pardoned all her bad humor and hardness of heart toward Paula; and I had a
great desire to take her in my arms but I did not dare do such a
thing--fearing she would refuse my caresses.

"Teresa," she said suddenly, closing her eyes to keep back the tears, "do
you think that it hurts very much when one dies?"

"Why do you ask that?" and Teresa looked at her quite surprised.

"I was thinking of Uncle John."

"That depends, Catalina, that depends. There are some persons who die
tranquilly in their sleep with no pain at all, but in the case of others it
is quite the contrary."

"But afterward, Teresa! How about afterward? What happens to us after
death?"

"Afterward?" Teresa looked puzzled. "Nobody knows what happens to us
afterward. When I was a little girl, my mother who was a very pious woman,
told us that if we were very good we would go to heaven, but if we were bad
we went to hell. I believe she was right, poor woman, but it is sometime
since I have thought of religious things, and your father does not like to
have us talk about it."

"I know _that_, Teresa, but I can't help thinking about it often and often.
Was our mother a 'pious woman?'"

"Not exactly--at least, not before she became ill. Her relatives in
Villar--your Aunt and your Uncle John used to write lovely letters to her,