213
June 1943
Chepil Finds the Way By MARJORIE DAVIS and v;,-. ANNE HAZELTON
B HEPIL walked slowly around the corner of the small grass-, roofed hut that looked much village of Apas, nestled far back in the mountains of Mexico. It was his home and he loved everything about it. He loved the low houses, the peo ple that lived in them, and even the high mountains that surrounded the narrow valley. But the “father son god of the mountains” seemed to frown down at him today. - On other days
doing that all day, just to look at Maruch when she didn’t know he was looking, so he could remember this last day for a loiig time. Maruch was making the corn cakes , that she made every day after she had cooked the corn and ground it. There were more c a k e s today, for extra ones would be needed for the journey tomorrow. Maruch had no time for playing. It seemed to Chepil that she had never played—so long had she been doing the work of a
thought brought no smile to his sad face. “Are you there, Chepil?” Maruch c lled from the central room of *the little home. “I’m here, Sister,” he replied softly. Maruch wfis always afraid he would get lost, and she seemed more fearful than ever, today. Tomorrow he would say good-by to Maruch, too—to Ma ruch who had been like a mother to him in the last years. He peeped in side the narrow door. He had been
like all the other houses in the Indian
mother. It was Maruch who . spun t h r e a d , wove the cloth, and made the clothes for the family. She had to carry water from the center of the village and wash the clothes down at the public wash hole on the rocks. She got up at dawn, and t h o u g h Chepil did all he could to help her, it seemed she was always working. It made a big lump come into his throat to watch her and to know that he would not see her again for a long time. Maybe he’d better go play w i t h his dog, he thought. As Chepil turned away, his hand brushed against the large w o o d e n cross planted in the dirt just out side the door.; He. stopped and looked at it closely, a little frown on his brown face, his dark eyes puzzled. It had always been there. There was nothing differ-, ent a b o u t it toijay. But, suddenly, the sight of that cross made Chepil think. He remembered the first trip he and his mother had made to the mountains to get a special kind of per fumed wood to burn before the cross. E l d e r Brotfier was sick, v e r y sick, and they had hurried,. so fast that Chepil had had to run to keep up. But they had reached home in time and had burned perfumed wood in front of the cross.
he had smiled. Chepil had been h a p p y . then. But those days were past. A l r e a d y , those days s e e m e d like dreams— days w h e n he h a d gone with his mother into the smiling mountains to bring home the wood for the fire or to p i c k blackberries. From those trips he had come home with more ber ries inside him than in his tiny basket. What fun that had been! And when there were no trips to take, he had played with an avoca do seed for his ball or had watched his pet chicken, dogs, and pig, and thus he filled the long sunny hours of each day. He stooped now to pet a small, thin dog, and a tear dropped off the end of his n o s e . He brushed it off angrily. He was too big to cry, even though his world had ended and he must say good-by to his pe t s . To morrow morning he would have to leave them. But Chepil was glad he would not have to see them go to another owner. Tomorrow, by this time, he would be well along the n a r r o w mountain trail on .his way to the big city. But this Miss Davis (Biola B. Chr. Ed. *39) is engaged in language re duction and translation work in the state of Chiapas, Mexico, un der the W ycliffe Bible T ran sit tors . Mrs. Hazelloh is a member of the China Inland Mission, on furlough from north China .— EDITOR.
ifys
From the mountains, Chepil and Maruch brought the special perfumed wood to burn in front of the cross. They prayed and prayed. Was there a better way?
\
Made with FlippingBook - Online magazine maker