“She would sing crucified, like the bald mice,” said Momo, turning away his head, that the wind would carry his hard speech, and that his grandma could not hear him.
“The first thing to do,” said Stein, “is to forbid this girl to expose herself to the rigors of the season.”
“Do you hear, my child?” said the father with anxiety.
“She must,” continued Stein, “wear shoes and dress warm.”
“If she will not?” cried the fisherman, rising suddenly, and opening a box of cedar, from whence he took numerous objects of toilet.
“Nothing is wanting: all that I have and all that I can amass are hers. Maria! my daughter! you will put on this clothing! Do this for the love of heaven!—Mariquita, you see it is what the doctor orders.”
Marisalada, who was aroused by the noise made by her father, cast an irritated look on Stein, and said to him in a sharp voice:
“Who governs me?”
“And say that they do not give this government to me, by means of a good branch of wild olive!” murmured Momo.
“She must have,” continued Stein, “good nourishment, and substantial soups.”