we greeted in
friendly manner, and she seemed to take great pleasure in my company.

I never approached the ruin without a strange foreboding of something
terrible about to happen, which always disappeared after I had been
there a while and the charming beauty of the quiet spot had turned my
thoughts into pleasanter channels; perhaps the feeling of fear was
attributable to the stories I had heard during childhood, and had never
outgrown.

One day I saw Madre Moreno's red cloak showing out brightly from behind
the rank growths of nightshade, the tenderer leaves of which she seemed
to be carefully gathering. She was muttering to herself words
unintelligible to me, and did not seem to notice me, although I stood
for a long time very near where she was at work.

"Good morning, Madre; you are very busy to-day," I said, after a while.
She looked up, nodding in a friendly way, but not answering, while she
continued her jargon as she carefully laid in the basket the
oval-shaped, pointed leaves. As I drew nearer I noticed for the first
time that it was not the common nightshade, which grew wild about the
country, but was the atropa, a plant not indigenous to California. It
was in flower; the bell-shaped blossoms, of a dead, violet-brown colour,
with the green leaves about them, made a disagreeable combination seldom
seen in any of nature's pictures.

When she had completely filled her basket she turned to me and spoke: "I
am glad to see thee, Carlos, for it has been long since we have met, and
I began to think that thou hadst forgotten thy old friend, or, perhaps,
hadst learned all about flowers and herbs, so that she could teach thee
no more."

"No, Madre; I shall never know so much about them as you do. I can learn
their names and values only, while you put them all to so many good
uses," I answered. "What do you do with the leaves you have just
gathered? They are very poisonous, and you should wash your hands well
after touching them, and especially after getting the juice on your
fingers!"

"But thou knowest poison makes little difference with one like me, who
hath a charmed life," replied Madre Moreno, as she handed me the basket
to carry while she nimbly stepped from stone to stone and climbed out of
the hollow, here and there startling a snake or lizard that lay in the
sunshine.

"It is well done!" she abruptly said, and looking at me, burst into a
fit of laughter which was so spontaneous and hearty that I joine