Lola turned away. Every line of her figure was eloquent of grievance. She walked off without a glance to apprise her of the anguish in Jane's face. Slowly Jane went toward the house; whereupon Alejandro Vigil, who had continued an interested spectator, followed Lola to the ditch.
"If thou hadst wept, she would have given thee the letter," he suggested. "My mother, she always gives up to us when we weep loudly. A still baby gets no milk," said Alejandro, wisely, as he hugged his bare knees.
"I am no baby!" retorted Lola. Nevertheless her voice was husky, and Alejandro watched her anxiously.
"It's no good to cry now," he advised her. "She's gone into the house."
"Tonto! Do you think I want her to see me?" wept Lola. "She is hard and cruel. O my father!"
"Come over and tell my mother about it!" urged the boy, troubled. "You are Mexican like us, no? Your mother was Mexican? Come! My mother will say what is best to do."
Lola listened. She let herself be dragged up. An adviser might speak some word of wisdom. "Come, then," she agreed.
But Señora Vigil, on hearing the story, only groaned and sighed.
"These Americans have the heart of ice!" she said. "Doubtless there was money in the letter and she did not want you to know. Serafita, leave thy sister alone, or I will beat thee! It will be best, Lolita, to say little. A close mouth catches no flies."
"I may not stay here with you?" asked Lola.