“She’s crazy!” came from Mabel, in a terrified whisper. “Let’s run.”
“I will not,” muttered Patsy. “I’m going to speak to her.”
Stepping boldly forward to meet the advancing figure, Patsy smiled winningly, and said: “Good-morning.”
“What you want?” demanded a harsh voice.
Ignoring Patsy’s polite salutation, the fearsome old woman continued to advance, halting within four or five feet of the group of girls.
“Oh, we were just taking a walk,” Patsy brightly assured. “We saw this cottage and thought we’d like to see who lived here. We——”
“Where you live?” sharply cut in the woman.
“We are staying at Las Golondrinas. My father owns the property now. I am Patricia Carroll and these three girls are my chums,” amiably explained Patsy. “We are anxious to find someone who can tell us something about the Feredas. We are looking for——”
“You will never find!” was the shrieking interruption. “It is not for you, white-faced thieves! Madre de Dios! Old Camillo has hidden it too well. Away with you! Go, and return no more!”
This tempestuous invitation to begone was accompanied by a wild waving of the woman’s long arms. The gold hoop rings in her ears shook and swayed as she wagged a menacing head at the intruders.