Mariposilla flushed not. A deadly pallor extinguished the healthy glow that the light labor had produced. Turning disrespectfully away, she darted through the open door, and was gone.
It was only after the old priest had left and the Sandersons had driven into the long green tunnel that color shone again beneath the surface of her cheeks.
CHAPTER X.
The Sandersons did not remain long at the ranch. After their departure Mariposilla saddled the pony, and, bidding us a gleeful adieu, cantered away with the precious altar cloth.
At parting, the Doña Maria had given her child, for a surprise, a dozen exquisite doilies of her own workmanship. They were bestowed as a reward for the girl's recent industry, and she was permitted to sell them with the altar cloth.
"Shall I not be rich?" she cried, brandishing in excitement a superb riding whip, a remnant of former glories. "When I am come again the señora will go with me to Los Angeles. There I shall buy beautiful things for you all."
An instant later she was flying down the green tunnel. As she passed between the mammoth century plants, she waved once more her whip—and was gone.
"Dear child!" I said, as we entered the house.