"At about what time is the red lantern lighted on Los Santos?"
"At about six o'clock, Señor. I heard old Gremo say that he lights it each evening at six o'clock."
"As the Señor says. The old casa fell quite to pieces in the last hurricane, and now Gremo lives at the Romando cannuca."
"As the Señor says. At half after five. It is a long way to carry a ladder--there and back. Gremo is afraid of the ghosts who infest the mompoja patch. If one but thrusts his head at you, you are lost. Marianna Romando says that Gremo is not much of a man, but far superior to Garcito Romando. The few pesos that he gets for lighting the lantern keep the game cock in food."
"And no one can tamper with the light, I suppose?"
"As the Señor says. The good God forbid! The cords by which it is lowered hang so high that no one can reach them--not even Natalio, who, as all know, is a giant."
"And you could not get that ladder, Andres?"
"As the Señor says, when Gremo carries it a mile away, and puts it inside the enclosure. He is a good shot, though so old. There is only one better in all the district. Besides, there are ghosts between the asta and the cannuca."
Don Gil stood for a moment lost in thought.
"I suppose El Rey needs you at home, Andres. I should not keep--"
"That is quite true; I do, very much, Señor."
The thin little voice came from behind the giant ceiba round which the circular end of the veranda had been built.
A slight, childish figure emerged slowly from behind the giant trunk and leaned against its corrugated bark.
"El Rey becomes weary staying down there in the palm hut, Señor. There is nothing to do but watch the pajara bobo, and the parrots, and listen to river, going, going, going! Always going! Has Roseta been here, Señor?"
Don Gil shook his head. He gazed sadly at the child.
"When do you think she will come, Señor?"
"I know not, little one; perhaps to-morrow."
The boy raised his hand and smoothed down his thin hair. The hand trembled like that of an old man. His cheek was sunken, his lips colourless. He lifted his large eyes to Don Gil's face.
"They always tell me that. Mañana, mañana; always mañana!"
He sighed patiently, looking at the Señor, as if the great gentleman could help him in his trouble.