meal, served in a large bowl, but the name of which I could not learn, because Cecilia spoke but imperfect English. The breakfast was abundant, but badly set out and badly cooked.
The dinner consisted of boiled meat, brown beans, and boiled rice; but all so insufficiently boiled, so hard and insipid, that I could not eat anything which the kind-hearted fermière heaped up on a plate for me, and if Cecilia had not brought for herself some rice and potatoes (I would not bring more with us), which she cooked and she and I ate with fresh butter, also from my Matanzas home, I must have suffered that day from hunger. Now, however, I lived like a shepherdess in a story, and crowned my meal with bananas and delicate sugar-cake.
I talked about many things with my good Cecilia. She had been stolen as a child from Africa; she was only eight years old when she was taken from her mother, and this mother remained lovingly impressed on her memory. She remembered how her mother had loved her, how tender she had been towards her, and Cecilia wished to return to Africa that she might see her once more. She made no complaints of her master and mistress; they had always been kind to her, she said, and now especially was she happy in her situation; but she longed to see her mother once more.
And Cecilia will see her mother before long, but not on this earth.
Two little dark-eyed children, Joannito and Annita, were my playfellows in the cottage, especially the little boy, who was full of merriment, and yet in a quiet and agreeable way.
I drew a little, sitting in the piazza, under the straw roof, and when the heat of the day was over I set out with Cecilia to explore the valley to its full extent. We did so, although the ramble was a long one, and Cecilia was so fatigued that I became very anxious about her. But
