CECILIA'S repute as a needlewoman was as wide-reaching as her daughter's fame as a fleet-footed keeper of goats. All the years that Cecilia herself had followed the flocks of Don Abrahan on hill and valley pasture, she had taken her sewing with her. From the crudity of untutored beginning in necessity of clothing herself, she had advanced to artistry such as few among the deft-handed women of her race attain. Many a wedding garment she had fashioned by candle after her long hours with the goats, no compensation for her labor but the benefaction of love.
Once, when Helena was a child, Cecilia had worked for weeks, perhaps months, decorating with fine silken flowers a sash for the occasion of her first communion. It had been her tribute for some kind act on the child's part, some considerate, sympathetic little thing that would have meant no more in the lives of thase intimately associated with her than the rustle of a leaf. In Cecilia's barren existence, her heart hungry for human kindness, it had been a noble, a sweet, memorable deed. The passing of the gift had been accepted as a pledge of friendship by both; that dainty sash, wrought by rough fingers in the devotion of grati-
