She had at least expected a quarrel.
Isabelita would have been more surprised still, if she could have seen what Timoteo did after reaching the place in the woods where the cow was tethered.

He threw himself down; crushing the fragrant, small-leaved vines of "yerba buena" as he fell, and, hiding his face, Timoteo cried in a half-angry, half-hopeless tumult of feeling.

The pink blossoming thistles nodded, and the cow looked wonderingly at the lad, but no one else saw or heard him.

By and by he sat up.
"Teacher never like me any more," he told himself, his lips quivering.

"Americanos tell her my father lazy, my mother no clean.
And I try, I try!" He choked down a sob.