“Yes, Señora Martha. He will never return,” Dolores assured. “He will sell the cottage which old Manuel gave to Rosita and never come here more. I am glad. Now I shall go myself soon to Miami and find the work to do. I am strong and not afraid of the work.”
“My dear child, you will do nothing of the sort,” contradicted Miss Carroll. “You will stay with us for the present.”
“And when we go north, Dolores, you’re going too,” broke in Patsy. “You haven’t any folks now, except us, so you’ve just got to be good and hang around with the crowd.”
“It is too much,” Dolores protested. “I will stay for a little because you wish it. I wish it, also,” she added with shy honesty. “Soon I must go away. I am not the burden.”
“Of course you aren’t. You don’t look a bit like a burden,” gaily retorted Patsy. “Let’s not talk about your going away. Let’s talk about the treasure of Las Golondrinas. Do you suppose there really is a treasure?”
“Quien sabe?” shrugged Dolores.
“That means literally, ‘Who knows?’” translated Mabel, smiling at Dolores. “But you really mean, ‘I doubt it.’”
“I have little belief,” confessed Dolores. “Many Feredas have searched but never found. Perhaps, then, there is none to find.”
“I wish we knew something of its history,” sighed Bee. “What do you suppose old Manuel did with the letter and the paper that Rosita took from him while he was asleep?”
“Very likely he put them in the secret drawer,” chuckled Eleanor, casting a teasing glance at Mabel.