Mr. Page laughed.
"Is that what she said?" he asked.
"Oh, yes; that and many other things. Two years she was at Carlisle without coming back. Her mother was very poor—living in a brush-house that summer, as always, renting her own adobe for the season that she might have something for the winter. Adriana cried all the time. The next year she did not come back, nor the next. When it was time for school to be over, she wrote that she would stay in Philadelphia. Then her mother died—of sorrow."
"And what became of Adriana?"
"Who can tell that? No one knows. She has not written."
"Are there any others?" asked Mr. Page.
"Well, there is Dionysio, who will fetch you the wood to-day. He can tell you what he thinks of the Indian school at Carlisle."
Mr. Page had become interested, Walter and Nellie equally so. When the wood arrived they found the driver of the wagon an intelligent-looking youth about the age of Arturo, perhaps a little older.
"They tell me you have been a student at Carlisle," said Mr. Page after he had paid him.