For answer Lolita seated herself and gravely drew from her dress a small book. “I read a leetle,” she said. Blythe sat down by her side and the two bent over the book together. The lad had discovered that Lolita was by no means as ignorant as many of her class, that her father had taught her to read her own language very well, and she was desirous of learning to read English. Very haltingly and with much mispronouncing she stumbled over the lines, taking Blythe’s corrections meekly and making patient efforts to improve. “I am wishful to surprise Aleeson,” she told him. “And you will,” he encouraged her by saying. “You are getting on famously.” She looked up gratefully. “Some days I am spik English very good, maybe?” “You certainly will. You are a very industrious and patient little girl. I wish I could learn Spanish as readily. Now you must give me a Spanish lesson. What were those pretty words you taught me? Mi alma, mi vida, mi corazon del oszos.” He pronounced the words lingeringly and the dark lashes again drooped over the clear smooth cheek. Then for some reason neither spoke for a few minutes. The flowers stirred around them, the sluggish waters of the bayou plashed softly against the bank; there was a whisper, whisper in the trees overhead. Brightly-colored birds flashed out from the deep green of the live oaks making a vivid streak against the shining leaves. Occasionally there was a rustle in the grass as some small animal slipped to the bayou’s edge and glided into the water. Blythe was absorbed in gazing at the girl’s beauty, while she pulled from their centre the creamy petals of a magnolia blossom. “Don’t hurt it,” said Blythe, breaking the silence, and placing his hand over hers to arrest the act of destruction. The color flew to Lolita’s cheek and she sprang to her feet. “It comes late,” she said. “My father returns. I have not his supper prepare, and he will have an anger for me.” The ready tears started to her eyes. “Oh, I hope not.” Blythe looked consciously around to see Pedro returning home across the field. “I should not have kept you so long. I, too, should have been at home by this time, but it was so pleasant, wasn’t it, Lolita? Good-bye.” He held out his hand but she did not respond to the gesture, instead she ran home with not a look behind, leaving her flowers neglected on the stone. Blythe watched her as she ran on without stopping, then he turned, gathered a flower from the forsaken bunch, looked at it for a moment thoughtfully and stuck it in his coat. He drew a long sigh and went to where he had picketed his horse.