"And this is the poor senor who was in such dreadful danger!" she
went on commiseratingly. "Ah, the wicked times that have come upon us!
Presently we shall fear to sleep in our beds--Senor Hunter, you have
been hurt! The mark of blood is on your sleeve, the stain is on your
side! A-ah, my poor friend! Come instantly and I will--"
"Gracias, Senora; it is nothing. Besides, Manuel put on a poultice of
herbs. It's only a scratch, but it bled a little while I rode to the
hut of Manuel." If blushes could have shown through the tan, Dade
might have looked as uncomfortable as he felt at that moment.
The senorita was already in the doorway, convoying a sloe-eyed maid
who bore wine and glasses upon a tray of beaten silver; and the smile
of the senorita was disturbing to a degree, brief though it was.
Behind the wine came cakes, and the senorita pointed tragically to
the silver dish that held them. "Madre mia, those terrible children
of Margarita have stolen half the cakes! I ran after them in the
orchard--but they swallow fast, those ninos! Now the senors must
starve!"
Up went the hand of the senora in dismay, and down went the head of
the senorita to hide how she was biting the laughter from her lips.
"I ran," she murmured pathetically, "and I caught Angelo--but at that
moment he popped the cake into his mouth and it was gone! Then I ran
after Maria--and she swallowed--"
"Teresita mia! The senors will think--" What they would think she
did not stipulate, but her eyes implored them to judge leniently the
irrepressibility of her beautiful one.
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