“That Mexican girl popped right out from behind that shed, and then popped back again. No wonder your pony jumped. She dresses like a Fourth of July celebration. I never did see such gay colors combined in a girl’s dress in all my life.”
“Flores, you mean?”
“Is that her name?” asked Tavia.
“So Mrs. Ledger told me,” said Dorothy. “Flores helps the foreman’s wife. She is an orphan. Her parents died of smallpox in a squatter’s cabin a few miles out in the desert, last year.”
“Goodness, Doro! how much you know about her already. Is she going to be your next protégée?” demanded Tavia.
“Well,” confessed Dorothy, “I was interested in her at once. And do you know why?”
“Just because you are always interested in everybody and everything, Doro Doodlekins. I never did see such a girl,” repeated Tavia.
“Oh! I had a real reason,” rejoined Dorothy, laughing. “You see, she is not as old as you and I, Tavia, yet I saw her talking very confidentially with that Mexican driver, José.”
“Oh, him? Do you blame her?” chuckled Tavia. “What wonderfully white teeth he has—and just a love of a mustache!”
Dorothy made a little face at her. “You are incorrigible, Tavia,” she groaned. “I am interested in Flores, not in that driver.”