Rita

s 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 ver

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 househ

eady in his hand and he was bowing to Rita with all the grace his size allowed; but now he impl

"On the instant I call my wife. Prudencia! Where are you, then

in brown calico, with a sun-bonnet to match, but with

s sake!" said

oked up

Captain and the Se?orita Montfort, bringing a note from his Excellency General Sevillo

, not unkindly. "You set down,

d him into his chair again; then advanced to the verandah ste

"Good mornin'! Yes, it's a

sister and her maid to spend some days at the hous

h frowning brows, not of

ith the last ones, and said I'd got through accommodatin' folks. Still-I dunno

half Cuban; it is good to hear you speak. If you will let me

ou say-why, it's as good as a meal o' victuals to hear you speak. Been to the States, have you? Well, now, if that don't beat all! Noonsey, you go

ch, if not melodious, was intelligible, and th

when all the time I want to hear you talk. It is good to hear your native speech, say what they will. Husband, he does his

t in the North with her uncle and cousins. "Oh," she said, "you are right. I used to think that I was two-thirds Cuban;

ruit schooner. I voyaged with him considerable. He died in Santiago, and I never went back home: I couldn't seem to. I washed and sewed for families I knew, and then bumbye I married Don Noonzio. He gave me a good home, and he's a good provider.

d wick, its photograph-album and gilt family Bible, did not speak her language. Neither did the mantelpiece, with its two china poodles and its bunches of dried grasses in vases of red and white Bohemian glass. Th

r; but word came that Captain Montfort was going, and Rita hurried out to the verandah to bid him farewell. Carlos took her in his arms, affec

,-that is what I am to call her, Carlos,-already I love her, already she tends me as a bird tends her young. Ah, Carlos, you will not neglect Chico? I leave him as a sacred legacy. The men implored me so. They said the bird had brought them good fortune once, and would be their salvation again; I had not the heart to take him from them. You will see that they do not feed hi

not speak plain English. But he kissed her affectionately, heartily glad that he could leave her content with her surroundings; and with

he crumpled dresses, brushing off the bits of grass and broken straw that clung to hem and ruffle

rge skirt! A paralysis on the brambles in that place! yet it was a good place. At least there was life. One heard voices, neighing of horses,

gerness, when the door opened, and Rita entered, followed by their kind hostess. Manuela started, then turned to drop a demure courtsey. "I was examining the glass," she explained, "to see if it was fit for the se?orita to use.

t from Chelsea, Massachusetts, when I was first married! If it ain't good en

sfied till I see you tucked up under my 'Old Glory spread.' That's what I call it; it has the colours, you see. There! comfortable? Now you shut your pretty eyes, and have a good sleep. And you," she a