So as to sell on credit to Tudinha's people?"
The lad, though he didn't blush, kept silent; he had reason to do so.
The wife wanted a house in town; for a long while she had her eye on a small dwelling on a certain street, a cheap little house suitable for a family of moderate means.
Zilda a piano … and crates and crates of love stories …
They slept happily that night and on the following day they sent early to the village for dainties to offer to their guest—butter, cheese and biscuits. There was some hesitation over the butter.
"That's not worth while!" objected the wife.
"That will cost three mil réis. Far better buy me with that money a piece of unbleached cotton that I am needing so much."
"It is necessary, my dear! Sometimes a trifle helps to get around a man and facilitates the closing up of business. Butter is grease and grease makes things slide!"
The butter won.
While she awaited the arrival of the ingredients, Dona Izaura fell to sweeping and cleaning the house and arranging the guest's room; killed the least thin of the cockerels and a young lame sucking pig; seasoned the dough for the pasties and was rolling it out when …
"There he comes!" shouted Moreira from the window where he had posted himself since early morning, nervously scanning the high road with an old field glass; without leaving his most of observation he transmitted
