Laura hung her head and ceased to swing her bonnet. “I suppose he’s well,” she replied. “Have you heard any news from your brother, Christine?” she asked, turning the subject.
“Nothing very lately. I hoped he would be back by this time.”
“I certainly will be glad to see all them soldier boys,” said Hannah Maria, “but I’ll be sorry to lose you and Allie, Christine. It’s lucky how all them boys has escaped. I was afraid it would finish some of ’em. They say Monterey was a terrible battle and that we’d oughter be proud of our side. They’ve been laying out to take the place ever since May, but they say it’s a perfect Giberalter, and it’s a wonder anybody escaped. I should think by this time the Mexicans would see we can fight and that they’d give in, but Bud don’t believe they will till there’s more fightin’. For my part, I wish it was all over and done with and everybody back home. I reckon you’re glad Blythe didn’t go, Laura.”
“Indeed I am. I think they have enough without him. He’s the only son of a widow, you know, and he’s got a good excuse.”
“So he is, but your mother’s got your sister’s husband there, that’s just like a son to her. He looks after things real good, don’t he?”
“Yes, he does, or else Blythe would have to give up his idea of studying law. Mother is real well off with Ellen and Henry and three or four hands in the field.”
This was the kind of talk which failed to interest Alison, who by this time had reached the cabin where Pedro and Lolita lived, and was greeted with soft Spanish endearments by Lolita. Even the very modest abode of these despised Mexicans appeared more attractive in Alison’s eyes than the one occupied by the Haleys. Lolita was on her knees deftly rubbing the metate stone in order to prepare the corn for tortillas. Jumping from her horse Alison watched her and presently joined her in slapping the thin round cakes, winning praise for her skill from her little friend.
“Oh, I assure you,” said Alison, laughing, “I am mightily pleased to be eating tortillas with you to-day and I hope we are to have frijoles and tamales as well, for I am hungrier than you can imagine. I never can eat heartily of the breakfasts that Hannah Maria likes.”
Lolita promised her the frijoles and the tamales, and Alison sat contentedly slapping out tortillas while Lolita prepared the black beans and the meat compound, well seasoned with red pepper and onions and done up in corn husks, a savory dish to those who could stand the pepper.
Presently Lolita, who had been busy over her work, exclaimed: “Señor Van Dorn, cara mia.”