"You are thinking, madam," said the Indian boy, "that it is a poor place--and so it is. But in the winter we are a little better off. Ours is yonder adobe house. My grandparents are too old and my sister too little to do much work. I must be away working whenever I can."
"What is your sister's name?" inquired Mrs. Page. "She is a lovely child."
"She is called Margarita," said the boy. "She is fond of her brother."
"Mamma," whispered Nellie, "ask him to let her come and play with me."
Mrs. Page did not reply. The child was in her present condition not a possible companion for her own.
Dionysio had heard the whisper, and instantly divining what was in the mind of Mrs. Page, he said:
"You see that she is neglected; but what can I do? My grandmother is very queer. She will not allow the little one to go to the school on the hill because the teacher is not Catholic, and she will not send her to the Mission for then Margarita will be away so far. She does not let her from her side. What can I do?"
"That is true; you can do nothing," said Mrs. Page. "But perhaps some day----"
"Yes, when they die--the old people, you mean," continued Dionysio in the most matter-of-fact tone. "Then I shall send her to the Mission. But while they live it must be as they say. I hope you will like the eggs; we have them always very good."
He made way for them to pass, a courteous smile upon his lips, his little sister clinging to his hand.
A few days after this, when Alfonsa, the old woman who had said prayers in the church, and who had since undertaken to do the family washing, came for the clothes she said:
"There has been a death in the night. The grandmother of Dionysio is gone. She was eighty-five. But many have lived longer. The grandfather is ninety."
"How good of that boy to be so kind and work so hard for them," remarked Mrs. Page.
"They are not so poor, maybe," rejoined Alfonsa. "With a vineyard and a little ranch, and the old woman always with chickens and eggs--they are not so poor, maybe."
"What will become of the little one?" inquired Mrs. Page.
"Who can tell? Some one will take her. Dionysio can stay with the old man."
"Couldn't _we_ have her, mother?" asked Nellie. "She is so sweet."
"What would you do with her, child?" inquired Aunt Mary.