Miss Martha reached over and took one of the girl’s small, brown hands in both her own. The Wayfarers had gathered about Dolores looking down at her with loving, friendly faces. She was, to use her own expression, so “simpatica.” Their girlish affections went out to her.
“There is much to tell,” she said, straightening up in her chair, her soft eyes roving from face to face.
“We’d love to hear it if you aren’t too tired to tell us,” assured Patsy eagerly. “Where is my father, Dolores? Did he go with the men who took Rosita away?”
“Yes. First the señor showed me the way here. He gave me the message. He will take Rosita away in the automobile. So it may be long before he returns. With him went three black men and Carlos.”
“Carlos!” went up the astonished cry.
“Yes. You must know it was for Carlos I went as well as the others. I had said to him many times that Rosita was mad. He would not believe. It was Carlos who brought me to the house of Rosita when my father had the death. Rosita had always for me the hate and abused me much. Carlos cared not. Perhaps he had for me the hate, too. I believe it.
“I have not come to the beach to have the talk with you because of Rosita. She watched me too much of late,” Dolores went on. “She had the hate for you because you came to Las Golondrinas. She was afraid I would see you and tell you she had the hate. She was mad, but yet most cunning.”
“But why did she hate us, Dolores?” questioned Bee.
The Wayfarers had now drawn up chairs and seated themselves in a half circle, facing the little Spanish girl.
“Soon I will tell you. First I must tell you that two days ago Carlos went away. Then Rosita shut me in the cellar. Ah, I knew she had the wickedness planned! All the day I heard her above me, speaking, speaking to herself. Sometimes she laughed and shouted most loud. Then I could hear her words. She cried out often of Las Golondrinas and Eulalie and old Manuel. So I knew what was in her mind.”