That," said Mrs. Burgoyne in a lower tone, as if half to herself,
"that was twenty years ago; I was only twelve, but I've never
forgotten it. Fred and Oliver and Emily and I had our supper on the
side porch; and afterward they played in the garden, but I was shy--
I had never played--and Mrs. Holly kept me beside her on the porch,
and talked to me now and then, and finally she asked me if I would
like to spend the summer with her. Like to!--I wonder my heart
didn't burst with joy! Father said no; but after we children had
gone to bed, they discussed it again. How Emily and I PRAYED! And
after a while Fred tiptoed down to the landing, and came up
jubilant. 'I heard mother say that what clothes Sidney needed could
be bought right here,' he said. Emily began to laugh, and I to cry--!"
She turned her back on Barry, and he, catching a glimpse of her
wet eyes, took up the conversation himself.

"I don't remember her very well," he said; "a boy wouldn't. She died
soon after that summer, and the boys went off to school."

"Yes, I know," the lady said thoughtfully. "I had the news in Rome--
a hot, bright, glaring day. It was nearly a month after her death,
then. And even then, I said to myself that I'd come back here, some
day. But it's not been possible until now; and now," her voice was
bright and steady again, "here I am. And I don't like to hear an old
friend abusing Santa Paloma."

"It's a nice enough place," Barry admitted, "but the people are--
well, you wait until you meet the women! Perhaps they're not much
worse than women everywhere else, but sometimes it doesn't seem as
if the women here had good sense. I don't mean the nice quiet ones
who live out on the ranches and are bringing up a houseful of