came in, bowing her bony back to pass through the open-
ing, "haven't you any laurel leaves? We want to make a
potion for Maria Antonia who's not so well today,
what with her bellyache."

In reality, her errand was but a pretext for asking
questions and passing the time of day in gossip, so she
turned her eyes to the corner where the patient lay and,
winking, sought information as to his health.

Remigia lowered her eyes to indicate that Demetrio
was sleeping.

"Oh, I didn't see you when I came in. And you're
here too, Panchita? Well, how are you?"
"Good morning to you, Fortunata. How are you?"

"All right. But Maria Antonia's got the curse today
and her belly's aching something fierce."

She sat Indian-fashion, with bent knees, huddling hip
to hip against Panchita.

"I've got no laurel leaves, honey," Remigia answered,
pausing a moment in her work to push a mop of hair
back from over her sweaty forehead. Then, plunging
her two hands into a mass of corn, she removed a hand-
ful of it dripping with muddy yellowish water. "I've none
at all; you'd better go to Dolores, she's always got herbs,
you know."