Ronald, though a daring and adventurous child, continually watched by sister, mother, or father lest he rush into danger, was yet careful in his own way, and Stumpy knew that he might trust him with his treasures and that the boy would admire “La Golondrina” (The Swallow) without ever thinking of lifting the glass cover that enshrined the tiny treasure.
While his silent worship was going on, Lesley was lifting with careful fingers the feather pictures on the table and admiring the birds, the flowers, the trees, the little landscapes, all made of tiny feathers beautifully colored and pasted into place. These were done by Indians, Stumpy had told her, and the black-eyed squaws with their shawl-wrapped heads sold them on market-days in the streets of the City of Mexico.
There were Indian water-jars in the room, too, gayly decorated in colors, an Indian bow with its arrows, gourds made into dippers and painted in scarlet and black, and on the wall a tattered Mexican flag with its warlike eagle grasping a rattlesnake and standing on a cactus plant. “Viva México!” (Hurrah for Mexico!) Stumpy used to cry as he saluted it in the morning, and the children had learned to salute it, too, the moment they crossed the threshold.
The room had been partitioned off from the storehouse where the oil for the Light was kept and had only a rough floor and whitewashed walls, but Stumpy kept it beautifully clean, and on his small stove he cooked wonderful red beans in Mexican style and made chocolate for the children with foam on the cups an inch high.
His was a lonely life on the edge of the restless ocean, guarding the stores for the Lighthouse, and he was as glad to have a visit from Ronald and Lesley as they were glad to come. They were still admiring his treasures when clatter, clatter, went Jenny Lind’s hoofs again, and away rolled the car with its barrels of oil for the Light.
Another moment, and “Viva México!” sounded in the doorway and Stumpy appeared with an armful of driftwood for the evening fire.
“Stump-ery, bump-ery,
Give him a thump-ery!”
shouted Ronald, running to meet him.
“I’m not going to thump him, I’m going to hug him,” cried Lesley and she did it, to the old sailor’s great delight.