"Little papa! Little papa mine! are you taking the siesta on your feet?"
Carmelita's slender hands were on his broad shoulders, and she was endeavoring to shake him. Her merry laugh pealed through the avenue.
"I smiled at you, and smiled at you, and blew kisses at you, while you looked at me as if I were a thousand leagues away, and you deigned never the least recognition," standing on tiptoe and kissing him.
"I was living again the years of very long ago."
"Tell me about it, little papa."
She took his arm, and together they walked along the avenue.
"Tell me about it, papacito," she repeated.
"Why are you not at the siesta?" disregarding her question.
She looked up at him demurely.
"I did not care to sleep. Besides," jestingly, "we must accustom ourselves to the ways of the Americano who will soon come here. You remember I have spoken to you of Señor Brown, the man who was so thoughtful in the cave the night of the storm?"