roses that grew even before the kitchen door and
were quivering at the moment under the impas-
sioned carolling of a choir of larks. Her black eyes
were full of dancing lights, like the imprisoned sum-
flecks under the rose bush, and never had indolent
Spanish hands moved so quickly.

"Mira! Mira!" she cried to the luckless Rosa.
"That is the third time thou hast spilt the chocolate.
Thy hands are of wood when they should be of
air. A soft bit of linen to clean them, not that
coarse rag. Dios de mi alma! I shall send for
Malia."

"For the love of Mary, senorita, have pity!"
wailed Rosa. "There--see--thanks to the Virgin I
have poured three cups without spilling a drop. And
this rag is of soft linen. Look, Dona Concha, is it
not true?"

"Bueno; take care thou leavest not one drop on
a saucer and I will forgive thee--do not kiss my
hand now, foolish one! How can I whirl the moli-
nillo? Be always good and I will burn a candle for
thee every time I go to the Mission. The Russians
go to the Mission this morning. Hast thou seen the
Russians, Rosa?"

"I have seen them, senorita. Did I not serve at
table yesterday?"