her mistress' feet, protesting that she had been dead in the señorita's absence, and had been brought to life again by her return.
"See what devotion we get here for eight soles a month!" she laughed, completely cured of her fears by the sight of the familiar objects about her. "Into the bargain, she cooks puchero, our native stew, to perfection. You must try it some day."
"Señorita," interjected the maid, her broad lips parting in an enormous smile, "I have prepared locro for to-night."
Dinner was not a very long meal. Everybody was tired, and Uncle Francis was anxious to be up early in the morning. Dick and Maria-Teresa prosaically enjoyed their locro—a maize cooked with meat, spiced and served with the chicha which still further heightens the taste of all popular dishes in Peru—and, when they parted at the doors of their rooms on the first floor, were quite ready to laugh over the incidents of the afternoon. Maria-Teresa's hand lingered in Dick's.
"Good night, little Bride of the Sun," he said, and, bending down, kissed the disk on the bracelet. "But surely you are not going to keep that thing on?... A bracelet from the Lord knows where and the Lord knows whom?"
"It is dear to me now, Dick.... Now that
