mmer spent in the North with
her uncle and cousins. "Oh," she said, "you are right. I used to think
that I was two-thirds Cuban; I thought I cared little, little, for the
American part of me. Now--but it is music to hear you speak, Senora
Carreno."

"S'pose you call me Marm Prudence!" said the good woman, half-shyly. "I
don't see as 'twould be any harm, and I should like dretful well to hear
the name again. I was a widow when I married Don Noonzio. Yes'm. My
first husband was captain of a fruit schooner. I voyaged with him
considerable. He died in Santiago, and I never went back home: I
couldn't seem to. I washed and sewed for families I knew, and then
bumbye I married Don Noonzio. He gave me a good home, and he's a good
provider. There's times, though, that I'm terrible homesick. There! I
don't know what I should do if 'twa'n't for my settin'-room. Did you
notice it, comin' through? I just go there and set sometimes, and look
round, and cry. It does me a sight o' good."

Rita had indeed glanced around the sitting-room as she passed through
it, but it said nothing to her. The six haircloth chairs, the
marble-topped centre-table with its wool and bead mat, its glass lamp
with the red wick, its photograph-album and gilt family Bible, did not
speak her language. Neither did the mantelpiece, with its two china
poodles and its bunches of dried grasses in vases of red and white
Bohemian glass. The Cuban girl could not know how eloquent were all
these things to the exiled Vermont woman; but she looked sympathetic,
and felt so, her heart warming to the homely soul, with her rugged
speech and awkward gestures.

Marm Prudence now insisted that her guest must be tired, and brought out
a superb quilt, powdered with red and blue stars, to tuck her up under;
but word came that Captain Montfort was going, and Rita hurried out to
the verandah to bid him farewell. Carlos took her in his arms,
affectionately. "How is it, then, little sister?" he asked. "Are you
reconciled at all? Can you stay here in peace a little, with these good
people?"

Rita returned his caress heartily. "You were right, Carlos!" she said.
"You and the dear General were both right. It was wonderful to be there
in camp; I shall never forget it; I hope I shall be better all my life
for it; but I could not have stayed long, I see that now. Here I shall
be taken care of; here I shall rest, as under a grandmother's care. This
good Marm Prudence,--that is what I am t