several male voices began the sextette from "Lucia." Johnny's reedy
tenor they knew well, and the bricklayer's big, opaque barytone; the
others might be anybody over there--just Mexican voices. Then at the
appointed, at the acute, moment, the soprano voice, like a fountain jet,
shot up into the light. "HORCH! HORCH!" the old people whispered, both
at once. How it leaped from among those dusky male voices! How it played
in and about and around and over them, like a goldfish darting among
creek minnows, like a yellow butterfly soaring above a swarm of dark
ones. "Ah," said Mrs. Kohler softly, "the dear man; if he could hear her
now!"

XI

MRS. KRONBORG had said that Thea was not to be disturbed on Sunday
morning, and she slept until noon. When she came downstairs the family
were just sitting down to dinner, Mr. Kronborg at one end of the long
table, Mrs. Kronborg at the other. Anna, stiff and ceremonious, in her
summer silk, sat at her father's right, and the boys were strung along
on either side of the table. There was a place left for Thea between her
mother and Thor. During the silence which preceded the blessing, Thea
felt something uncomfortable in the air. Anna and her older brothers had
lowered their eyes when she came in. Mrs. Kronborg nodded cheerfully,
and after the blessing, as she began to pour the coffee, turned to her.

"I expect you had a good time at that dance, Thea. I hope you got your
sleep out."

"High society, that," remarked Charley, giving the mashed potatoes a
vicious swat. Anna's mouth and eyebrows became half-moons.

Thea looked across the table at the uncompromising countenances of her
older brothers. "Why, what's the matter with the Mexicans?" she asked,
flushing. "They don't trouble anybody, and they are kind to their
families and have good manners."

"Nice clean people; got some style about them. Do you really like that
kind, Thea, or do you just pretend to? That's what I'd like to know."
Gus looked at her with pained inquiry. But he at least looked at her.

"They're just as clean as white people, and they have a perfect right to
their own ways. Of course I like 'em. I don't pretend things."

"Everybody according to their own taste," remarked Charley bitterly.
"Quit crumbing your bread up, Thor. Ain't you learned how to eat yet?"

"Children, children!" said Mr. Kronborg nervously, looking up from the
chicken he was dismembering. He glanced at his wife, whom he expected to
mai