“She guessed rightly,” I said, “and I am ashamed of myself for not telling you before. But why should your wife cry?” “Woman like--woman like,” he answered, waving his hand. “Always ready to cry over the beaten one--that is the only politics they know.” “Did I not say that woman is an angel from heaven,” I returned; then, taking her hand, I kissed it. “This is the first time I have kissed a married woman's hand, but the husband of such a wife will know better than to be jealous.” “Jealous--ha, ha!” he laughed. “It would have made me prouder if you had kissed her cheek.” “Juan--a nice thing to say!” exclaimed his wife, slapping his hand tenderly. Then while we sipped _maté_ I told them the history of my campaign, finding it necessary, when explaining my motives for joining the rebels, to make some slight deviations from the strictest form of truth. He agreed that my best plan was to go on to Rocha to wait there for a passport before proceeding to Montevideo. But I was not allowed to leave them that day; and, while we talked over our _maté_, Candelaria deftly repaired the tell-tale cuts in my _poncho_. I spent the afternoon making friends with the children, who proved to be very intelligent and amusing little beggars, telling them some nonsensical stories I invented, and listening to their bird's-nesting, armadillo-chasing, and other adventures. Then came a late dinner, after which the children said their prayers and retired, then we smoked and sang songs without an accompaniment, and I finished a happy day by sinking to sleep in a soft, clean bed. I had announced my intention of leaving at daybreak next morning; and when I woke, finding it already light, I dressed hastily, and, going out, found my horse already saddled standing, with three other saddled horses, at the gate. In the kitchen I found Don Juan, his wife, and the two biggest boys having their early _maté_. My host told me that he had been up an hour, and was only waiting to wish me a prosperous journey before going out to gather up his cattle. He at once wished me good-bye, and with his two boys went off, leaving me to partake of poached eggs and coffee--quite an English breakfast. I then rose and thanked the good señora for her hospitality. “One moment,” she said, when I held out my hand, and, drawing a small silk bag from her bosom, she offered it to me. “My husband has given me permission to present you with this at parting. It is only a small gift, but while you are in this trouble and away from all your friends it perhaps might be of use to you.” I did not wish to take money from her after all the kind treatment I had received, and so allowed the purse to lie on my open hand where she had placed it. “And if I cannot accept it----” I began. “Then you will hurt me very much,” she replied. “Could you do that after the kind words you spoke yesterday?” I could not resist, but, after putting the purse away, took her hand and kissed it.