Lolita nodded, smiling assurance, and poured forth a speech not a word of which Alison understood. “I suppose she means she will not tell.” Then by pointing to her lips, shaking her head and repeating: “Mi secreto,” she gained in response significant gestures which satisfied her that Lolita understood perfectly, and that nothing would induce her to reveal the secret. “I’ll have to learn Spanish; that’s all there is about it, or I shall never be able to get along. To be sure Pedro understands me pretty well and can get off a sort of talk which I can partly translate, but I’d better pitch in and study. I’ve no doubt that John has some sort of Spanish books in the house; I’ll look them up and meantime I will learn all I can from Lolita and Pedro. Christine cannot say I am not improving my opportunities.” She smiled brightly at Lolita, and the two went together to the house, each trying to make the other comprehend, and such a funny business did this appear to be, that by the time they reached the door, they were both laughing in the happy, foolish way characteristic of young things like themselves.
At the house the two parted. Alison was surprised to find Christine perfectly calm, going about her evening duties. She looked at Alison keenly and the traces of tears did not escape her notice, though she made no sign. She could not forget Neal’s words: “You’re the oldest; you owe it to that little sister of yours to brace up and get through this with all the courage that’s in you.” To be sure, she argued to herself, Neal Jordan had no right to inform her as to her duty, but she could not forget what he had said. It struck her the more forcibly as she realized that Alison had crept off alone to make her moan, and that she was a brave little lass who did not flinch when trouble came, and who did not ask any one to bear it with her. “I must not let that child outdo me,” Christine told herself. “I must get together all the courage that’s in me.” So she looked up smiling and said: “Guess what we are going to have for supper?”
“What?” Alison paused and sniffed the odors coming from the kitchen, then started for that room.
Christine caught her. “No, it’s a surprise.”
“I smell them. Flapjacks.”
“And what else?” Christine wheeled her round and displayed a plate of fruit cake and a dish of preserved figs prepared after the fashion of the country.
“Where did you get them?” asked Alison. “What a feast we shall have.”
“I brought the cake from home, I have saved it all this time, and the figs Lolita presented to us. I thought this evening we needed something to ’liven us up and so I unsealed my stone crock of cake and Louisa offered to make the flapjacks.” Christine refrained from asking Alison anything concerning her afternoon, and they ate their little feast, each the stronger because of helping the other to face the sacrifice which John’s going meant.
Matters went on quietly for a week after this. Alison improved the opportunity to increase her knowledge of Spanish, while Lolita’s English was added to in like proportion. This mutual desire to learn brought the two younger girls often together, and as Lolita had her own duties to perform Alison sometimes offered to help, that the little Mexican might be free to run out of doors with her. They were so great a contrast that Christine smiled to see them together; Alison tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed, white of skin, slight of figure; Lolita scarce up to Alison’s shoulder, her long dark tresses reaching below her waist, her melting brown eyes fringed by long lashes, her skin pale and colorless, her little figure already rounded and plump as that of a more mature person. That Alison should run wild with the daughter of a Greaser whose life had been spent in a mud adobe, would hardly have been countenanced by Aunt Miranda Brown, and, indeed, it was probable that it would not have been approved by John and his friend Neal Jordan, though the latter was hail-fellow-well-met with every newcomer in the county. But, democratic though he was, Neal Jordan possessed the pride of his Southern ancestors and while the daughter of the old Mexican wagoner might be his partner at a fandango he would have discountenanced her intimate friendship with the sister of his friend, Texas John. Alison, however, had no brother and no Neal at hand to criticise, and while the Spanish she acquired was hardly pure Castilian, the vocabulary was such as would serve her well in Texas and she enjoyed learning from Lolita other things besides words. She would squat down by her side and help her prepare tortillas and frijoles for Pedro’s dinner; she learned how to drape a reboso gracefully around her, how to ride a Texas mustang, while various other accomplishments were added to her list. She found time to practice at the round white mark Neal had made upon the fence, and the crack of her rifle was heard daily. Christine and Louisa, too, joined in the target practice, but as neither was enthusiastic in preparing food à la Mexicaine they were perfectly willing that Alison should carry off the honors in that direction.
“There,” said Alison, one day as the girls stood together practicing at the mark, “that’s the best shot yet. I’d like Neal to see that, and I don’t believe he could beat it. Let me have the pistol, Tina, and see if I can do as well with that.” She fired again but this time went wide of the mark. “If that had been an Indian I should only have winged him,” she remarked, “though with the rifle I should have pierced his heart.”