the kitchen, while two sleepy girls disappeared toward a mountain
stream, one carrying a jar on her shoulder, and the other
lighting the way with a torch. Hope sat with her chin on her
hand, watching the black figures passing between them and
the fire, and standing above it with its light on their faces,
shading their eyes from the heat with one hand, and stirring
something in a smoking caldron with the other. Hope felt an
overflowing sense of gratitude to these simple strangers for the
trouble they were taking. She felt how good every one was, and
how wonderfully kind and generous was the world that she lived
in.

Her brother came over to the carriage and bowed with mock
courtesy.

``I trust, now that we have done all the work,'' he said, ``that
your excellencies will condescend to share our frugal fare, or
must we bring it to you here?''

The clay oven stood in the middle of a hut of laced twigs,
through which the smoke drifted freely. There was a row of
wooden benches around it, and they all seated themselves and ate
ravenously of rice and fried plantains, while the woman patted
and tossed tortillas between her hands, eyeing her guests
curiously. Her glance fell upon Langham's shoulder, and rested
there for so long that Hope followed the direction of her eyes.
She leaped to her feet with a cry of fear and reproach, and ran
toward her brother.

``Ted!'' she cried, ``you are hurt! you are wounded, and you