was very fond of them, and
begged from a neighbor, old Tasio the Sage, who lived half a mile away,
some slices of dried wild boar's meat and a leg of wild duck, which
Basilio especially liked. Full of hope, she had cooked the whitest
of rice, which she herself had gleaned from the threshing-floors. It
was indeed a curate's meal for the poor boys.

But by an unfortunate chance her husband came and ate the rice,
the slices of wild boar's meat, the duck leg, five of the little
fishes, and the tomatoes. Sisa said nothing, although she felt as
if she herself were being eaten. His hunger at length appeased,
he remembered to ask for the boys. Then Sisa smiled happily and
resolved that she would not eat that night, because what remained
was not enough for three. The father had asked for their sons and
that for her was better than eating.

Soon he picked up his game-cock and started away.

"Don't you want to see them?" she asked tremulously. "Old Tasio told
me that they would be a little late. Crispin now knows how to read
and perhaps Basilio will bring his wages."

This last reason caused the husband to pause and waver, but his good
angel triumphed. "In that case keep a peso for me," he said as he
went away.

Sisa wept bitterly, but the thought of her sons soon dried her
tears. She cooked some more rice and prepared the only three fishes
that were left: each would have one and a half. "They'll have good
appetites," she mused, "the way is long and hungry stomachs have
no heart."

So she sat, he ear strained to catch every sound, listening to the
lightest footfalls: strong and clear, Basilio; light and irregular,
Crispin--thus she mused. The _kalao_ called in the woods several times
after the rain had ceased, but still her sons did not come. She put the
fishes inside the pot to keep them warm and went to the threshold of
the hut to look toward the road. To keep herself company, she began
to sing in a low voice, a voice usually so sweet and tender that when
her sons listened to her singing the _kundiman_ they wept without
knowing why, but tonight it trembled and the notes were halting. She
stopped singing and gazed earnestly into the darkness, but no one
was coming from the town--that noise was only the wind shaking the
raindrops from the wide banana leaves.

Suddenly a black dog appeared before her dragging something along the
path. Sisa was frightened but caught up a stone and threw it at the
dog, which ran away howlin