hoped these earthly grandeurs will not turn Judita's thoughts
from heaven!" The senora shook her head cheerfully. "My Ana told Judita
she ought to be thankful so plain a face as hers should find favor with
Jose Montoya. My Ana is full of loving thoughts! She never lets her
friends forget what poor, sinning mortals they are!"

"Indeed, no!" agreed Lola, feelingly, while she smoothed out the
thread.

"Take a stitch or two that I may be sure the cotton is really all
right!" implored the senora. "Yes, truly Ana is a maid of rare charms.
When she marries I shall be desolate!"

"Is there talk of that?" asked Lola, with interest. Ana was now
sixteen, and was nearly as heavy as her mother, and much more sedate.
In true Mexican fashion the look of youth had left her betimes, and her
swarthy plumpness had early hardened and settled to a look of maturity
to which future years could add little.

"There is Juan Suarez," said the senora, in a mysterious whisper, "and
if I would I could mention others; for, as you know, Lolita, my Ana is
very beautiful."

Lola maintained a judicious silence, and the senora continued placidly,
"Though she is my child, I am bound to admit it. Her nature is a rare
one, too. And when suitors throng about her she only shakes her head.
She is lofty. She will not listen. 'No, _caballeros_,' she says, 'I
have regarded your corral. It is too empty.' And one by one they go
away weeping, the poor caballeros! She is cruel, my Ana, being so
beautiful! Me, I own it--though my heart aches to see the caballeros
shedding tears!"

Lola, finding her own face expanding irresistibly, bent lower over
Diego's small trousers. The picture of Ana, standing disdainful among
the sorrowing caballeros and waving off their pleas with an imperious
hand, was one to bring a smile to lips of deadliest gravity. Ana, with
her hands on her broad hips, short and thick as a squat brown jug with
its handles akimbo,--Ana, with her great clay-colored face and tiny,
glittering eyes, with her thick, pale lips and coarse, black
hair,--surely none but a mother could view in Ana such charms as
bedewed Senora Vigil's eyes only to think of!

"To see unhappiness is a very blade in my heart!" sighed Senora Vigil,
recovering herself. "Do not make the thread short, Lolita! No, no! I
shall have to thread the needle again before the week is out, if you
do. Ah, yes! I wept much the day when you were lost, and Bev Gribble,
the vaquero, brought you