a good word for me among the ranchers, where I am not altogether unknown as it is."
"Your anvil would be silver, your hammers would be gold, if my good wishes could give them to you," Magdalena said. "Now, I must go—there is Juan home from his building on the ranch, waiting at the fountain as he always waits at evening for Gertrudis. The evening bell will ring in a little while, Borromeo."
"But, doña, there are tears in your eyes," Borromeo seemed to protest, yet in tender solicitude "It is not our happiness that makes you weep?"
Doña Magdalena shook her head, her lips pressed hard, and went to the door in silence. There she turned, a tremor in her voice when she spoke.
"I am thinking what a desolate place San Fernando will be when all of us are gone," she said.
She went away quickly across the court to her kitchen door. Borromeo followed to the smithy door and looked after her, rubbing one great hand reflectively upon the other.
"Now, that is so," said he.
Borromeo stood in his door, looking over the evening peace of San Fernando. Gertrudis had dismissed her class of girls, who spread over the court in sudden enlivening of laughter and shrill words, flitting like little fish in the shallows, running and screaming in impromptu games. Juan stood near the fountain, where the shadow of the lemon trees fell before the low-sinking sun. He exchanged friendly signals with Borromeo; Gertrudis came
