against Nan's arm and began to cry softly:
"I haf so ver', ver' many troubles, señorita, that I cannot sleep!"
Nan laid her arm about her shoulders and drew her closer.
"Tell me some of them, Rosario."
"Mi madre!" she wailed softly—"if I haf not mi madre!"
"Yes, that is a trouble."
"Mi padre! If only I haf mi padre! He was kill in the street when he fight in El Paso. Mi madre she die of the smallpox."
"Yes, those are troubles. And they are not good to you, Rosario—the Fuentes—your mother's people?"
"Like the dogs, I get what is left."
"Do they whip you, Rosario?"
"Sí, sí, but it is not that."
"What, then?"
"I have no tunica—what you call dress—to wear, and to-morrow afternoon is the las' day of school."
"And that is a very important day!"
"O, sí, sí, señorita!" Rosario's eyes grew big with the importance of it. "All the people come to hear the lessons and to see
