den--favorite dish of little
Crispin; from her neighbor, Tasio, she got a fillet of wild boar and
a wild duck's thigh for Basilio, and she chose and cooked the whitest
rice on the threshing-floor.

Alas! the father arrived. Good-by to the dinner! He ate the rice,
the filet of wild boar, the duck's thigh, and the tomatoes. Sisa said
nothing, happy to see her husband satisfied, and so much happier
that, having eaten, he remembered he had children and asked where
they were. The poor mother smiled. She had promised herself to eat
nothing--there was not enough left for three; but the father had
thought of his sons, that was better than food.

Sisa, left alone, wept a little; but she thought of her children,
and dried her tears. She cooked the little rice she had left, and
the three sardines.

Attentive to every sound, she now sat listening: a footfall strong
and regular, it was Basilio's; light and unsteady, Crispin's.

But the children did not come.

To pass the time, she hummed a song. Her voice was beautiful, and when
her children heard her sing "Kundiman" they cried, without knowing
why. To-night her voice trembled, and the notes came tardily.

She went to the door and scanned the road. A black dog was there,
searching about. It frightened Sisa, and she threw a stone, sending
the dog off howling.

Sisa was not superstitious, but she had so often heard of black dogs
and presentiments that terror seized her. She shut the door in haste
and sat down by the light. She prayed to the Virgin, to God Himself,
to take care of her boys, and most for the little Crispin. Then, drawn
away from prayer by her sole preoccupation, she thought no longer
of aught but her children, of all their ways, which seemed to her so
pleasing. Then the terror returned. Vision or reality, Crispin stood
by the hearth, where he often sat to chatter to her. He said nothing,
but looked at her with great, pensive eyes, and smiled.

"Mother, open! Open the door, mother!" said Basilio's voice outside.

Sisa shuddered, and the vision disappeared.

XV.

BASILIO.

Life is a Dream.

Basilio had scarcely strength to enter and fall into his mother's
arms. A strange cold enveloped Sisa when she saw him come alone. She
wished to speak, but found no words; to caress her son, but found
no force. Yet at the sight of blood on his forehead, her voice came,
and she cried in a tone which seemed to tell of a breaking heartstring:

"My children!"