day, as the sun grew hot, the donkey concluded to 
 take a stroll all by himself. To tell the truth, Juan 
 was staying a long time in a court— not so grand 
 and beautiful as some— -where a motherly lady was 
 talking to him as she selected and paid for nearly 
 everything he had. Before he realized it Juan had 
 told about the little home which he was trying to 
 keep for his mother and his sisters, and how hard 
 it was: and had learned that this was a Protestant 
 school where poor girls could learn many things. 
 Could Panchit a come? He cared not at all for what 
 the priest might say, for it must be right for a girl 
 like her to learn; yes, that is what he— Juan— - 
 wanted to do, and the dear lady saw in his earnest 
 face promise of a good heart and mind. 
 
 Meanwhile, the donkey walked on, slowly at 
 first, faster as he felt his freedom— wagging his 
 wicked head and twitching his ears gleefully. But 
 donkeys are not allowed to promenade alone in city 
 streets, so he was captured by a policeman, who, 
 seeing no owner, led him away. You can imagine 
 how Juan felt when he came out and missed his 
 faithful burden bearer. He ran to the park first 
 of all, — past the woman who sold tortillas and the 
 basket man, past the man with water jars and the 
 
 34 
 
seller of pulque — the drink which brings sorrow to 
 so many Mexican homes— even past the seller of 
 sweets from whom he hoped to buy a tiny gift 
 for baby Paz. He ran blindly hither and thither 
 but the stupid donkey was not in the park. 
 
 At last Juan ran against a man who caught him 
 by the shoulder and called him “little beggar.” But 
 with sobs in his voice Juan told his trouble. “The 
 donkey would go home, of course, but if he was 
 alone he would be arrested,” said the man. 
 Arrested! Juan smote his hands together. Who 
 would help a poor Indian boy in such a case? 
 
 Then he thought of the kind woman who had 
 bought his vegetables. Perhaps she would care. 
 Perhaps some wise one in that school would tell 
 him what to do. 
 
 He had wandered far from the friendly court, 
 but as quickly as posible he made his way to it, and 
 after a little was admitted, and before the lady came 
 a servant was told to give him something to eat. 
 
 Hungry as he was, Juan could scarcely crowd 
 down the food. He could not forget the lost don- 
 key, and when finally the lady came his story was 
 told with downcast eyes and halting words. 
 
 “Courage, my boy,” she said. “I think we can 
 find that runaway.” Then came the tall American, 
 her husband, and he wrote down the boy’s state- 
 ment. 
 
 It was not an easy matter to find a trace of the 
 little beast, however, and people seemed almost as 
 stupid as the lost animal in their directions. 
 
 From place to place they went, and it was about 
 
 35 
 
the time that Panchita was watching the sun set 
 that the man was found who had “arrested” Juan’s 
 donkey. Then the boy must “prove property,” but 
 the donkey was kind enough to come when his mas- 
 ter gave a certain call and to circle around him 
 searching for the choice bit of food which Juan was 
 accustomed to give as his reward. 
 
 A very submissive and affectionate donkey he 
 was and finally, after the tall American and the tall 
 Mexican had had quite a discussion, Juan was al- 
 lowed to take him away. But now it was late and 
 his new friend insisted that the tired boy must sleep 
 in the school building. So while his mother was 
 watching and calling upon the saints to protect 
 him he was sleeping, oh, so soundly ! 
 
 Bright and early the next morning, he started 
 homeward, but not until he had had a talk with the 
 kind Americano which made his heart glad. His 
 baskets and string bags were empty but his head 
 was full of new ideas, and he made the donkey trot 
 briskly in his eagerness to reach his mother and 
 Panchita. With the morning sun shining in his 
 face he did not recognize a little group approaching 
 until a brown-faced, bare-footed girl made a wdld 
 dash toward him, crying out, “Juan! Juan! You 
 are alive!” 
 
 In the great rejoicing which followed even the 
 naughty donkey was embraced, and when baby Paz 
 was put upon his back she was the happiest little 
 Indian in all Mexico. 
 
 Juan told his story with many an eloquent ges- 
 ture and the climax was, “And mother, Panchita 
 
 36 
 
can go to the school and grow up like the lady 
 Americano: and perhaps — perhaps I can also go a 
 few hours each day to the school for boys \” 
 
 The mother smiled, but wondered why Juan 
 so rejoiced over the prospect. “The saints keep us 
 from the Protestants, but my boy must have this 
 chance if he wants it,” she said to herself. 
 
 Panchita smiled, for she and Juan had heard 
 about books and schools, and she felt a desire fo^ 
 better things, as I suppose a young bird feels that 
 he must use his wdngs while they are growing. The 
 donkey did not smile — he had no sense of humor — 
 but if he had been as wise as he looked he might 
 have thought: “Do you see how my runaway yes- 
 terday has been overruled for the good of the 
 family ?” 
 
 — Courtesy of Woman’s Foreign Missionary 
 Society, Methodist Episcopal Church. 
 
 A MEXICAN GIRL 
 An Impersonation 
 
 Note: The child who gives this monologue should be 
 dressed in bare feet, long black skirt, dirty and ragged, and 
 ragged waist. Her hair disheveled and in a plait, down her 
 back. In a word, she should present the appearance of a child 
 of ten or twelve who has had no care whatever. 
 
 Lady, will you please give me some money or 
 some bread? My little sister is so hungry, and T 
 couldn’t get anything for her to eat all day. 
 
 Why don’t I go home? I have no home to go 
 to. Yes, I had a papa arid a mamma and some 
 brothers and sisters, but now I am all alone except 
 for my dear baby sister. Once we had a home and 
 
 37 
 
it was just a tiny house made of adobe and a 
 straw roof and only one room. But we were all 
 happy together, although we had no beds nor ta- 
 bles nor chairs. We all ate and slept on the floor. 
 Papa used to work in the fields and sometimes he 
 helped make crocks and carry them piled up high 
 on his back to the market to sell. Mamma helped 
 too, but she was always busy, making the tortillas 
 (corn cakes). We were always glad when the rainy 
 season came because then we went to the river to 
 bathe, while mamma washed our clothes and hung 
 them on the cactus bushes to dry. During the dry 
 season, it was dreary because the babies were never 
 well, and the sand and dirt were so bad and the 
 pigs would come into the house; mamma said the 
 only reason she liked the dry season was because 
 the sticks would burn without smoking up the air 
 in the house. 
 
 Play, did you say? Yes, the boys played bull- 
 fight all the time. Me? Dollies? I saw a dollie 
 once ; the rich girl at the big ranch house had it. 
 And one time I had a picture of a dollie. Oh, it was 
 so pretty, and we hung it on the wall. It was most 
 the same as having a dollie, because that is all you 
 can do with them any how, just hang them on the 
 wall. 
 
 What else did I do? Why there is so much to 
 do. There is always a dear little baby brother or 
 sister to carry on your back and there was always 
 a lot of work to do. I am ten years old now, I 
 think, and of course I can work. I helped mamma 
 grind the corn between two stones and that takes 
 
 38 
 
all morning and your back just nearly breaks, be- 
 cause some days there is nothing else to eat and 
 then you have to make more tortillas. And then 
 there were the sticks to carry from the hills, for 
 that is what we make the fire with. No, there is no 
 stove; just make a fire in the corner and bake the 
 tortillas on a stone over the fire. 
 
 And then there was the house to sweep. I was 
 glad it wasn’t a big house, because our broom was 
 just some twigs tied together, and there was no 
 handle to them, and you get very tired sweeping 
 that way. It seems to me we do everything with 
 our backs. 
 
 How did the boys help? Nobody teaches boys 
 to work, not until they are grown up, and then 
 they don’t know how to do anything but carry 
 heavy loads. My papa could carry as much as a 
 horse. 
 
 What did I do on Sunday? I don’t know what 
 day that is. Oh, yes, that is the day we went to 
 market before we went to church. Sometimes the 
 butcher used to give me some blood in my little 
 crock! Then after market we had to go to church 
 and sit for hours on the cold stone floor and wait 
 and wait, until mamma would get ready to go. I 
 don’t know why she stayed so long, and when she 
 came out sometimes she would crawl the whole 
 way home on her poor sore knees, and sometimes 
 she would kiss the stones all the way home. But 
 it was worse when papa went, because then for 
 days we didn’t have any beans, nothing but tor- 
 tillas, and the babies would cry and mamma was so 
 sad for they were hungry. 
 
 39 
 
Sunday School? What is that? Where you 
 hear about Jesus? Oh, I like the saints better, be- 
 cause the saints help you all the time and when you 
 are sick we put the saints all about the place 
 where you lie down, and we burn things in front of 
 them, and see here, if you don’t have your saint or 
 the Blessed Virgin you can’t ever go to Heaven. 
 Jesus can’t help you. He’s dead over there in the 
 church on a cross and you wear black dresses for 
 Him during Holy Week, that’s all. 
 
 Can I read? Why, lady, it’s only rich little girls 
 that can read. I peeped in a school door one day, 
 but they drove me away, because I only had rags to 
 wear. 
 
 A man came to our town one day and asked my 
 papa to send me to his school, and he said he 
 would teach me all about this Jesus. And then my 
 mamma asked him if he was a Protestant, and he 
 said he was, and she pushed us in the house and 
 begged him on her knees to go away. He went 
 away looking so sad, and my papa said he believed 
 he was a good man, for he had such a kind face. 
 My papa wanted me to go, but my mamma knew 
 that Protestants have horns like Satan, and they 
 worship him too, and sometimes they eat little boys 
 and girls. 
 
 Soon after that my papa died and my mamma 
 worked so hard and got so sick, that when we 
 went to market the other day she fell down on the 
 street. I ran to the church to get the priest, but 
 he couldn’t come, he said, and when I got back they 
 had carried my mamma away and I can not find my 
 
 40 
 
other little brothers and sisters, and all I have left 
 is this one. IVe walked and walked and nobody 
 will help me, and I kissed all the stones in front of 
 the church, and I went inside and sat such a long 
 time in front of the blessed Guadalupe, and I 
 couldn’t find the priest, and I had to sell my blessed 
 virgin to buy bread yesterday and now I don’t 
 know what to do. Won’t you please feed my baby 
 sister? Won’t you tell me what to do? 
 
 —By Blanche B. Bonine. 
 
 41 
 

 
 4 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 II 
 
 GUATEMALA 
 
 Pills of Hate 
 
 We see many sad cases in Guatemala, the result 
 of ignorance or vice. The condition of the children is 
 often pitiful. Little starved-looking babies who have 
 been sick for weeks or months are brought almost in 
 a dying state. When I ask why a doctor has not been 
 consulted before, the usual answer is that it was be- 
 cause of lack of money. Fortunately we have many 
 hopeful cases also, and some amusing incidents. A 
 short time since an old woman asked me in a confi- 
 dential whisper if I would give her some pills to make 
 her son hate his wife. She did not approve of the 
 daughter-in-law. 
 
 — By Dr. Mary Gregg, in Over Sea and Land, 
 October, 1913. 
 
 A Little Girl of Guatemala 
 
 I want to introduce you to a little girl whose name 
 is Isabel. Most of our little girls are about the color 
 of a nice chocolate drop; this one is a brunette with 
 fine black hair and bright, beautiful eyes.. She is a 
 jolly little lady who does lots of nice things, and who 
 also gets into mischief. She is very fond of us and 
 we love her. 
 
 Her home was not a Christian home like yours. 
 Her father and mother never went to Sunday school 
 nor to church, and never heard sermons preached 
 
 43 
 
from the beautiful story of Jesus and His love. Just 
 like so many thousands of others in this great big 
 world, they were ignorant of the Bible. 
 
 So Isabel did not have an opportunity to learn 
 much. Like Topsy, she was just ‘‘growing up.” One 
 day her mother got a copy of the Bible and became 
 much interested in the wonderful story of salvation. 
 She came to see us very often in order to talk with us 
 about our own life, and then she commenced to talk 
 with her husband and children. But they did not care 
 to hear much about these things. However, little Isa- 
 bel just loved to ‘have her mother talk with her and 
 tell her the beautiful Bible stories. For several years 
 the mother has been coming to our services and Isa- 
 bel has come with her and has always been so inter- 
 ested in the Sunday school lessons. 
 
 Some time ago Isabel had to have her throat 
 treated. It was not convenient for the family to 
 have the operation in her own home, so she and her 
 mother came to our missionary home, where she 
 stayed many days. Now she is well and strong, and 
 enjoying better health than she has ever known. 
 
 Her father has never attended our services to hear 
 for himself what beautiful things we teach. Some 
 time ago some of his relatives told him that we were 
 very bad people and that we taught evil things, go- 
 ing about trying to break up families; separating 
 parents and children. But the whole family knew 
 that Isabel and her mother had both been better 
 since they had been studying, and this little girl, be- 
 ing the youngest of the family and her father’s pet, 
 became a peacemaker. 
 
 44 
 
She has suffered a great deal because other chil- 
 dren have taunted her and have said many ugly 
 things to her because she comes to Sunday school 
 and church. One day when others were making 
 sport of her, she told them that while they worship 
 gods of wood that have to be carried about in the 
 arms of men and women, that we worship the great 
 God who made the heaven and the earth, and who 
 sent His dear Son to be our Saviour. 
 
 The dear little girl has loved the beautiful story 
 ever since she first heard it, has always been very 
 faithful at Sunday school, is now herself a Christian, 
 a little peacemaker in her home, and a little mission- 
 ary to other children. 
 
 —By Rev. William B. Allison, in Over Sea 
 and Land, October, 1912. 
 
 Stealing Jesus in Guatemala 
 
 Perhaps you think that Central America is a 
 Christian country and does not need missionaries, but 
 these people are taught that the only way to be saved 
 is by money, prayers, burning candles and making 
 themselves do hard and unpleasant things. At Christ- 
 mas time the people are taught to worship an image 
 of a little baby. They call it “Baby Jesus.” There 
 is a Baby Jesus in every home and candles are kept 
 burning before it no matter how poor the people may 
 be. One day I found a little girl sewing on a tiny 
 silk dress. I asked if it were for her doll. “O, no, 
 Senora, it is for our little God.” One woman told me 
 that thieves had entered her house the night before 
 
 45 
 
and stolen her “J^sus.” Then I could tell her how 
 wrong it is to worship idols, and how much better 
 it is to have Jesus in our hearts where no one can 
 steal Him from us. 
 
 These people take the name of God in vain over 
 and over again, for ‘‘Jesus’' is- a common name in 
 their homes. It is not a sacred, holy name to them. 
 One day I asked the name of a little girl, her mother 
 said, “It is ‘Jesus,’ and the little servant is ‘Jesus,’ 
 too, we have two Jesuses in this house.” A child 
 once told me that her kitten’s name was Jesus, and 
 I am sure you will be very much surprised when I 
 tell you that one day as a boy was driving a little 
 black pig to market, we asked his name, and he told 
 us it was “Jesus.” 
 
 Do you not agree with me that these people need 
 to be taught about God? Will you not pray for these 
 boys and girls ? I wish you could see the happy faces 
 of those who have learned to know their Heavenly 
 Father, and Jesus our Saviour. They love to sing, 
 ''Jesus paid it all, 
 
 All to Him I owe. 
 
 Sin had left a crimson stain, 
 
 He washed it white as snowJ^ 
 
 This is such Good News to them, for they have never 
 heard it before. \ 
 
 — By Mrs. W. B. Allison. 
 
 A Product of the Gospel 
 
 With my mother and little sister I had worked 
 hard, but my brothers were all prodigals and 
 
 46 
 
wasted what my father had left us. It was impossi- 
 ble to pay our debts, and we lived in misery. At 
 last I cursed my home and left my mother. I 
 thought to live differently, but alas it was like 
 transplanting a tree in another place when it carried 
 with it the disease. Then came war in Salvador 
 and I enlisted with the hope that they would kill 
 me; but I came out without even a wound. Once 
 more I returned home, and one day a colporteur 
 passed near our house selling Bibles; he talked 
 much of Jesus Christ as the only Salvador (Sav- 
 iour) of man and right there I offered a prayer and 
 felt a movement in my heart. I urged him to stay 
 the night, and before he left I had resolved to leave 
 my life of sin. 
 
 Persecution came and they put me in prison; 
 but with my Bible and hymn book I took the oppor- 
 tunity to preach to the judge and soldiers. In 
 fine, the pastor proposed that I take up the work 
 of colporteur, and the Lord has blessed me. When 
 I commenced, it meant sleeping many times on the 
 bare ground with only my valise and books to keep 
 me company, but after two years God gave me the 
 harvest, and then I did not travel one single day 
 without coming to the house of some native con- 
 vert. 
 
 — Report of American Bible Society. 
 
 47 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 III 
 
 COLOMBIA 
 
 What She Did When Persecuted 
 
 I wonder how many of you can find Colombia on 
 the map? If you find it, look on the coast for a city 
 named Cartagena. That city is not only the oldest 
 one in Colombia, but also the oldest one in the Amer- 
 icas. It is surrounded by a thick stone wall. Sev- 
 eral years ago, the agent for the American Bible So- 
 ciety went to Cartagena for the purpose of selling 
 Bibles and holding services, but he was not wel- 
 comed; people there wanted nothing to do with either 
 the Bible or the Protestant religion. So he went out- 
 side the walls. That was the beginning of one of Co- 
 lombia’s most promising missions. 
 
 In Cabrero there is now a little mission house 
 where services are being held regularly. I want to 
 tell you about a young girl of perhaps thirteen or 
 fourteen. She had given her heart to God and be- 
 came a member of the church. Her parents and 
 friends, who were all Catholics, tried to persuade her 
 not to join our church; when that did no good they 
 threatened her with all kinds of things. Still she per- 
 sisted in going where she could listen to the words 
 that gave her new life and courage. One evening, 
 as she was returning from the service she was met by 
 some of her relatives, who beat her cruelly. They 
 thought that by such harsh treatment they could 
 frighten her and make her return to the Catholic 
 
 49 
 
church. And what do you think this courageous lit- 
 tle girl did? Did she weaken and give in? No, 
 indeed. She went to the next service, which was a 
 prayer meeting, still sore and bruised; and there in 
 church she prayed for those who had treated her so 
 shamefully, asked God to forgive them, and to open 
 their hearts that His love might enter. 
 
 Such examples of love and faith are rare here, but 
 we are scarcely surprised at that, for in Colombia 
 the Bible is a forbidden book ; the Roman church does 
 not allow its members to read it. Many a person 
 comes to the services in the Presbyterian chapel out 
 of curiosity or to ridicule our teachings. There he 
 hears things he has never heard before, and he is 
 interested and comes again and again. In that way 
 many have been led out of darkness into light. There 
 are no Sunday schools in all Colombia, except where 
 there is a mission. In all these Sunday schools it has 
 been found that the young folks as well as the older 
 ones take a great interest in the Bible stories. In 
 Barranquilla, another city on the coast, a great many 
 children come to Sunday school and interest in Bible 
 study is kept up by asking questions. Each Sunday 
 the pastor gives out two questions, which are to be 
 answered the following Sunday. At the end of the 
 year prizes are given to those who have the most cor- 
 rect answers. As a result, these young people are 
 very well acquainted with their Bibles, which is of the 
 greatest importance, as you and I know. 
 
 — By Louise Cruikshank, in Over Sea and Land, 
 October, 1915. 
 
 50 
 
A Secret About Colombia 
 
 Boys are very much alike in North America and 
 in South America. You would be surprised to find 
 how much alike they are. But there is a difference, 
 too, and I am going to tell it to you as a secret, a help- 
 ful secret which you need not keep. It will help you 
 to be grateful for the land that gave you birth and it 
 will make you want to help those boys who were born 
 in another land. The difference in the lands is what 
 makes the difference in the boys. ‘ 
 
 Did you ever hear this story? King Alfonso of 
 Spain, when a very young man, asked Queen Victoria 
 of England, “Why is your land greater than mine?” 
 It is said that the good and wise queen picked up a 
 Bible which lay upon a table near by and answered, 
 “It is reverence for this Book which has made Eng- 
 land a great nation. When Spain studies and reveres 
 the Word of God she, too, will become great.” The 
 same may be said of the United States and its sister 
 republic, Colombia. The United States is a country 
 founded upon the open Bible. Colombia is a country 
 in which the Bible is called a Forbidden Book, and 
 where Bibles are still gathered and burned in the pub- 
 lic squares. This is why teachers find boys in the 
 United States clean and straightforward — jolly and 
 full of fun and mischief, it is true, but as a rule, 
 thinking clean thoughts and looking frankly out of 
 honest eyes. 
 
 Boys and girls, thank God for your country, 
 founded on the open Bible; your clean home influ- 
 ences, and pray that the Colombian boys and girls 
 may not miss what you enjoy. Let us all help with a 
 
 51 
 
will to send missionaries to Colombia, to teach the 
 Bible to every creature. 
 
 — By Mrs. Walter S. Lee, in Over Sea and 
 Land, October, 1913. 
 
 The Story of a Bible Which Escaped the Fire 
 
 Would you like to know how two of our mem- 
 bers joined the Mission church? I believe you would, 
 so I will tell you. 
 
 There was once a good man who sold many Bibles 
 to the Colombians in a certain town. However, the 
 priest ordered the people to bring them all to him, 
 and they did so. Then he said to the man who cleans 
 the church, “Take all of these Bibles and burn them.” 
 The man burned all but one. This, out of curiosity, 
 he put in his pocket. When he arrived home, he read 
 it, and wondered at the good words it contained, and 
 why such good words should be burned. 
 
 He gave it to the women of the house also, and 
 two of them believed in its teaching, and are now in 
 our church. 
 
 —By Alexander M. Allan, in Over Sea and 
 Land, June, 1911. 
 
 A Day in Bogota 
 
 “Back of Bogota lies a range of steep hills. Two 
 of the peaks tower over the city and are crowded 
 with large white monasteries, Guadaloupe and 
 Monserrate. The 'Christ of Monserrate’ has come 
 to us, having been brought down several weeks ago 
 in a grand procession, and after being carried 
 through the streets on a stately platform, he was 
 
 52 
 
installed in the Cathedral where we saw him one 
 Saturday morning. We found a crowd surround- 
 ing a huge wax image of the Christ, all besmeared 
 with blood, and most gruesome, but clad in an 
 elegant lavendar satin oriental tunic, covered with 
 gilt trimmings and edged with rich fringe. Crowds 
 thronged that corner of the great Cathedral where 
 mass was being said, but few were attending the 
 mass. 
 
 “There was not even a priest here but a simple 
 policeman in blue uniform, and even his cap on, dis- 
 pensing the blessings supposed to be granted by the 
 Christ. Poor, ignorant souls were handing this 
 policeman scapularies, handkerchiefs, prayer-books, 
 and in fact whatever they had. This the policeman 
 took and waved or passed over the extended hand 
 of the reclining Christ, then handed back to the 
 owner. For this privilege the poor souls had paid 
 hard-earned cash, and to us the faces that passed 
 on were such sad, unhappy ones as they went their 
 several ways to the duties of the day. One old 
 woman pressed her way forward and gave the po- 
 liceman a gross or more of rosaries to pass over 
 the hand of Christ. This done, up came another 
 handful, which the policeman also waved over the 
 hand. Then the old woman went out to sell these 
 rosaries with the blessing in them. Money in that 
 deal for her. 
 
 “To see a policeman in a temple dedicated to the 
 Lord dispensing religion to right and to left, as fast 
 as he could to these ignorant souls with no priest 
 nearer than those attending mass in front, seemed 
 
 S3 
 
to US the limit of idolatry. While we were there an 
 invalid was brought before the Christ in a litter. 
 While she worshiped, a friend took something of 
 hers and had it blessed, then she too was carried 
 out and to her humble home and the duties of the 
 day. Poor souls longing and struggling in their 
 idolatry for the light that we idle gazers had to 
 give. Would we could reach them and persuade 
 them to turn to the living Christ.” 
 
 — By Lelia W. Quinby. 
 
 Felipe, the Fisher Boy 
 
 Felipe was born in the quaint, sleepy old city of 
 Cartagena, played in its hot, sandy streets, and, 
 when tired of play, slept in the shadow of its moss- 
 grown, mouldy stone wall. As he grew older, he 
 went fishing with his elders in the beautiful bay, be- 
 came skilful in throwing the net and handling the 
 canoe, at home helped by carrying on his head great 
 baskets of nicely washed and ironed clothes to the rich 
 ladies for whom his mother worked. When he felt 
 like it, he went to the school, where, instead of 
 studying, the boys spent most of the time in fight- 
 ing, gambling, smoking and even drinking, for the 
 master did little but read or sleep, and even sent 
 the boys out to buy him strong drink, and then 
 drank himself helpless in their presence. Some- 
 times the boys were turned loose for a sea bath, 
 and then there was wild joy as they leaped the 
 breakers, dived, swam and rolled over and over in 
 the cool waves. 
 
 Sometimes on Sunday, if there were not too 
 many clothes to be delivered, and his own one good 
 
 54 
 
suit happened to be clean, and he possessed a pair 
 of whole sandals, Felipe went to early morning 
 mass, but it was so seldom that all the necessary 
 conditions were fulfilled at the same time, that he 
 probably didn’t get to mass oftener than once in 
 two months. But, then, that was often enough. 
 He couldn’t understand a word of it, and the mean- 
 ingless performance was always the same. Any- 
 way, he believed he went often enough to save him- 
 self from the ''inferno.” 
 
 The Sunday afternoon cock fight, however, was 
 quite a different matter. There was life there, and 
 it wasn’t often that our boy missed that great 
 event of the week. But one day two foreigners 
 passed through the street, offering for sale a book 
 they called "The Word of God.” That did sound 
 queer. And the men said the book contained the 
 very words and teachings of our Lord and of the 
 holy apostles. Felipe had been taught that only the 
 "padres” (priests) possessed these teachings. Could 
 it be possible that just common fishermen might 
 have a right to read them? He felt just a little 
 afraid of the book, and yet curious to handle it. 
 His old grandfather invited the men to his house to 
 explain these strange things, and Felipe will never 
 forget how very odd that meeting seemed to him. 
 When the men prayed, they not only bowed their 
 heads, but they shut their eyes! Then they just 
 talked quietly and earnestly with some one he could 
 not see. It made him feel creepy. After a long talk 
 with closed eyes, the men sang what they called 
 "hymns,” and that was fine. Felipe had a sweet 
 
 55 
 
voice himself and loved singing. Some of the 
 hymns were so joyful that he almost had to join in 
 with them ; others so sweet and sad that they 
 brought moisture to his eyes. Then one of the men 
 read from the book and told how our Lord loved 
 and called common fishermen to follow Him. They 
 said that the great St. Peter had been just a poor, 
 ignorant fisherman and had to be taught many 
 things over and over, exactly like the fishermen of 
 Cartagena. 
 
 Grandfather bought one of the books, and the 
 day came when Felipe, too, owned one and studied 
 it faithfully. In a little while these strangers started 
 what they called a Sunday School, where they 
 taught from the book the sweetest, most wonder- 
 ful stories of the love of God and of Christ. Felipe 
 had always thought that God wanted only to con- 
 demn everybody in the world, that Christ wanted 
 to punish every human being for His suffering on 
 the Cross, and that only the constant, urgent plead- 
 ing of the Blessed Virgin saved this unhappy world 
 from the fierce fires of ^finferno.’* 
 
 Now he learns that it was love that brought 
 Christ to the world, love that took Him to the 
 Cross, love that still seeks to save freely every hu- 
 man being, and his heart filled with love for this 
 wonderful Saviour. He asked for and received bap- 
 tism, and vowed the service of his life to this pre- 
 cious Jesus. 
 
 — By the late Miss Jessie Scott, in leaflet pub- 
 lished by the Woman’s Foreign Missionary 
 Society of the Presbyterian Church. 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 IV 
 
 CHILE 
 
 The Country Where There Are More Pianos 
 Than Bath Tubs 
 
 Miss Lakes is the daughter of an elder of one 
 of our churches, a young lady of some twenty sum- 
 mers, who teaches in the public school. One after- 
 noon she was speaking with a missionary lady on 
 things in general and health in particular. She 
 remarked that when she lived in L — she used to 
 wash her feet almost every week, but, '‘since I have 
 
 come to M- I don’t dare do it, especially in the 
 
 winter, for it makes me sick every time.” The un- 
 cleanly habits of a large percentage of Chileans are 
 terrible to contemplate, and the upper class Chilean 
 just refuses to contemplate them and gets angry 
 if anyone else does. Nevertheless one of themselves 
 has said that there are more pianos than bathtubs 
 in Chile. 
 
 But the question goes deeper than the skin. 
 Cleanliness is next to Godliness: and usually fol- 
 lows upon it, though the reverse may not be true. 
 And we make no mistake in the case of Chile if we 
 surmise that the lack of physical cleanliness likely 
 indicates the lack of moral cleanliness, too. One 
 Chilean says, “laying is the sin Chilean.” A busi- 
 ness man says he never trusts the word of another 
 merchant of whatever class or position. One day 
 when I returned to a storekeeper five pesos which 
 
 57 
 
he had paid me above what was due me, he said 
 there was not a Chilean in the city who would have 
 done the same thing. Another said that no girl of 
 the lower class over sixteen years of age, and no 
 man from the Governor of the province down to the 
 lowest peon, is pure. These statements may be too 
 sweeping in their generality ; but they indicate a 
 condition that is anything but clean. 
 
 Chile needs soap for the skin, but infinitely more 
 she needs the Gospel of Christ for the heart. 
 
 — Dorothy R. Edwards. 
 
 A Doorkeeper in the House of the Lord 
 
 Francisco Caereres is the caretaker of our little 
 Presbyterian chapel in Curico, Chile. He and his 
 wife and his four children live in a couple of mean 
 rooms behind the chapel; for they are very poor. 
 The other evening he told me his story. He is one of 
 several children. His father found it difficult to 
 maintain the family, and when Francisco, still in his 
 ’teens, began to sow his wild oats, as all his compan- 
 ions were doing, and as nearly all young men do here, 
 I am sorry to say, he was cast out upon the street to 
 shift for himself. He went from bad to worse, until 
 he became an habitual drunkard, without anything 
 to his name but the rags he had on his back. But 
 this did not prevent him from marrying a widow with 
 two children. He beat his wife and terrorized the 
 children until one day he fell into the hands of tffie 
 law. A former employer went his bail, which he im- 
 mediately jumped. 
 
 58 
 
But then began a new period. He was weary of 
 the hard life. He wandered from town to town, try- 
 ing to rid himself of his drink demon, and as a last 
 resort traveled about seventy miles to find a former 
 friend who had conquered his appetite for liquor. 
 This friend, a friend, indeed, told him simply and 
 directly of Jesus Christ, and His Gospel of salvation. 
 Francisco was skeptical. But the seed had been 
 sown, and during several more months of wandering 
 it grew and bore fruit. Francisco surrendered his 
 heart to the Lord; he was “converted,” for he turned 
 squarely about and started in the other direction. 
 
 It was a hard road. First he returned to the city 
 where he had been arrested and gave himself up to 
 justice. But the same friend who had paid his bail 
 secured his release. Then he returned to his family 
 and began to work to pay back the money his friend 
 had forfeited as bail. Soon he came to Curico, 
 where he and his wife joined our chapel. He was not 
 yet a saint, and though drink never conquered him, 
 his violent temper did. The fear-light in the eyes of 
 the twelve-year -old boy shows plainly enough what 
 had been suffered from that temper. But one who 
 observes him to-day can see him taking giant strides 
 upward on the narrow way. To-day his conscience 
 is more tender than that of many a well-fed, well- 
 clothed deacon who occupies the front pew every 
 Sabbath morn. He works faithfully for his family. 
 And he loves and serves his Lord as far as he knows, 
 this doorkeeper in the House of the Lord. 
 
 — By Mrs. David R. Edwards. 
 
 59 
 
Prayers That Cost Money 
 
 Our thoughts were recently called to a home 
 where the mother was absent for some time visiting 
 a married daughter. Another daughter, Carmela, al- 
 ways her pastor father’s right-hand helper, was in 
 charge. This daughter was mother, pastor’s wife 
 and housekeeper as well now, when her little sister 
 was taken seriously ill. She cared for her, she kept 
 up her work and she prayed. Everyone in that house 
 and outside friends as well, lifted up their voices to 
 God in faith. They plead as children with a loving 
 father for that dear child. They knew He would 
 hear and answer in the best way, the simple petitions 
 from stricken, earnest, humble hearts. All without 
 money and without price. 
 
 Only a few days after this little girl’s recover}^, 
 a stricken mother, quite beside herself, arrived at the 
 convent bar and asked for the head nun on duty. 
 Her story was a pitiful one, and our hearts ached 
 for her. Her little girl was lying seriously ill. She 
 had left the bedside to come to buy prayers to be said 
 on five consecutive days, at two pesos a mass, — she 
 could not afford more. ‘‘Ask the good priest to pray 
 long. Oh, I hope the blessed Virgin will hear and 
 heal, that my little one may soon j-ecover.” “To be 
 sure,” replied the nun, “I will take the money im- 
 mediately and to-morrow mass will be said for your 
 child, and let us hope she will soon recover.” Think 
 of it! Wait until to-morrow to plead for a dying 
 child. Oh, the joy of calling on God for our dear 
 ones; but the deep sorrow of seeing hundreds depend 
 
 6o 
 
on the power of one man,— the priest — ^to bring God’s 
 blessing to the home. 
 
 —By Bessie M. Smith. 
 
 Life in the Tenements in Chile 
 
 If any one wishes to know how from 70 per cent, 
 to 80 per cent of the population of our cities live, let 
 them go to any one of the thousands of ‘^conventi- 
 llos,” or tenement houses. The door that gives en- 
 trance to them is more or less like other doors, save, 
 perhaps, a notice, “Rooms to let.” At the end of a 
 narrow passage will be found an open court sur- 
 rounded by from twenty to fifty rooms, in which 
 nearly as many families live. With inadequate water 
 supply and the most limited conveniences, the rooms 
 often receiving both light and air by the door only, 
 do you wonder that at least one of every three babies 
 ' born in Chile dies before it arrives at the age of one 
 year ? 
 
 i Then think of the surroundings for the poor little 
 children who live. In one such “conventillo,” I was 
 talking with a shoemaker who was working in a little 
 lean-to beside his room. He and his boy of fifteen 
 were working at the bench. The boy was undersized 
 for twelve. Beside the bench stood a sewing ma- 
 chine, which they were paying for by instalments, 
 and with which the wife sewed the shoes. In this 
 same shed, open on one side, was the brazier, on 
 which all the cooking is done, and a few pots and 
 dishes on a box which served for a table. There was 
 barely room to turn arotmd. Another boy of sixteen 
 
 61 
 
works for a tobacconist as errand boy. There is a 
 pretty girl of seventeen and three small girls. The 
 older girl cooks and washes and irons for the whole 
 family. This shoemaker’s one room has a window, 
 and there are two visible beds, besides a box for the 
 baby. I wonder where they all sleep. Some families 
 have sheep skins under the niattresses, which are 
 dragged out and put on the floor at night for the chil- 
 dren. This floor was of bricks, and these broken in 
 many places, — certainly not very comfortable to sleep 
 on. There was no chair, but I was offered a seat 
 upon the end of a box, with as much courtesy as if it 
 had been an upholstered couch. Just before entering 
 this home I had seen an intoxicated woman with her 
 baby in her arms stagger into the room adjoining. 
 While we were talking she began to rave. “This is 
 dreadful for the children to hear,” I said. “I wish 
 they never heard anything worse,” the father replied. 
 “This is nothing.” 
 
 — ^By Mrs. J. F. Garvin. 
 
 The Conversion of a Chilean Terror 
 
 Six years ago he dwelt in the tents of wickedness. 
 Head and shoulders above the average Chilean in 
 height, his muscle was second only to his insatiable 
 thirst. A good workman when sober, he spent two- 
 thirds of his time in debauchery, and was the terror 
 alike of employers and fellow workmen because of 
 his foul mouth and his violent temper. After an un- 
 usually extended spree, he went down to the port in 
 pursuit of new adventures, and wandering aimlessly 
 
 62 
 
one evening through one of the quieter streets, was 
 attracted by the sound of singing. It seemed to come 
 from a building which had a very unfamiliar look, 
 being neither bar nor residence, and he stopped to lis- 
 ten. Something far down in his sin-wom heart 
 stirred at what seemed to him heavenly music, and he 
 would fain have investigated, but the unfamiliar at- 
 mosphere deterred him. With a sigh of great and 
 unspeakable longing, he passed on, to enter the near- 
 est bar; but the memory remained with him and he 
 often wondered what that place could have been. 
 
 Months later, one night a comrade invited him to 
 go to a meeting to be held by the “Canutos^^ (term of 
 reproach for evangelical Christians), and because his 
 friend was insistent and he had nothing else to do for 
 the moment, he went. As he entered the simple hall, 
 the girl at the organ began to play the air which had 
 so charmed and haunted him. Ah, here was the ex- 
 planation! Hungrily, greedily, he drank it in — -the 
 song first and then the sermon, and went forth a re- 
 deemed man, as great a miracle as Lazarus raised 
 from the dead. That night the grog-shop and the 
 gambling den lost their best customer. 
 
 It was good to see him the night of the dedication 
 of the Mission Building at Santa Isabel, the light of 
 heaven on his scarred and rugged face, as he stood 
 up before his comrades and said : *Wou fellows 
 know what I was, and you knov; what has changed 
 me. Come and try it, men; Jesus will do the same for 
 each of you!’’ 
 
 — From 1915 Year Book of the Presbyterian 
 Mission in Chile. 
 
 63 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 V 
 
 BRAZIL 
 
 The Worship of Saints 
 
 Do you know that images are as common in Brazil 
 as in China or India? Do you know they are really 
 worshiped? If questioned, the priests will tell you 
 that it is really God who is worshiped; the saint, rep- 
 resented by the image, is merely appealed to to present 
 the prayers before God, who is too busy to hear ordi- 
 nary mortals. But the large majority of the laity will 
 frankly tell you that they really pray to the image. 
 A woman promised a new dress to one of her images, 
 if the latter would grant a certain petition. A young 
 girl slapped her Saint Antonio (the patron saint of 
 lovers) and threw him under the bed because her love 
 affairs were not prospered ! 
 
 Here is the legend of Saint Benedict, the negro 
 saint, who is a prime favorite. It is told, together with 
 an incident of one of Benedict’s devotees, by Rev. 
 Paschoal Pitta, the young pastor in Piumhy, one of 
 the fields of the East Brazil Mission. 
 
 Benedict was a young negro cook, servant of 
 some avaricious priest. He used to steal every day 
 food and other things to give to the poor. One day 
 the priest called to Benedict as he was going out with 
 a basket of stolen food for the poor: “What have 
 you in the basket, Benedict?” And he, in confusion, 
 answered: “Flowers.” “Open the basket at once.” 
 
 65 
 
And to the negro’s great surprise, he found, upon 
 opening the basket, that the food had been changed 
 into flowers. Arriving at the home of the poor the 
 flowers turned again into food. Such is the story of 
 this “holy man,” one of the chief intercessors before 
 God. Here, too, is one of the great fallacies of the 
 Romish Church, that “the end justifies the means.” 
 He was a thief and a holy man ! 
 
 — Mrs. S. R. Gammon. 
 
 Out of the Dark into the Light 
 
 A few years ago, in one of the little towns of in- 
 terior Brazil, I was asked to go and see a woman who 
 was very sick. I knew her by reputation as one of 
 the most religious women in the community. She 
 was noted for the festivals which she celebrated for 
 the numerous images in her oratory; for the many 
 pilgrimages which she had made to the cfistant mira- 
 cle shrines; for her punctilious observance of all the 
 requirements of the ceremonial law of her church. 
 Like the woman of the Gospel story, “She had spent 
 all her living” in trying to get peace for her soul. 
 But the words of the Master had come true: in 
 drinking of the earthly fountains, her thirst had never 
 been quenched, and as she lay on what proved to be 
 her death-bed, her soul was in despair, and she sent 
 asking that the Protestant minister might come to 
 her. 
 
 She had never entered our church hall, for the 
 most awful lies about our services had been diligently 
 propagated. We were “emisaries of the devil, we 
 
 66 
 
prayed to the devil, we sang hymns in honor of the 
 devil,” etc., and so the poor woman had been afraid 
 to come to our services. 
 
 I went to the house, and they took me back to the 
 room where the poor soul lay. As I stood for a mo- 
 ment and looked at her, my heart went out in a very 
 earnest prayer that God would never ask me again to 
 look into another such face. Oh, I hope that never 
 again may I see such anguish, such utter despair, 
 such terrible bitterness in a woman’s eyes. I tried 
 to talk to her about her soul, but suddenly she cried 
 out, in the most awful tone, a tone which will ring 
 in my soul until the judgment day: ‘'Oh, don’t talk 
 to me about dying! I cannot die. Oh, I am afraid 
 to die I It is so dreadful out there. Oh, it is so dark 
 out there !” An eternity without Christ is dark ; it is 
 utter, hopeless darkness ! And that woman was 
 facing the dark alone ! 
 
 I told her of her Saviour, who died for her; of the 
 loving Father in heaven, who loved her and who was 
 calling her to come home to Himself. How she 
 drank it in! 
 
 Two days later, a messenger called and told me 
 to come very quickly, as the woman was dying and 
 wanted to see me. I went down to the house, and as 
 I entered through the little narrow hallway, I stum- 
 bled over the body of the husband, lying there dead 
 drunk on the floor. He had lived as a beast all his 
 days and had treated her as one. By the mother’s 
 side were the two little children—one a babe in arms, 
 and the other about two years old. You who are 
 mothers, think of leaving your babies to such a hus- 
 
 67 
 
band! But, oh, as I stood and looked down into the 
 quiet face, how I did thank God for the wonderful 
 Saviour we have. Now there was peace and joy in 
 that face. I stooped and said to her, “My sister, are 
 you afraid to die now?” And the eyes opened for the 
 last time on earth, radiant with that light which never 
 shone on earth or sea, and she spoke so quickly, “Oh, 
 no, I am not afraid now; I know that I am just going 
 home to my Father. It is all light now.” And she 
 was gone; out of the dark, into the light! 
 
 —By Rev. R. F. Lenington. 
 
 The Scare Crow Image 
 
 Several years ago a rich farmer in Brazil had a 
 sick wife. They were ignorant and superstitious and 
 visited many shrines in the hope that a cure might be 
 wrought. 
 
 The farmer had a rice field, and as the crop 
 ripened the birds became troublesome, so he told one 
 of his slaves to make a scarecrow. As the slave was 
 a carpenter, he made a good one out of a log, and 
 dressed it up in some old clothes. After the rice was 
 harvested a big flood came along and carried the 
 scarecrow down the river for some miles. Some boys 
 found it, and told the village priest. He warned 
 them not to tell anybody what they had discovered. He 
 then went and got the scarecrow and put it up in the 
 church, telling the people it was an image of a saint 
 fallen from heaven, that would work miracles and 
 cures. People flocked from far and near, and 
 brought money, hoping to get relief from various ills. 
 
 68 
 
The sick wife of the farmer, learning of the im- 
 age, asked her husband to take her to visit it, in the 
 hope of getting a cure. Her husband told her he had 
 little faith in its value, but if she wanted to go he 
 would take her. They took with them, to look after 
 the horses, the slave who had made the scarecrow 
 for the rice field. When they reached the church and 
 the slave walked in behind them, he laughed aloud 
 when he saw the image of the saint. He was reproved 
 for his irreverence by his mistress, until he declared 
 that the saint set up by the priest was no other than 
 the scarecrow which he himself had made. 
 
 • — Facts related by Rev. George A. Landes. 
 
 Why a Man of Sixty Learned to Read 
 
 Henrique Gomes, a devoted man of sixty, was 
 living in the country in Brotas, in the State of Sao 
 Paulo, Brazil. In his home was a shrine at which he 
 and his wife and thirteen children worshiped each 
 day. It so happened that one day, some years ago, 
 one of our missionaries, Dr. Chamberlain, came to 
 this town to preach. There attended the service a 
 vicious man, horse racer and gambler. He was im- 
 pressed by what he heard, and told Mr. Gomes the 
 next day about the service, and said if in his youth 
 he had heard such teaching he would be a different 
 man. He said the missionary had preached from a 
 book called the Bible. '‘What is the Bible ?’" asked 
 Mr. Gomes. The other man could not tell him. Mr. 
 Gomes said he would ask the priest. The priest re- 
 plied, “It is the word of God.^^ “The word of God!” 
 
said Mr. Gomes, “and you never told me there was 
 such a book. I am going to get it.” “Much good it 
 will do you,” said the priest. “You do not know how 
 to read.” “If that’s it, I will learn how to read,” re- 
 plied his parishioner. So this man of sixty secured 
 a teacher and learned with his children to read. 
 
 In the Bible he read in the second commandment 
 that it is wrong to have images; so he took down his 
 images of the saints from the shrine in his home, put 
 them in a sack and threw them in the river. His old 
 mother said if Henrique did this, he must have some 
 good reason, and so she would destroy her’s, too. 
 
 The whole family became believers and Mr. 
 Gomes was later elected an elder in the Presbyterian 
 Church. Meeting Mr. Chamberlain after his con- 
 version, he asked the missionary if his father and 
 grandfather knew about Christ, and if so, why they 
 did not come and tell them. 
 
 Mr. Gomes became the center of Christian influ- 
 ence. He was the constable of his district, and 
 whereas before he became a Christian there were 
 frequent fights and arrests ; after he became a believer, 
 he himself acted as peacemaker between quarreling 
 families and changed the whole atmosphere of the 
 district. 
 
 — By Rev. George A. Landes 
 
 70 
 
Why So Paori Would Not Worship the Image 
 
 He was a tiny boy of Brazil and lived within a 
 stone’s throw of a beautiful orange grove. He had 
 only heard about Jesus a short time before the inci- 
 dent, of which you are now to hear, occurred, but 
 so full was he of the good news that he told it every- 
 where he went. 
 
 So Paori, for this was his name, had been brought 
 up to worship images, and to pray to Mary, the Moth- 
 er of Jesus, but one day a missionary came and told 
 him that although Mary was a wonderful woman 
 whom the heavenly Father loved very much, she 
 was not to be worshiped as God. So Paori believed 
 the missionary and had ceased to believe in images 
 or pray to the Virgin Mary. 
 
 Not far from Curityba, in the town where So 
 Paori lived, there was built a beautiful new Roman 
 Catholic church. It was ready for services, except 
 for one thing, it had no patron saint and no image of 
 such saint on the altar. 
 
 A company of villagers gathered to talk the mat- 
 ter over. All the money had been spent on the build- 
 ing itself ; therefore, the image must be inexpensive, 
 and be made of wood instead of carved stone or 
 metal. After they had talked quite a while Paori, 
 who was standing with the crowd listening, heard an 
 orange grower say, “Well, you can have one of my 
 orange trees, if some one of you can carve an image 
 from the trunk.” A carpenter spoke up quickly and 
 said he would do the carving for nothing, so the 
 crowd walked down the path into the grove where 
 
 71 
 
the trees were heavy with delicious fruit and they 
 cut down the tree, So Paori and the other children 
 scrambling for the oranges as they were shaken 
 down. 
 
 Two weeks passed, and word came from the car- 
 penter that the image was ready. A time was ap- 
 pointed, and it was taken with much ceremony to 
 the church. Here a crowd waited to do it homage, 
 and after the priest blessed it, the crowd bowed in 
 wonder before it, presenting to it gifts of tinsel, 
 jewelry and bright bits of calico. All bowed except 
 little So Paori, who stood erect, his head thrown 
 back and his tiny hands in his trousers pockets. 
 
 ‘"So Paori, bend the knee,’’ said the priest. So 
 Paori shook his head. The priest repeated his com- 
 mand, his face becoming red with anger at the child’s 
 attitude. 
 
 “You won’t, won’t you; well, why won’t you?” 
 he asked, shaking the child rudely by the shoulders. 
 
 “I’ll tell you why I won’t, padre. I used to know 
 that image very intimately when it was only an orange 
 tree, and I’m not going to worship it as God now.” 
 
 — From story told the editor by Mrs. MacLaren. 
 In Over Sea and Land, June, 1910. 
 
 Afraid of the Bible 
 
 In Brazilian homes the Bible is almost unknown. 
 Many children have never heard of it, and many peo- 
 ple live and die without ever seeing a Bible. 
 
 Rev. H. C. Tucker of the American Bible Society 
 tells of a man he met who was so afraid of the Bible 
 
 72 
 
that he refused even to look at or handle it. He said 
 he was afraid to touch it, that really he had as soon 
 take hold of the most poisonous snake as to touch 
 that book; he believed if he were to take it in his 
 hand, he would fall dead on the spot; and trembling 
 with fear he asked the agent to move on. 
 
 The children are never told of the One who is al- 
 ways ready to hear and answer prayer, but are taught 
 to bow down before images, to make promises to the 
 saints, or to make long journeys to visit some holy 
 spot, in order to obtain answers to their prayers. 
 There is a large granite rock in the State of Parana, 
 not far from where I lived, that is constantly visited 
 by persons who go there to worship. They say there 
 are marks on it which are the footprints left by the 
 animal that carried Mary and the child Jesus down 
 into Egypt when they were fleeing from Herod. Just 
 think of it! What a long journey they must have 
 had! 
 
 — By Mrs. G. A. Sands, in Over Sea and Land, 
 June, 1911. 
 
 Our Little Cousins in Brazil 
 
 Almost as soon as a child is born in a Roman 
 Catholic family in Brazil the priest is sent for to 
 christen it. If not baptized, it is believed that the 
 child, should it die, would go to a dreadful place 
 known as “limbo.” A little rosary, or string of 
 beads, with a cross attached which has been blessed 
 by the priest is placed about the child’s neck. The 
 child is generally given the name of the saint on 
 
 73 
 
whose day it is born. When the child begins to 
 talk, it is taught to speak of God as “our Papa in 
 heaven.” Jesus they call “the little child Jesus.” 
 They know nothing of Him as the Saviour. 
 
 The children in Brazil have little or nothing to 
 help them live pure and beautiful lives. They are 
 encouraged to be vain, deceitful, and false. They 
 learn to use vile and vulgar words. They grow old 
 in the ways of the world while they are yet chil- 
 dren. There are no Sunday schools (only those in 
 connection with the mission schools), no books 
 and papers suitable to their years, no sweet hymns. 
 At all the Romish services there are nothing but 
 Latin chants, not one word of which is understood. 
 They are taught to look first of all to the Virgin 
 Mary for salvation. The priests proclaim Mary as 
 the door of heaven. Christ is only a minor charac- 
 ter in the plan of salvation. He can do nothing un- 
 less Mary permits it, or rather unless she suggests 
 it. God is represented as an angry judge with 
 whom Mary must intercede. When our little 
 cousins in Brazil go over their rosary on saying 
 their prayers, they repeat ten prayers to Mary to 
 one to God. The very heart of their prayers is 
 ever and always : “Holy Mary, mother of God, 
 pray for us sinners now and in the hour of death.” 
 One of the chief teachings of the Roman Catholic 
 Church, which is here copied word for word, is: 
 “Many things asked of God are not received; but 
 if asked of Mary, they are obtained.” 
 
 The children in Brazil are taught to regard St. 
 Anthony, or San Antonio, as they call him, as the 
 
 74 
 
great saint of little children, the one on whom they 
 call for help, especially if they want to win in a 
 game or at school. St. Anthony, they are told, was 
 the playfellow of Christ when he was a child; that 
 he carried Christ’s playthings for Him and assisted 
 Him in His sports. 
 
 The one great cause of this spiritual darkness is 
 ignorance of the Bible. The people are not permit- 
 ted to read the Bible. Only the priests have this 
 privilege. Their excuse for keeping the Bible from 
 the people is that the people will not get the right 
 meaning. Therefore the teachings of the Bible 
 must come through the priests. But they seldom 
 teach it correctly, and very often it is taught incor- 
 rectly. For instance, in the Bible of the Romish 
 Church the second commandment, “Thou shalt not 
 make unto thyself any graven image,” does not 
 appear. 
 
 Instead of teaching the people the truth, the 
 priests lead them off into all kinds of errors. They 
 encourage them in their superstitions. For their 
 own selfish purposes they keep the people in dark- 
 ness. 
 
 Rev. H. C. Tucker, of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 
 tells of a man he met while traveling on a train who 
 had with him a boy of nine years, terribly burned 
 on his face, neck, and arms. The man kept near 
 him a huge bundle over which he watched closely. 
 Mr. Tucker learned that the bundle contained fifty 
 pounds of candles. The man and boy were on their 
 way to the shrine of a saint who had the power to 
 overcome fire. The man told Mr. Tucker that when 
 
 75 
 
the boy was two years old he had been fearfully 
 burned. The priest had encouraged the father to 
 pray to this saint. When the boy got well, the 
 father made a vow that as soon as he possibly 
 could he would place the child’s weight in candles 
 before the shrine of the saint in a distant town. It 
 had taken him seven years to save the money to 
 buy the candles, for he was a poor man. 
 
 — By A. M. B., Foreign Department Woman’s 
 Missionary Council, M. E. Church. 
 
 76 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 VI 
 
 VENEZUELA 
 
 Moving Stores 
 
 South America is a land of moving stores. Stores 
 on four legs, stores on two legs. Water-venders 
 carry water in skin bags and sell it by the cup. The 
 milkman of South America takes his cow along with 
 him. The bakery usually consists of two donkeys 
 wearing pocket blankets and in these blankets are 
 scores of loaves of bread and dozens of strange, dry 
 bread that the poorest people eat.^ 
 
 Bullocks draw carts laden with household goods, 
 but will not deliver purchases to your house, and you 
 must play delivery wagon, and put your pride in your 
 pocket if you mean to buy a kettle, boiler, washboard 
 or any of the many things a missionary will need. 
 
 I say that a missionary will need because the na- 
 tives of South America, though they do use kettles, 
 never use boilers, and the very thought of boiling 
 clothes or rubbing them on a washboard would make 
 them call on the saints to preserve them and you from 
 such shocking extravagances and I confess that to 
 wash their clothes in the way to which we are accus- 
 tomed would doubtless make them fall apart; first, 
 because they are of such poor quality, and secondly, 
 because they wear them until they are literally pot 
 black. 
 
 77 
 
Do you know how the children of Venezuela take 
 a bath? The country is hilly, and when the rain 
 comes it washes down the streets and makes great 
 pools in the valleys. In these the children bathe. 
 And in the river the grown people take their ‘Tub” 
 on special occasions. 
 
 One of the most profitable trades of South 
 America is that of image selling. Tall images, short 
 images, wooden images, stone images, images for a 
 fraction of a cent apiece and images— but there are 
 very few of these- — costing many dollars. The deal- 
 ers carry their ware on their backs and their arms, 
 and start out laden with the statues, to return, often, 
 at night, empty handed. 
 
 — From Over Sea and Land, June, 1910. 
 
 Selling the Bible on Lake Maracaibo^ 
 
 A short time ago we visited a small city on the 
 other shore of Lake Maracaibo, Venezuela, for the 
 purpose of spreading the Scriptures. We called on 
 the mayor first of all, and he received us very cor- 
 dially, bought a Bible, and took us out to introduce 
 us to some of the prominent people of the city. 
 Then we started out from house to house, selling 
 the Scriptures. At first the people were somewhat 
 suspicious, but soon the news about the little book- 
 lets and the foreigners selling them spread through 
 the town, and the people grew more and more in- 
 terested in getting the Word of God. They even 
 called to us from the houses asking for the Gospel. 
 The little boys came running with their pennies 
 and asked, “Have you a Gospel of Luke?” “May 
 I have a Gospel of John?” etc. We had only one 
 
 78 
 
day to stay, and we tried to cover as large a part 
 of the town as possible in that time. Some of the 
 young men were so interested that they went with 
 us from house to house introducing us and recom- 
 mending the books. The result was that before 
 evening we had entirely exhausted our supplies, 
 and everywhere people were seen reading or talking 
 about the Scriptures. 
 
 When we were ready to leave we met the mayor 
 again, and while we stood on a street corner talk- 
 ing to him, a man came up and said somebody had 
 told him that our books were bad and that one of 
 them had been torn to pieces. When the mayor 
 heard that he said: 
 
 “These books are good and they are not to be 
 torn up. If they were not good books I would not 
 allow them to be sold in this city.’’ 
 
 This man is far from being a Christian, but he 
 knew that the reading of the Bible would have a 
 good influence over the lives of the people, and he 
 desired to improve the moral life in the town. 
 
 We certainly had a remarkable day, and the 
 whole city seemed stirred by a power from God. 
 The priest was out of town that day; but he is sure 
 to make a fight against the Gospel. Yet God has 
 promised to watch over His Word. 
 
 These people often have a hard struggle before 
 they dare to read and search the “forbidden book.” 
 Not long ago I offered a little book, containing ex- 
 tracts from the Bible, to a young man. He took the 
 book and looked into it, but when he saw that it 
 was from the Bible he said that it was forbidden to 
 read it. 
 
 79 
 
Whenever I hear anyone say such things, that 
 are contrary to God’s Word and the truth, I have 
 a habit of asking him, “Who says so?” even though 
 I know very well who gives such commands. But 
 it always gives a good chance to tell about a higher 
 authority, who also has something to say in the 
 matter. I asked this man the same question, and 
 of course I received the usual answer. “The priests 
 say so.” To this I said nothing, but opened my 
 Bible and showed the young man some places 
 where God speaks to us about reading His Word, 
 and about the blessings we receive from reading it. 
 Then I asked him whether he thought that it would 
 be wise for me to obey the commands of some in- 
 ferior or pretended officer of this city if he com- 
 manded something that was contrary to the wishes 
 of the highest authorites or the laws of the coun- 
 try. This opened his eyes some, and he admitted 
 that it would be dangerous for me to do so. Now 
 he was willing to read the Bible further, and for 
 two hours we continued to search the Scriptures. 
 Afterward he was glad to take the book home and 
 read it. 
 
 In this way the first seed must be sown all over 
 South America. What happened in the above-men- 
 tioned town might well happen in hundreds of 
 others, if there were workers to go to them. 
 
 May the people of North America see the re- 
 sponsibility they have for these people ,their next- 
 door neighbors. 
 
 — From the Bible Society Record, October, 1907. 
 
 80 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 VII 
 
 BOLIVIA, PERU and ECUADOR 
 
 Carrying the Bible to South America’s Darkest 
 Fields 
 
 The darkest part of the American hemisphere 
 is found in the republics of Bolivia, Peru and Ecua- 
 dor — the old empire of the Incas. . . . The consti- 
 tution and laws have put more restrictions on re- 
 ligious liberty in those countries than anywhere 
 else in all America. The Inquisition was not finally 
 abolished till 1821. As late as 1836 the penalty was 
 death for holding any worship other than the 
 Roman Catholic in Bolivia and Peru. As late as 
 1896 the constitution of Ecuador excluded all other 
 worship. To this day in the three republics 
 Protestants are subject to exceptional legal priva- 
 tions. A colporteur in Argentina, named Jose 
 Mongiardino, after good success in the northern 
 provinces of that republic, could not rest when they 
 told him that he must not cross the frontier into 
 Bolivia. At last he did cross it with a small quan- 
 tity of books, but a high ecclesiastical functionary 
 of Contagaita, one of the cities that he canvassed, 
 had declared that Mongiardino would not get out 
 of Bolivia alive. In a lonely place on the road he 
 was beset by two emissaries of the priesthood and 
 murdered. . . . Heroes were not lacking to fol- 
 low in his footsteps, though the difficulties seemed 
 
 81 
 
insurmountable. One reached the frontier, but was 
 providentially turned back. Two others reached 
 Sucre by a rapid rush, and then turned back. At 
 last, however, a band of three from the east coast 
 pushed a steady canvass clear through Bolivia and 
 on through Peru, returning to Montevideo by sea 
 to report that the land of the Incas was penetrable. 
 One of these was Andrew M. Milne, the veteran 
 agent of the American Bible Society, who deserves 
 to be called the Livingstone of South America. 
 
 — Thomas B. Wood. 
 
 Si 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 VIII 
 
 NEW MEXICO 
 THE POWER OF GOD’S WORD 
 Three Illustrations 
 
 When Rev. Samuel Gorman was recalled from 
 New Mexico at the outbreak of the Civil War, he 
 left behind him at least one Spanish Bible. This 
 was in the possession of a young- man who had been 
 in Mr. Gorman’s employ. He continued to read 
 the Bible and when he married he read it to his wife, 
 who learned to believe in the Book and love it as 
 her husband did. There was no Protestant church, 
 no missionary to help them, and so they worshiped 
 alone until the Congregational Church established 
 a mission in their vicinity. This man, who was still 
 living in 1914, was the first convert of Protestant 
 missions in New Mexico. 
 
 A Spanish Bible was picked up on the road near 
 Las Vegas in 1868, the finder exchanging it for a 
 spelling book. The man with whom he made the 
 exchange was fond of reading, and began at once 
 to study his new book. He gained some knowl- 
 edge of the way of life and told the story to others 
 as well as he could, in a wonderful way preparing 
 the field for missionaries who later reached his 
 neighborhood. 
 
 83 
 
Father Gomez was another to whom the Word 
 was revealed. His ancestors came to this country 
 with the Spanish conquerors, living in the manner 
 of the patriarchal families for three hundred years. 
 In some way he had seen a Spanish Bible and was 
 impressed with the truths it contained. Although 
 he was a poor man he determined to possess a copy. 
 He borrowed a yoke of oxen and with another ox 
 to sell, started on his journey of 15 miles to Santa 
 Fe to secure the Book. The ox was sold for $25, 
 and the Bible purchased. Father Gomez read with 
 joy; accepting the teachings and telling his friends 
 of the love of God, he formed them into a group of 
 Bible Christians, among whom a church was soon 
 organized when Presbyterian missionaries came 
 to them. When the General Assembly of that de- 
 nomination met in New York in 1889 a young man 
 spoke before a group of women holding that price- 
 less Bible in his hands. It had lost its covers from, 
 use. The young man, a grandson of Father Gomez, 
 told what a power it had been in bringing people to 
 God, and said in closing, 'T bless and praise God for 
 the priceless gift, and I would not part with it for 
 all the world beside.’’ 
 
 —From McLean- William s’ 
 
 “Old Spain in New America” 
 
 The Two Captures of Acoma 
 
 From Laguna, New Mexico, you may drive to 
 historic Acoma, the “sky city” of the Indians, lo- 
 cated on a lofty rock. Back in 1598, this strong- 
 
 84 
 
hold was attacked by the Spanish general Don 
 Juan Ohate, who sought to subdue all the Pueblo 
 Indians of New Mexico. “The chief men came 
 down and invited Ohate and his followers to visit 
 them. They finally consented, and barely escaped 
 annihilation at the hands of the Indians. The 
 refusal of Onate to enter Estufu, or underground 
 Council House, was all that saved them. The 
 Indians had concealed a band of armed warriors in 
 the darkness, prepared to avenge the sufferings of 
 their countrymen in the other pueblos. 
 
 In November of the same year the “Sky City” 
 was again visited by another Spanish force under 
 Juan de Zaldivar, and when they were scattered 
 about the village the Indians suddenly attacked 
 from all sides; of the whole band four only escaped 
 by a daring leap from the cliff, fortunately striking 
 upon great sand heaps below. 
 
 In January of the following year a brother of 
 Zaldivar made an attack upon Acoma and after a 
 most bloody battle succeeded in capturing the 
 place, but only after nearly all the defenders were 
 killed. Acoma was later repeopled by the Indians, 
 but they never were friendly to their Spanish 
 conquerors. 
 
 The second capture of Acoma was in 1629 by 
 the good Fray Juan Ramirez. This apostle to the 
 Indians determined to establish a mission upon the 
 lofty rock, and alone left Santa Fe, refusing an 
 escort of soldiers, bearing no weapon but love in 
 his heart and the crucifix in his hand. Footsore 
 
 85 
 
and weary he came to the foot of the rock, but as 
 he began the ascent of the narrow stairway the 
 Indians poured down upon him such a flight of ar- 
 rows that he was compelled to take refuge under 
 the over-hanging cliff. Just then a little girl toppled 
 and fell from the summit, but was caught by a 
 sand-covered ledge out of sight of the people above, 
 who supposed she had fallen to her death. The 
 Fray quickly gathered the child in his arms and 
 stepping boldly into the path once more, carried her 
 safel)^ to the top of the rock. The Indians, believ- 
 ing a miracle had been wrought, received him rev- 
 erently, as one coming from the gods. For more 
 than twenty years he dwelt among them, teaching 
 them to read and write and instructing them in the 
 doctrines of the Church. He was greatly beloved 
 by them, and his name with that of Las Casas 
 should be written in letters of gold over against 
 the black record of so many of the adventurers. 
 The Franciscans won, in a most remarkable man- 
 ner, the love and confidence of the Indians, and 
 their consecration and benevolent interest in the 
 victims of Spanish exploitation is the one bright 
 page in the history of Spanish conquest in America. 
 One of the most interesting, most majestic and 
 massive of the old churches stands on the rock of 
 Acoma, recalling the conquest of peace by Fray 
 Ramirez.’’ 
 
 — From McLean- Willi AM s’ 
 '‘Old Spain in New America.” 
 
 86 
 
Children’s Day in Purgatory 
 
 “Suppose you were taught that they observe 
 ‘children’s day’ in purgatory; that every child there 
 for whom friends on earth buy a candle will have a 
 lighted candle to carry in the procession, and that 
 every child for whom a candle is not bought on 
 earth marches with the procession, but with its up- 
 raised finger burning; would you not, if you be- 
 lieved it, pay any price for a candle, so your child 
 might not have its finger burn? 
 
 “Suppose you were taught that unless you had 
 the priest’s forgiveness for your sins and his bless- 
 ing as you lay on your dying bed that you would go 
 to hell ; would you not get money from any source, 
 so you might have the sprinkling with holy water 
 and the anointing with oil at the hand of the priest 
 who had the keeping of your soul in his hand? 
 
 “►Suppose you believed that your baby would 
 be lost unless the priest baptized that child ; would 
 you not get the money for the baptism and give it 
 to the priest, no matter at what sacrifice?” 
 
 These are things which the priests of the Roman 
 Catholic Church have been teaching to the super- 
 stious Mexicans in New Mexico, right within the 
 borders of the United States. 
 
 — From McLean-Williams’ 
 “Old Spain in New America.” 
 
 The Penitentes of New Mexico 
 
 The Order of Penitent Brothers was even more 
 active in the days of the early missionaries than it 
 
 87 
 
is to-day. This is the development of the Third 
 Order of Saint Francais, the name having been 
 changed three centuries ago in Spain before the 
 Franciscan monks brought it to this country. In 
 America self-torture was added to the original re- 
 quirements of the order. The members, some 
 twenty-five or thirty-five thousand strong, claim 
 allegiance to the Catholic Church, although the 
 Church will not allow the celebration of their rites 
 within its buildings. Men and women are mem- 
 bers, the women meeting separately except during 
 the services of Holy Week. Good Friday is the 
 day on which the religious rites are especially car- 
 ried out, although each Friday in Lent service is 
 conducted at the Morado and processions are held 
 at night in which torture is undergone. On Good 
 Friday is held what is called the Procession to Cal- 
 vary. Several men carry heavy wooden crosses 
 bound to their naked backs. Others, stripped to 
 the waist, scourge themselves as they pass along 
 the road with scourges dipped in salt water to make 
 them sting more cruelly. The backs bleed under 
 the cutting scourge and men, exhausted through 
 pain, fall down only to be urged on by those attend- 
 ing them. 
 
 The general idea that the Crucifixion as enacted 
 by the Penitentes is dying out is denied by those 
 who are upon the scene. The nailing of the victim, 
 or hero, as he prefers to be regarded, to the cross, 
 does not take place, although he begs for the nails, 
 believing the endurance of this greater agony is a 
 glory to him; but a man is stretched, bound with 
 
ropes upon the cross, his side pierced until the blood 
 flows from it, and then the cross is elevated. 
 
 In “Our Mexicans” Rev. Robert M. Craig has 
 given a vivid description of the services in the 
 Morado or Holy Dwelling, to which he was ad- 
 mitted through the influence of a friend. “The 
 building is of adobe, with large sliding doors in one 
 end, and with but one small, round hole in one side 
 for light and ventilation. The floor is native earth, 
 except at the end where the altar is located. In 
 front of this table, on a small stool, sit two men, 
 each holding a stone in his hand. Directly in front 
 of the stool, but on the earthen floor at some dis- 
 tance from the front of the altar platform, is a stand 
 on which is a wooden triangle, having one lighted 
 candle on the apex, three on the base, and five on 
 either side. In front of this the Penitentes stand 
 facing the lights. These men for days have been 
 torturing themselves. Now their heads and backs 
 and arms are bandaged. These men we would sup- 
 pose to be the most religious in the community; 
 instead, they are regarded by the people as the most 
 deluded and of the lower class, doing penace not 
 only for the sins they have committed, but for 
 those which they intend to commit during the com- 
 ing year. 
 
 “All things being ready, at the blast of a trum- 
 pet the meeting is in progress. The choristers un- 
 der the table sing and play one verse. The men in 
 front of the table strike three times on the seats 
 with the stones they hold in their hands, then one 
 of the Penitentes steps forward and extinguishes 
 
 89 
 
one of the lights. This continues until all the lights 
 but one have disappeared. There is silence for a 
 moment. Then a large, flat surface, probably nine 
 by twelve feet, apparently of wood, covered with 
 zinc, wTich in its turn is covered with leather, is 
 placed on the floor. The doors in the front of the 
 building are closed and barred. The Hermanas 
 range themselves about the room. The music is 
 again started, and at a given signal the last light 
 is gone. From boxes and barrels previously ranged 
 round the room, ropes 'and chains and sticks are 
 drawn, and for about one half-hour the clashing of 
 chains and the clamor of other instruments is 
 maddening. 
 
 “The noise, the groans, and the darkness I can 
 never forget. If at any time I want an illustration 
 of that ‘outer darkness’ I only think of that awful 
 night in the Penitentes’ meeting-house. 
 
 “What does it all mean? Not ‘the arrival of the 
 soul in purgatory,’ as some one has said. As the 
 candles are again lighted, I see one of the Peni- 
 tentes go forward and take from the wall a cross on 
 which is an image intended to represent our Sav- 
 iour, who has died during the darkness, and at once 
 the whole mystery is clear. The darkness, with all 
 the unearthly sounds, is intended to represent the 
 transactions at Calvary on the Good Friday night 
 when the ‘King of Glory’ bowed His head and gave 
 up the ghost. 
 
 “After this service the image on the cross is 
 borne from the little chapel to the house of a friend 
 where entertainment has been provided, and there 
 
 90 
 
the music is kept up until the morning, when all 
 return to the Morado, from which they go to their 
 homes in peace.” 
 
 — From McLean-Williams’ 
 “Old Spain in New America.” 
 
 Burning in Hell 
 
 Another missionary tells of a daring attempt of 
 one of the clergy to prove to his people the punish- 
 ment for disobeying the authority of the clergy: 
 “A mother of three grown sons was dying. She 
 had come to doubt the sanctity and genuineness of 
 the priesthood, and especially of the priest in this 
 particular village, and her last request was that 
 they would not allow him to bury her. This request 
 they honored, laying her away without the relig- 
 ious ceremony. Soon the husband was called upon 
 by the priest to explain why he did not request 
 him to say mass at the burial. He told his wife’s 
 wishes in the matter. The priest told him his wife 
 was in hell and would remain there until he had 
 mass for her deliverance. The man was rather 
 bold and dared to dispute the belief that his wife 
 was in torment, ‘for,’ he said, ‘my wife was a good 
 woman.’ ‘I will prove to you next Sabbath,’ said 
 the priest, ‘that your wife is burning in hell.’ It 
 became known that the demonstration was to take 
 place, so there was a great crowd gathered to see 
 the work. The priest led the way to the cemetery, 
 armed with his vessel of holy water and his crucifix 
 with a long staff. When he reached the grave he 
 
 91 
 
pressed the staff down into the grave some two feet 
 or more and worked it about until the hole was left 
 open. He then poured holy water into the hole. 
 It was only a little while until a crackling like fire 
 was heard and something like smoke began to es- 
 cape. The priest had made good and told the 
 wicked man that the smoke was from hell, where 
 his wife was in torment. The demonstration was 
 a success, and the man was convinced, and began 
 negotiations with the priest for terms to get her 
 out. He was told that owing to the aggravation 
 of his crime it would take $500. This he could not 
 pay, so he was in a great state. You see he was espe- 
 cially guilty, because he had tried to evade the 
 established forms of the holy church. His wife’s 
 sister came to the rescue. She told the man to 
 make no contract, but to go home with her and 
 she would show him what to do. He did so. After 
 all had gone from the cemetery she told her 
 brother-in-law to get a shovel and go with her. 
 They went to the grave and opened it and found 
 there a pile of quick lime, which, of course, began 
 to slack when the water was poured on it. This 
 happened a few years ago, but thanks to Him who 
 will lead all who care to follow, the day of such 
 things is fast passing, and the little weak churches 
 and the mission schools are bringing about the 
 change, slowly, it seems at times, but truly, truly.” 
 
 This occurred in the southwest of our own 
 United States. 
 
 —From McLean- Willi AM s’ 
 “Old Spain in New America.” 
 
 92 
 
Latin American Stories 
 
 IX 
 
 CUBA 
 
 CHILD LIFE IN CUBA 
 
 Let us go to Cuba for a little visit and meet 
 some of her boys and girls. I will introduce you to 
 Jose, Manuel, Dolores, Horacio, and Angela. They 
 will very politely shake your hand and say: “Tengo 
 much gusto de conocerle” (I am very glad to know 
 you). Then before very long you will all be playing 
 London Bridge, drop the handkerchief, or baseball. 
 When the bell rings for school, they will become 
 very quiet, step into line, and march to their class- 
 rooms. Some of them will study their lessons in 
 English and others in Spanish. How do you think 
 you would like to study arithmetic or geography in 
 Spanish or German or Chinese? These children are 
 anxious to learn English; so they study their les- 
 sons hard, though many times they make very funny 
 mistakes. 
 
 If you should visit the public schools, you would 
 hear the children studying out loud. What a per- 
 fect hubbub ! But that is the Cuban way. 
 
 Now I shall tell you something very sad. 
 Dolores is nearly fifteen years old and will soon be 
 too big to come to school. Next year she will have 
 to stay at home, because it is not proper for her to 
 go on the streets alone nor to carry books. Dolores 
 speaks English well, but she is just in the fourth 
 
 93 
 
grade, and she will receive no more education. 
 Really she will be considered quite a well-educated 
 girl. 
 
 There are many children in Cuba who do not 
 go to school at all, although the country has a law 
 requiring them to be educated to a certain extent. 
 The law is not enforced, however ; so these children 
 run all over the streets and make disturbances out- 
 side schoolrooms and church windows. 
 
 The saddest thing about the children of Cuba 
 is that they do not know and love Jesus Christ as 
 He wants them to. They have no Bible ; for all the 
 Catholic Bibles are in the churches, and they are 
 written in Latin. The children would tell you, if 
 you should ask them, that they have a Bible ; but 
 upon seeing it, you discover that it is a prayer book. 
 Many of them do not know what a Bible is. If 
 one should obtain a Bible, the priest would prob- 
 ably take it away from him. 
 
 The people worship the saints and believe that 
 they have power to answer prayers and to perform 
 miracles. There are many images in the churches, 
 and each one is supposed to represent some saint. 
 The children hear more about the saints than they 
 do about anything else. One little girl told her 
 teacher that Satan was a saint; another said that 
 God was a saint. 
 
 During Easter week the churches are full of 
 people trying to obtain forgiveness for their sins. 
 Every good Catholic has to go to church during 
 Easter time. On the Sunday before Easter they 
 had a special service to celebrate the triumphal en- 
 
 94 
 
try of Jesus (Palm Sunday). Every one in the 
 church was given a palm branch which the priests 
 had blessed; then they marched in a procession 
 around the church. These palm branches are sup- 
 posed to keep away evil spirits and disease. On 
 Thursday the bishop washed the feet of twelve beg- 
 gars in celebration of the washing of the disciples^ 
 feet. On Friday they put the image of Christ on 
 the cross. When they took it down that evening 
 they put it in a glass coffin, where it stayed until 
 nine o’clock Saturday morning. Thousands of peo- 
 ple visited the church to kiss the image of Jesus. 
 During the time that the image was in the coffin 
 the heavens were supposed to be closed. No sins 
 could be forgiven; but at nine o’clock the bells be- 
 gan to ring and the cathedral clock to chime to 
 notify the people that the heavens were opened 
 again. 
 
 One little girl told a missionary that she could 
 not play Friday, but would have to be very sad, for 
 God was dead. The children really believe that 
 God dies every year. 
 
 Cuban children think that Jesus is an image 
 with a crown of thorns on His head and a wound in 
 His side. They do not know that He arose from 
 the dead to save them and that He can fill their 
 lives with a blessed peace and joy. 
 
 — By Manelle M. Forster, in leaflet published 
 by Woman’s Missionary Council, M. E. 
 Church, South. 
 
 95