“So will our Marta sing, at any hour, to please her ‘heart’s dearest’!” retorted the boy, laughing and sitting upright upon Benoni, while he bowed so profoundly that he lost his balance and slipped to the ground, at the old woman’s feet.
“Woulds’t jeer at thy Marta, woulds’t thou?” she demanded, and playfully cuffed him. Then, laughing as merrily as they, she swung Carlota up into her brother’s place, exclaiming: “’Tis thou, soul of my life, shall ride ‘before’ this day!”
She seized the loosened bridle just in time. Another instant and Benoni would have been off over the plain for a wild gallop with the now rising wind. He, too, was young and full of caprice as these other children—golden-haired and gray. None of the four knew any other home than Refugio, that cluster of venerable adobe buildings, nor much further restraint than the needs of nature imposed.
To live always in the open, save when hunger or drowsiness drove them indoors, to love all men and fear none—such was their habit. As yet, of things deeper than habit only Marta ever thought, and she but seldom. Their moods were their rulers and the present mood of the twins was for a long holiday at the sheep-shearing, a dozen miles away.
So, indulgent Marta brought out her finest basket—of such exquisite workmanship that it could be folded like a cloth, yet so tightly woven it would hold water—and packed it with a generous luncheon. Yet, as she finished her task, she lifted her face and sniffed suspiciously, saying:
“Ha! The wind rises faster. That is not good. There may be a ‘norther.’ Best safe at home, to-day, my children. To-morrow, mañana, there will yet be the shearing.”
“Of course, Marta. Didn’t s’pose they could finish it in one day, did you? This year there are more sheep than ever and my father—”
Carlos paused and glanced at his sister. That day, it seemed as if he couldn’t open his lips without mentioning that absent loved one, which was natural enough. Their father was the center of their existence, and for the first time in their memories, he had been away for many days; they had not yet learned to live without him.
However, Carlota had not noticed anything save that mention of the sheep-shearing and a dreadful possibility had entered her mind concerning it. Impatient to be away, she exclaimed:
“Never mind the wind, Marta, dear. It’s delicious, for the sun is so hot. But if you fear a ‘norther,’ just please give us our blankets and sombreros and let us go. Do you know, I haven’t seen—Santa Maria—this day!”