here, Remigia, lend me some eggs,
will you? My chicken has been hatching since morning. There's some
gentlemen here, come to eat."

Her neighbor's eyes blinked as the bright sunlight poured into the
shadowy hut, darker than usual, even, as dense clouds of smoke rose
from the stove. After a few minutes, she began to make out the contour
of the various objects inside, and recognized the wounded man's
stretcher, which lay in one corner, close to the ashy-gray galvanized
iron roof.

She sat down beside Remigia Indian-fashion, and, glancing furtively
toward where Demetrio rested, asked in a low voice:

"How's the patient, better? That's fine. Oh, how young he is! But he's
still pale, don't you think? So the wound's not closed up yet. Well,
Remigia, don't you think we'd better try and do something about it?"

Remigia, naked from the waist up, stretched her thin muscular arms over
the corn grinder, pounding the corn with a stone bar she held in her
hands.

"Oh, I don't know; they might not like it," she answered, breathing
heavily as she continued her rude task. "They've got their own doctor,
you know, so--"

"Hallo, there, Remigia," another neighbor said as she came in, bowing
her bony back to pass through the opening, "haven't you any laurel
leaves? We want to make a potion for Maria Antonia who's not so well
today, what with her bellyache."

In reality, her errand was but a pretext for asking questions and
passing the time of day in gossip, so she turned her eyes to the
corner where the patient lay and, winking, sought information as to his
health.

Remigia lowered her eyes to indicate that Demetrio was sleeping.

"Oh, I didn't see you when I came in. And you're here too, Panchita?
Well, how are you?"

"Good morning to you, Fortunata. How are you?"

"All right. But Maria Antonia's got the curse today and her belly's
aching something fierce."

She sat Indian-fashion, with bent knees, huddling hip to hip against
Panchita.

"I've got no laurel leaves, honey," Remigia answered, pausing a moment
in her work to push a mop of hair back from over her sweaty forehead.
Then, plunging her two hands into a mass of corn, she removed a handful
of it dripping with muddy yellowish water. "I've none at all; you'd
better go to Dolores, she's always got herbs, you know."

"But Dolores went to Cofradia last night. I don't know, but they say
they came to fetch her to help Uncle Matias' girl who's big with child."

"You do