“I saw some palaces in Havana, but I would rather have a cottage just like this! Oh, I think a cottage is so nice and cosy, and so—SPLENDID!” exclaimed the little girl, with childlike exaggeration and misapplication of words.
So the once lonely child found much joy in her humble friends, giving and receiving good, while spring bloomed into summer, and summer ripened into autumn, and autumn faded into winter.
Then came cold, and frost, and change, a bitter change for little Gloria.
Her playmate’s work was now the clearing up of the fishing landing, mending boats and oars, and putting them away for winter—work that could not go on parallel with his studies, which were now pursued in the evenings at his own home.
Yet Gloria came down late in the afternoon on every clear day to hear him say his lessons. He told her that this helped him on “ever so much.” And it pleased her.
One day after sunset, when she had heard her pupil’s lesson in a very elementary book of astronomy, and had praised his quick apprehension and patient application, and had greatly encouraged him, as she always did, she took leave and ran home, singing and dancing as she went.
When she reached the house, she found ’Phia at the door, looking out for her.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, come in, child,” said the woman, in a frightened tone.
“What—what is the matter? What has happened?” cried Gloria, catching terror from the other.
“I dunno. Somefin’ awful! Mistress has been goin’ on at that rate! She done put de debbil in marster now, sure! Mind, I tell you, honey, dere’ll be murder done here some ob dese days! Mark my words!”