And if you pass over her elbows, there are her feet," continued
Christine languidly. For she was a sybaritic lover of the fine linens of
life, that friend of mine--a pre-Raphaelite lady with clinging draperies
and a mediaeval clasp on her belt. Her whole being rebelled against
ugliness, and the mere sight of a sharp-nosed, light-eyed woman on a
cold day made her uncomfortable.

"Have we not feet too?" I replied sharply.

But I knew what she meant. Bare feet are not pleasant to the eye
nowadays, whatever they may have been in the days of the ancient Greeks;
and Felipa's little brown insteps were half the time torn or bruised by
the thorns of the chaparral. Besides, there was always the disagreeable
idea that she might step upon something cold and squirming when she
prowled through the thickets knee-deep in the matted grasses. Snakes
abounded, although we never saw them; but Felipa went up to their very
doors, as it were, and rang the bell defiantly.

One day old Grandfather Bartolo took the child with him down to the
coast: she was always wild to go to the beach, where she could gather
shells and sea-beans, and chase the little ocean-birds that ran along
close to the waves with that swift gliding motion of theirs, and where
she could listen to the roar of the breakers. We were several miles up
the salt-marsh, and to go down to the ocean was quite a voyage to
Felipa. She bade us good-by joyously; then ran back to hug Christine a
second time, then to the boat again; then back.

"I thought you wanted to go, child?" I said, a little impatiently; for I
was reading aloud, and these small irruptions were disturbing.

"Yes," said Felipa, "I want to go; and still--Perhaps if the gracious
senora would kiss me again--"

Christine only patted her cheek and told her to run away: she obeyed,
but there was a wistful look in her eyes, and, even after the boat had
started, her face, watching us from the stem, haunted me.

"Now that the little monkey has gone, I may be able at last to catch and
fix a likeness of her," I said; "in this case a recollection is better
than the changing quicksilver reality."

"You take it as a study of ugliness?"

"Do not be hard upon the child, Christine."

"Hard? Why, she adores me," said my friend, going off to her hammock
under the tree.

Several days passed, and the boat returned not. I accomplished a fine
amount of work, and Christine a fine amount of swinging in the hammock
and dreaming. At