life! In a prison, you see,
it would be quite otherwise."

"But there are other ways of living, Pablo, beside scouting and going to
prison," said Rita, much amused.

"Without doubt! Without doubt!" said Pablo, cheerfully. "And assuredly
neither would befit the senorita. May she live as happy as she is
beautiful, the sun being black beside her. _Adios_, senorita; _adios_,
Senor Captain Don Carlos!"

"_Adios_, good Pablo! good luck to you and your crabs!" and laughing and
waving a salute, they left the scout nodding his grass-crowned head like
a transformed mandarin, and went back to the camp.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE PACIFICOS.

A long, low adobe house, brilliantly white with plaster; a verandah with
swinging hammocks; the inevitable green blinds; the inevitable cane and
banana patch; this was Don Annunzio's. Don Annunzio Carreno himself (to
give him his full name for once, though he seldom heard or used it) sat
in a large rocking-chair on the verandah, smoking. He was enormously
stout and supremely placid, and he looked the picture of peace and
prosperity, in his spotless white suit and broad-brimmed hat.

To Rita, weary after her ten miles' ride from the camp, the whole place
seemed a page out of a picture-book. Her mind was filled with rugged and
startling images: the rude hospital, with its ghastly sights and homely
though devoted tendance; the ragged soldiers, with head or arm bound in
bloody bandages; the camp fire and kitchen, the scout in his grassy
panoply. Her eyes had grown accustomed to sights like these, and the
bright whiteness of house and householder, the trim array of flower-beds
and kitchen-garden, struck her as strange and artificial. She felt as if
Don Annunzio ought to be wound up from behind, and was whimsically
surprised to see him rise and come forward to meet them.

Carlos made his explanation, and presented General Sevillo's letter. Don
Annunzio's hat was already in his hand and he was bowing to Rita with
all the grace his size allowed; but now he implored them to enter the
house, which he declared he occupied henceforward only at their
pleasure.

"If the senorita will graciously descend!" said the good man. "On the
instant I call my wife. Prudencia! Where are you, then? Visitors,
Prudencia; visitors of distinction. Hasten quickly!"

A woman appeared in the doorway; tall and lean, clad in brown calico,
with a sun-bonnet to match, but with apron and kerchief as snowy as Don
Annunz