man needs a wife, so he
may strive to win a home for her."

"I have heard men say that they needed a home before they could strive
to win a wife for it. But you go about it the other way."

"I am not an American pig, I thank the Virgin! I have none of their
gringo customs."

"You speak truly indeed," murmured Lolita.

"It is you who know about them," the boy said, angry like a child. He
had seen her eye drawn to the trail again as by a magnet. "They say you
prefer gringos to your own people."

"Who dares say that?"

The elated Luis played loudly on the guitar. He had touched her that
time.

But Lolita's eye softened at the instant of speaking, and she broke into
her sweet laugh. "There!" she said, recapturing the situation; "is it
not like old times for you and me to be fighting."

"Me? I am not fighting."

"You relieve me."

"I do not consider a gringo worth my notice."

"Sensible boy! You speak as wisely as one who has been to school in a
large city. Luis, do you remember the day Uncle Ramon locked me up for
riding on the kicking burro, and you came and unlocked me when uncle was
gone? You took me walking, and lost us both in the mountains. We were
really only a little, little way from home, but I thought we had got
into another country where they eat children. I was six, and I beat you
for losing me, and cried, and you were big, and you kissed me till I
stopped crying. Do you remember?"

"No."

"Don't you remember?"

"I don't remember child's tricks."

"Luis, I have come to a conclusion. You are still young enough for me to
kiss quite safely. Every time you fight with me--I shall kiss you. Won't
you get me some fresh water now?"

He lounged, sulky, against his barrel.

"Come, querido! Must I go all that way myself? Well, then, if you intend
to stand and glare at me till the moon rises--Ah! he moves!"

Luis laid the guitar gradually down, and gradually lifting a pail in
which the dipper rattled with emptiness, he proceeded to crawl on his
journey.

"You know that is not the one we use, muchacho," (little boy), remarked
Lolita.

"Keep your kisses for your gringo," the water-carrier growled, with his
back to her.

"I shall always save some for my little cousin."

The pail clattered on the stones, and the child stopped crawling. She on
the roof stared at this performance for an open-mouthed moment, gloves
idle among the spicy peppers. Then, laughing, she sprang to her feet,
descended, and