adre dear," she whispered, "your little girl will wait for
you--yes, she will wait."

* * * * *

It was some days later that Rosendo, after returning almost empty
handed from the hills, came to Jose and said, "Padre, I have sold my
_hacienda_ to Don Luis. I need the money to purchase supplies and to
get the papers through for some denouncements which I have made in
Guamoco. I knew that Don Mario would put through no papers for me, and
so I have asked Lazaro to make the transaction and to deliver the
titles to me when the final papers arrive. I have a blank here to be
filled out with the name and description of a mineral property.
I--what would be a good name for a mine, Padre?"

"Why do you ask that, Rosendo?" queried Jose in surprise.

"Because, Padre, I want a foreign name--one not known, here. Give me
an American one. Think hard."

Jose reflected. "There is a city, a great city, that I have often
heard about, up in the States," he said finally.

He took up the little atlas which he had received long since with
other books from abroad. "Look," he said, "it is called Chicago. Call
your property the Chicago mine, Rosendo. It is a name unknown down
here, and there can no confusion arise because of it."

"_Caramba!_" Rosendo muttered, trying to twist his tongue around the
word, "it is certain that no one else will use that name in Guamoco!
But that makes my title still more secure, no?"

"But, Rosendo," said Jose, when the full significance of the old man's
announcement had finally penetrated, "you have sold your _finca_! And
to acquire title to property that you can never sell or work! Why,
man! do you realize what you have done? You are impoverished! What
will you do now? And what about Carmen? for we have nothing. And the
sword that hangs above us may fall any day!"

"_Bien_, Padre, it is for her sake that I have done it. Say no more.
It will work out in some way. I go back to-morrow. But, if the titles
should come from Cartagena during my absence--and, Padre, if anything
should happen to me--for the love of the Virgin do not let them out of
your hands! They are for her."

Yet Rosendo departed not on the morrow. He remained to mingle his
tears with those of the sorrowing Ana. For the woman, whose heart had
been lighter since the arrival of her babe, had come to the priest
that day to have the child christened. And so, before the sun might
fill the _plaza_ with its a