UNCLE PIO
him, holding his muzzle closed or throwing him upon his back. The young girls look about for the first star to fix a wish upon it, and the boys grow restless for supper. Even the busiest mother stands for a moment idle-handed, smiling at her dear and exasperating family.
Uncle Pio stood against one of the chipped marble benches and watched Camila coming towards him:
“I am late,” she said. “I am sorry. What is it you wish to say to me?”
“Camila,—” he began.
“My name is Doña Micaela.”
“I do not wish to offend you, Doña Micaela, but when you let me call you Camila for twenty years, I should think———”
“Oh, do as you like. Do as you like.”
“Camila, promise me that you will listen to me. Promise me that you will not run away at my first sentence.”
At once she burst out with unexpected passion:
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