Squatting upon the ground beside a bench, upon which rested de Sancerre’s nether garments, sat old Noco, busily plying her fish-bone needle, while she repaired the many rents in his doublet and crooned a monotonous chant in a harsh, guttural voice. At the further end of the hut a crackling fire sent forth an odor which increased the satisfaction of the Frenchman with his surroundings. With corn-meal and fish, de Sancerre’s hostess had prepared a repast which the most fastidious palate at Versailles would have found seductive. Upon a small bench at Noco’s right hand stood a bowl of reddish crockery, in which wild strawberries awaited the pleasure of her guest.
“You will pardon me, señora,” cried de Sancerre, gayly, “if I remark that my present plight is somewhat embarrassing. I shall be late at table unless my overworked wardrobe is restored to me at once.”
“Mas vale tarde que nunca!” retorted the old hag, glancing inquiringly at the fire, and then resuming her patchwork. “You slept well, señor?”
“Like a log,” answered de Sancerre—“a log saved from the sacred fire. And now, there is no time to lose! We have before us, Doña Noco, a busy day.”
“Nay,” returned his hostess, approaching his bedside with his rejuvenated garments upon her withered arm. “’Tis well to wait a while. When Cabanacte has returned, we’ll hold a council and perfect a plan. It is not fitting that the Brother of the Moon should show himself at once. My people worship best the gods they do not see.”
Again de Sancerre caught in Noco’s eyes a mocking gleam which once before had placed him in close sympathy with her. That this old hag, whose mind was quick and clear, had, in her heart of hearts, discarded many of the ancient superstitions to which she outwardly conformed the Frenchman more than half suspected. But he spoke no further word to her until he had made a hasty toilet, and, refreshed by an application of cool water to his face and hands, had seated himself upon a bench to rejoice his inner man with strawberries, corn-cake, and skilfully-cooked fish. The variety of Noco’s accomplishments filled de Sancerre with mingled admiration and astonishment. Speaking two languages, expert with her needle, an admirable cook, quick-witted, fertile in resource, the old woman impressed the Frenchman that morning as a being well entitled to his respect and gratitude. But his mind dwelt no long time upon the praiseworthy versatility of his aged hostess. Impatient and impetuous by nature, he chafed sorely at inaction.
“Cabanacte!” he exclaimed, after he had satisfied his appetite, observing that Noco had disposed of the most exacting of her many tasks. “When think you, señora, your grandson will return?”
“When ’tis best for you, señor,” answered the old woman, shortly.
“And ’twas he, Doña Noco, who found Coyocop, the spirit of the sun, by the shore of the great sea?”
“’Twas Cabanacte who found Coyocop, whose coming was foretold when the mountains were but hillocks, and bore her to the sacred City of the Sun.”