Already there was an uproar in the outer kitchen, where two tired and hungry little boys were assaulting the unoffending Pasqual, diligently scrubbing away at his pots and pans. Any victim will do, at a pinch, to vent one's wrath upon, and Pasqual was nearest. But he was not one to suffer patiently, and promptly returned the puny blows of his assailants with much more vigorous ones, till Jessica reached the spot, rescued the truants, and conducted them to the washbasin. From there, disdaining the towel, they made rapid transit to the porch and the presence of the stranger. All along their enforced walk home they had laid plans of vengeance, among which "tommyhawking" and "shootin' chock full o' arrers" were the wildest. But, alas! Now that their enemy was in their very power, they had no fiercer weapons than four grimy little fists. Better these than nothing, was Ned's instant decision, and Luis was but Ned's second thought. As Ned's right descended upon Mr. Hale's shoulders, Luis' left delivered a telling blow upon the gentleman's hand, uplifted toward his lips. This was small assistance to the yellow-haired chief, for the spoon fled straight from the victim's fingers and landed squarely in Ned's face. This created intense diversion. The blows intended for the guest were now bestowed upon each other, and so impartially that neither side was worsted. Mrs. Trent rose in her place, flushed and apologetic, though the stranger was far more surprised than offended, while the sister had once more appeared and terminated a battle almost before it was begun. With a strength of which she did not look capable she caught up and lifted a child into each of the two high chairs in waiting--but wisely placed at opposite sides of the board. There they settled themselves composedly, beaming and smiling upon each other like a pair of wingless cherubs, while Ned thrust forth a tin basin and demanded: "Give me my soup, mother." "Gimmesoup!" echoed Luis, choking over a piece of bread he had filched from Jessica's plate. "Children!" "Oh! Huh! Please give me my soup, mother." "Plea' gimmesoup, _madr'_." "Isn't your _madre_, Luis Garcia. Isn't nobody's mother but mine, so there!" "Humph!" remarked Jessica. "What about me?" This set Ned off into a giggle, in which Luis dutifully joined, and the laughter restored the best of feelings all around. The meal over, Mrs. Trent offered the guest the use of a room in which to rest, and this he gladly accepted; adding that he wished he might be able to make some arrangement with her by which he could occupy it indefinitely, till his health was restored and the business which had brought him to that region was completed. Any terms she would make would be most satisfactory to him, for he was charmed with Sobrante and most anxious to sojourn there for a time.