This was a request for payment, as Marty very well knew, so the boy handed over a five-dollar gold piece. Manuel looked at the coin suspiciously, bit it, rang it on one of the flagstones, weighed it thoughtfully in his palm, and finally pocketed it and drove off without further word.
"What do you know about that?" murmured Marty.
Janice had already turned to the old man in the flapping gown. He bowed very low to her.
"Within," he said clearly, in good English if a little stilted in diction—"within lies my poor house. We Mexicans have no word for 'home,' señorita; but la patria means more than country. All I possess save la patria lies herein. It is yours."
"Why, he is even more polite than Don José," whispered the girl as they followed the Mexican who had evidently got out of bed to attend them.
"Ye-as," Marty said slowly. "But it seems to me they offer too much."
"They are not as cautious as us Yankees," his cousin said, smiling.
"Now you've said a mouthful," announced the boy with emphasis.
The passage through the wall led to a roomy court around which the house was built. There was the tinkle of water falling into a basin, the fresh smell of vegetation, and by the light of the stars Janice saw that trees were growing here.
"It is late, señorita and señor. My family have retired. I will assign you both rooms and in the morning we will become acquainted—eh?" said the don. "This way, please. You are brother and sister?"