A light burst upon Mr. Page.
"Oh," he said laughingly. "You are going to be married, Dionysio?"
"Yes, sir," replied the Indian, also laughing. "I am going to marry Victoria. It is all settled. I can have work there as long as I wish."
"Then you do well to keep your sister," said Mr. Page. "And I congratulate you, Dionysio; you deserve a good wife."
And so it was that the little Indian girl who had so endeared herself to the family was left behind when they departed from the village. Aunt Mary was sorely disappointed. She had made many plans for the future of the child; but on reflection she, too, saw that Dionysio's plan was the most proper and natural. But never did a small daughter of Cupa have a neater or more attractive outfit than that which arrived from town as soon as possible after the Pages returned.
At last the morning came for their departure. It seemed as though all the women and children in the place had assembled to bid them good-by.
Alfonsa, almost hidden under pots, pans, kettles, blankets and clothing which they had given her, followed the wagon to the beginning of the diverging road. Mauricio was absent, but Francisco rode beside them as far as the top of the mesa land which looked down upon the village. There was regret in every heart as they made their adieux, but they hoped to see him again, for he had promised to bring them a load of wood for the winter.
They did not forget to look out for the bells of Santa Isabel. When near the end of the first stage of the homeward journey they saw them in the distance. The framework, gnarled and blackened by age, looked like a gibbet against the sky. When they came nearer Charlie asked Walter if he did not want to get down and ring the bells.
"What would the Indians think?" asked Walter. "Might they not imagine they were being called for something?"
"That's so," was the reply. "I did not mean to ring them, exactly, but to strike them. They have such a beautiful, clear tone. I have a fine hickory stick here; do you want it?"