and her arms ached, and she was hungry, and, if the
truth must be told, rather cross. It was absurd to bring all these
things into the desert. What use for the white silk blouse, or the lace
fichu? but indeed they had no weight, whereas this monster of a--

"How is Chico?" asked Rita, coming down from the rock. "Poor bird! what
does he think of our wandering? he must be in need of food, Manuela. You
brought the box of seed?"

"I did, senorita; as to the need of birdseed in a wilderness of hideous
forest, I have nothing to say. My fingers are so cramped from carrying
this detestable cage, I shall never recover the full use of them. But
the senorita must be obeyed."

"Assuredly she must be obeyed!" said Rita; and a flash of her eyes added
force to the words. "Could I have come away, I ask you, and left this
faithful, this patriot bird, to starve, or be murdered outright? Old
Julio would have wrung his neck, you know it well, Manuela, the first
time he spoke out from his heart, spoke the words of freedom and
patriotism that his mistress has taught him. Poor Chiquito! thou lovest
me? thou art glad that I brought thee away from that place of tyranny
and bloodshed? speak to thy mistress, Chico!"

But Chico's spirits had been ruffled, as well as Manuela's, by being
carried about in his cage, at unseemly hours, when he should have been
hanging quietly in the verandah, where he belonged. He looked sulky, and
only said, "_Caramba! no mi gusta!_"

"He is hungry! he starves!" cried Rita; "give me the seed!" Sitting down
on the rock, she proceeded to feed the parrot, as composedly as if they
were indeed on the wide shaded verandah, instead of on a wild hillside,
far from sight or sound of anything human.

"And the senorita's own breakfast?" said Manuela at last, when Chiquito
had had enough, and had deigned to relax a little, and even to mutter,
"_Mi gustan todas!_" "Is the senorita not also dying of hunger? for
myself, I perish, but that is of little consequence, save that my death
will leave the senorita alone--with the parrot."

Rita burst into merry laughter. "My poor Manuela!" she said. "Thou shalt
not perish. Breakfast? we will have it this moment. Where is the bag?"

The bag being produced,--it really was a heavy one, and it was hardly to
be wondered at that Manuela should be a little peevish about it,--Rita
drew from it a substantial box of chocolate, and a tin of biscuits. "My
child, we breakfast!" she announced. "