The boy began to talk, and chatting like old friends, they reached the farm. It was a huge place, with a very large fence that enclosed all the departments and apparatus of the house. Inside was a chapel with a cross and weather-vane.
“Who can tell me where Señorita Remedios is?” asked Quentin.
“Call the manager.”
The manager was not in, and he had to wait. At last a man of some forty years came toward him; he was powerfully built, and round-faced. Learning Quentin’s wishes, he pointed to a garden with a little gate at one end of it. Quentin knocked, the gate was opened to him, and an old woman appeared on the threshold.
“Is Señorita Remedios in?”
“It’s you!” exclaimed the old woman. “How glad the child will be! Come in, come in!”
“You are Rafaela’s nurse, are you not?” asked Quentin.
“Sí, Señor.”
They crossed a patio and entered an immense kitchen with a cooking-stove in one corner. Near the fire was a little old man with white hair.
“Don’t you know him?” said she who had opened the door. “It is Juan, the gardener of the other house. Juan!” she cried, “Señorito Quentin has come!”