She had hardly time to say this, when the step-mother came out, and bought all the fruit she had left.
The señora was very angry with the orphans, and, after whipping them both for quarreling, sent them supperless to bed, in an old out-house where the Indian servants slept, but she and her children sat down to a luxurious meal, with a large basket of delicious strawberries in the center of the table, plenty of nice white sugar, and three bowls of fresh, rich cream.
For some time the lonely orphans lay talking of their own dear parents, and weeping, as they lay shivering in each other’s arms. The evening was coming on, and, though the days were very warm, there was a chill in the damp night air, and they had only a thin sheet to cover them.
At last the brother said: “Sister, I can not endure it. If they would only whip me—but to see them strike you! I can not endure it! You, whom I promised the dear papa to love and protect. We have nothing but sorrow here. Let us go out into the wide world alone. It will not be so bad—at least we shall be away from the señora, who gives only hard crusts to eat.”
“Dear brother, let us go! The good God, who takes care of the pretty birds, will take care of us. But first bring me my blue shawl, for it was the last thing the dear mamma gave me.”
Very softly the boy rose and went for the shawl, but the old Indian cook, who had lived in the family before he was born, and loved the children dearly, saw him and gave him some tortillas.
“The old wizzen witch, to treat the real señora’s children so!” said the woman, angrily. “She, the señora, to be sure! A cane hut in the chaparral would be good enough for her.”
“Good-bye, mammie,” said the boy, throwing his arms around the old Indian’s neck; “we are going away to seek our fortune, and when I am a man, you shall live with us. But do not follow us now, or she will see you. We are running away from the señora,” he whispered softly.
The old Indian pressed him to her heart for a moment, and then said, “Go! for nothing in the wild woods will hurt you so much as staying here. I shall go to-morrow, but I must wait and see that the old witch does not bring you back, for I believe she would kill you, only for me.”
Then the boy went softly out, and the old Indian covered her face with her apron, and thought over her half savage thoughts, which were still full of good faith and love to the children who had slept in her bosom in their helpless infancy.