Her face was very white.

Rosa and her grandmother were both by the counter.

The grandmother smiled and was about to draw out the bread and give it to the woman.

But the poor neighbor dropped her head on the counter, and stretched out her hand toward the old grandmother.

The grandmother took the hand, and lo! in her own lay a little key.
"Take it to the Zanjero!" sobbed the sick neighbor, "and tell him to forgive! It was the mescal made my husband do it!" Little by little Rosa and her grandmother pieced together the story of the small key.