visits at her
residence on Patricio Point. Madame Giron, the aunt of Adolfo Torres,
came up the Espiritu in her broad old boat, rowed by four negro boys, to
beg them to pass a day with her at her plantation, which was south of
East Angels. Mrs. Thorne did what she could in the way of afternoon
visits at her old Spanish mansion, with oranges, conversation, and
Carlos Mateo. And good Betty Carew moved in and out among these gentle
festivities with assiduous watchfulness, ready to fill any gaps that
might present themselves with selections from her own best resources;
the number of times she invited her dearest Katrina to lunch with her,
to spend the day with her, to pass the evening with her, to visit the
orange groves with her, to play whist, to go and see the rose gardens,
and to "bring over her work" in the morning and "sit on the piazza and
talk," could not be counted. Mrs. Rutherford, who never had any work
beyond the holding of a fan sometimes to screen her face from the fire
or sun, was amiably willing to sit on the piazza (Betty's) and
talk--talk with the peculiar degree of intimacy which embroidery (or
knitting) and piazzas, taken together, seem to produce. Especially was
she willing as, without fail, about eleven o'clock, Pompey appeared with
a little tray, covered with a snowy damask napkin, upon which reposed a
small loaf of delicious cake, freshly baked, two saucers (of that old
blue china whose recent nicks owed their origin to emancipation), a
glass dish heaped with translucent old-fashioned preserves, and a little
glass pitcher of rich cream. Mrs. Rutherford thought this "so
amusing--at eleven o'clock in the morning!" But it was noticed that she
never refused it.

If Katrina had no work, Betty had it in abundance. It was not
embroidery--unless mending could be called by that name. But Betty did
not accomplish as much as she might have done, owing to the fact that
about once in ten minutes she became aware of the loss of her scissors,
or her spool of thread, and was forced to get up, shake her skirts, or
dive to the bottom of her pocket in search of them. For her pocket had a
wide mouth, which was not concealed by a superfluous overskirt; it was a
deep comfortable pocket going well down below the knee, its rotund
outline, visible beneath the skirt of the gown, suggesting to the
experienced eye a handkerchief, a battered porte-monnaie, a large bunch
of keys, two or three crumpled letters, a pencil with the