"I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness
around here," said Demetrio.

"Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too."

On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenu-
ously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end
of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh,
cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crys-
tal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily
together.

Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked
him: "How much do you get a day?"

"Eight cents a day, boss."

He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man
with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined com-
plaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life.

"You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," De-
metrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain,
but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then,
aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in
the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you
think?"

"Of course!" she replied.