not. It was only the thought of that candle at Saint Francis's
feet, which enabled Margarita to struggle through this anxious and
unhappy afternoon and evening.

At last supper was ready,--a great dish of spiced beef and cabbage in
the centre of the table; a tureen of thick soup, with force-meat balls
and red peppers in it; two red earthen platters heaped, one with the
boiled rice and onions, the other with the delicious frijoles (beans)
so dear to all Mexican hearts; cut-glass dishes filled with hot stewed
pears, or preserved quinces, or grape jelly; plates of frosted cakes of
various sorts; and a steaming silver teakettle, from which went up an
aroma of tea such as had never been bought or sold in all California,
the Senora's one extravagance and passion.

"Where is Ramona?" asked the Senora, surprised and displeased, as she
entered the dining-room, "Margarita, go tell the Senorita that we are
waiting for her."

Margarita started tremblingly, with flushed face, towards the door. What
would happen now! "O Saint Francis," she inwardly prayed, "help us this
once!"

"Stay," said Felipe. "Do not call Senorita Ramona." Then, turning to his
mother, "Ramona cannot come. She is not in the house. She has a duty to
perform for to-morrow," he said; and he looked meaningly at his mother,
adding, "we will not wait for her."

Much bewildered, the Senora took her seat at the head of the table in a
mechanical way, and began, "But--" Felipe, seeing that questions were to
follow, interrupted her: "I have just spoken with her. It is impossible
for her to come;" and turning to Father Salvierderra, he at once engaged
him in conversation, and left the baffled Senora to bear her unsatisfied
curiosity as best she could.

Margarita looked at Felipe with an expression of profound gratitude,
which he did not observe, and would not in the least have understood;
for Ramona had not confided to him any details of the disaster. Seeing
him under her window, she had called cautiously to him, and said: "Dear
Felipe, do you think you can save me from having to come to supper? A
dreadful accident has happened to the altar-cloth, and I must mend it
and wash it, and there is barely time before dark. Don't let them call
me; I shall be down at the brook, and they will not find me, and your
mother will be displeased."

This wise precaution of Ramona's was the salvation of everything, so far
as the altar-cloth was concerned. The rents had proved far les