DOLORES
A sudden silence fell upon the two girls as the picturesque little
stranger made this solemn announcement. Now that the excitement was
over the wood nymph began to show signs of returning shyness.
Fearing that she might turn and run away, Patsy stretched forth a slim
white hand and said winningly:
“I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for what you did. You were
very brave, I think. I’m ever so glad to know you. Can’t we be friends?”
The girl hesitated, a wistful look in her large dark eyes. Very slowly
she put her small brown hand into Patsy’s extended one.
“I will give you the hand because already I like you,” she said. “I
cannot be your friend because I am too poor. Always I must wear the
old ugly dress. Always I must go with the feet bare.”
“That has nothing to do with our being friends,” was Patsy’s gentle
assurance. “I’m bare-footed, too.” She laughed and thrust forward one
pink, bare foot. “Just look at my bathing suit. It was wet when I
started after you. Falling down didn’t improve it.”
“Ah, but your feet are bare because you wish it,” reminded the girl
sadly. “Never I wish the bare feet, but always it must be. I have seen
you the other day in the automobile. You and your friends I saw. _Mi
madre_ you were most wonderful! You were _linda_; _hermosa_!”
The girl clasped her brown hands in a fervent gesture as she relapsed
into Spanish by way of emphasizing her ardent admiration.
“I was behind the hedge and saw you go,” she continued apologetically.
“With me was the red book, I would to bring it back. Was it wrong to
take it for one day? I desired it much.”
“You were very welcome to it,” smiled Patsy. “We found it in the patio
with your thank you. Did you read it?”
“_Si_; but not all. It was long, with such hard words. _No comprendia_
all. It told of the _amor_. That is the love, you know. Yet _amor_
is the more sweet word. It is the Spanish. You must know that I am
Spanish, but I speak the English quite well, though for a long time I
have spoken it little.”
“I should say you did speak it well!” emphasized Patsy.
As it happened, Patsy was already decidedly amazed at this fact. Though
the girl’s phraseology was a trifle clumsy at times, in the main her
English was grammatical. To Patsy she was a bewildering combination of
childish frankness, sturdy independence, shy humility and quaint charm.
Above all, there hung over her that curious air of mystery which wholly
fascinated Patsy.
“You have said you desire to be to me the friend. So I shall tell you
why I speak the English,” pursued the wood nymph in a sudden burst of
confidence. “First, we must bury the head of this,” she pointed to the
dead snake, “then I will show you the place under the tree where we may
sit for a little.”
“I’d love to,” eagerly responded Patsy.
Completely wrapped up in the adventure, impetuous Patsy had entirely
forgotten the passing of time. The effect her disappearance would have
on her friends had not yet occurred to her. Her mind was centered on
her new acquaintance, who was now busily engaged in digging a hole in
the soft earth with a sharp stone she had picked up.
“It is done,” she announced, when the crushed, ugly head of the reptile
was hidden from view and the earth pounded down over it. “Come now. I
will show you. Follow me and fear not. We shall not see another such
snake, I believe.”
Following her lively companion for a few yards of comparatively easy
going, the two came to a wide-spreading palmetto under which was a
space clear of vines and bushes. Only the short green grass grew
luxuriantly there.
“This place I love. I have myself made it free of the vines and weeds.
Here I love to lie and look up through the trees at the sky. Sit you
down and we will talk.”
Only too willing to “talk,” Patsy obeyed with alacrity. The wood nymph
seated herself beside Patsy, endeavoring to cover her bare feet and
limbs with her faded brown cotton skirt. Slim hands clasped about her
knees, she stared solemnly at the white-clad girl beside her.
“I am Dolores,” she began. “That means the sadness. I have lived here
long, but before that I lived with my father in Miami. My mother I
never knew. I was the little baby when she died. So I went to a school
and learned English. Now I have seventeen years, but in Miami, when I
was of an age of twelve years, my father, who did the work every day of
the _carpintero_, became very sick. So he died, but before he died he
wrote the letter to his friend who came for me and brought me here. So
never more I went to school but had always the hard work to do.”
“You poor little thing!” exclaimed Patsy, her ready sympathies touched
by the wistfulness of the girl’s tones as she related her sad little
story. “Where do you live now, and why do you have to work so hard?”
“These things I cannot tell you. It is forbidden.” The girl mournfully
shook her head. “So it is true also that I cannot be your friend.
But if you will come here sometimes, I will see you,” she added, her
lovely, somber features brightening.
“Of course I will, and bring my friends with me. They are dandy girls,
ever so much nicer than I. My name is Patricia Carroll, but everyone
calls me ‘Patsy.’ Why can’t you come to Las Golondrinas to see us?”
“It is forbidden. _Never_ I can go there again. I am sorry.”
The brightness faded from the stranger’s beautiful face, leaving it
more melancholy than before.
Patsy looked briefly baffled, then tried again with:
“Come down to the beach with me now and meet them and my aunt.” Sudden
remembrance of Miss Martha caused her to exclaim: “Good gracious! I
wonder what time it is! None of my friends knows where I went. They’ll
be terribly worried.”
Patsy sprang to her feet in dismay. She wondered if she had really been
away from the beach so very long. She was of the rueful conviction that
she had.
“I would go, but I am afraid. If she saw me she would be angry and shut
me up for many days. So she has said.”
This was even more amazing to Patsy. She longed to ask this strange
girl all sorts of questions. Courtesy forbade her to do so. She also
had a vague idea that it would be of no use. Fear of the person she had
referred to as “she” had evidently tied the wood nymph’s tongue.
“I’d love to have you come with me,” Patsy said warmly. “But I wouldn’t
want you to do anything that might bring trouble upon yourself. Is it
right that you should obey this--this person?”
“No; never it is right!” The answer came in bitter, resentful tones.
“Often I think to run away from here, never to return. Only I have the
no place to go. I am truly the poor one. Dolores!” She made a little
despairing gesture. “_Si_, it is the true name for me.”
“Then if you feel that it is not right to obey a person who is treating
you unjustly, don’t do it,” was Patsy’s bold counsel. “I wish you would
tell me your trouble. Perhaps I could help you. Won’t you trust me and
tell me about it?”
“I am afraid,” was the mournful repetition. “Not afraid of you. Oh,
never that! Already I have for you the _amor_. You are _simpatica_. I
would to go to the sands with you now and meet your friends. I cannot.
I will show you the way to the road. So you can walk more quickly to
the sands. I will try to come to this place to-morrow at this time and
wait for you.”
“May I bring the girls with me?” petitioned Patsy. “My chum, Beatrice,
saw you in the thicket the first time we came to the beach. She is
longing to know you.”
“Beatrice; it is the pretty name. She is perhaps that one with the true
face and the brown curls. I saw her look at me that day. She is not so
pretty as you; yet she is pretty. So, also, are those other two girls
who look alike and still not alike.”
“They are sisters; Mabel and Eleanor,” informed Patsy. “At home, away
up North, they live next door to me. When I come here to-morrow I will
tell you more about myself. I must go now. You haven’t said yet whether
I might bring my chums with me to-morrow.”
“I wish it,” was the brief consent. “Now I will show you the way.”
It was not as far as Patsy had thought to the sandy road. Guided by
Dolores, who knew her ground thoroughly, Patsy found jungle travel
easy, even in her bare feet. The two girls finally came out on the road
about an eighth of a mile above the beach.
“Thank you ever so much for showing me the way.”
Patsy paused in the middle of the road, her hand extended. Impulsively
she leaned forward and lightly kissed Dolores.
The vivid color in the girl’s cheeks deepened at the unexpected caress.
A mist sprang to her glorious dark eyes. She caught Patsy’s hand in
both her own. Bending, she touched her lips to it. “Oh, you are most
_simpatica_!” she murmured, then turned and darted away, leaving Patsy
standing in the middle of the white, sandy road, looking tenderly after
the lithe, fleeing form until a tangle of green hid it entirely from
her view.