, and so
very gay.

She said I had been in the house too much, looked pale, and that she
was going to take me shopping. As we got up from the table she
lingered a moment, saying something to father about taking some one's
mind off something. And father said, yes until we can tell which way
it will go. So I supposed they were talking business.

Senora Mendez is such a great grand sort of lady that usually one is a
little in awe of her; but to-day she made me feel very much at home, as
we drove down the street in her big open carriage. She never once
mentioned the shooting, and I didn't have courage to speak of it
myself. But we heard of it all around us. In the first shop we went
into a woman just behind me said in a loud voice, "Do the rebels think
they can shoot us all down as Wilkes Booth shot the president?" And
then, again, at another shop where we were looking at lace, the clerk
said, "This is a terrible thing for the city, Madam, the loss of such a
valuable citizen." But Senora Mendez seemed not to hear him, and went
on explaining to me the difference between honiton and thread, and
showing me how beautiful embroidered net looked over pale blue silk,
until I felt quite cheerful just through listening to her and looking
at the pretty things. She wound up by buying me a lovely pair of
thread lace sleeves, and swept me out in the wake of her train feeling
almost happy again.

Just as we had got into the carriage two gentlemen with silk hats, very
elegant indeed, came up and talked over the carriage door with her.
The one with yellow gloves said, "This is a bad business. It's a good
thing poor old lady Montgomery never lived to see this day." And the
other said, "I wonder what the effect on the city will be?"

Senora Mendez said she hoped the effect would be a law requiring our
young men to settle disputes with their fists instead of firearms, and
that it was a shame nice boys would brawl in gambling-houses. She
smiled and looked most easy and pleasant over it, and all the way up
the street she chatted right along as if nothing serious had ever
happened. But when we stopped at the house, just as I was leaving the
carriage, she quickly took my face between her hands and kissed me hard
on the forehead. "You poor little motherless duck," she said, and left
me with the impression there had been tears in her eyes.

I wondered why she should feel so suddenly sorry for me; nevertheless I
felt cheered and