Her scarlet petticoat was gorgeous, her bodice white as snow, her hair glossy as a bird's wing, but her lips drooped and trembled, and there was the shadow of tears in her eyes.
Antonia kissed their white fringed lids, held the little form close in her arms, and fluttered about in that motherly way which Isabel had learned to demand and enjoy.
"What has grieved you this morning, little dove ?" "It is Tia Rachela, as usual.

The cross old woman! She is going to tell mi madre something.

Antonia, you must make her keep her tongue between her teeth.

I promised her to confess to Fray Ignatius, and she said I must also tell mi madre.

I vowed to say twenty Hail Marias and ten Glorias, and she said 'I ought to go back to the convent.'" "But what dreadful thing have you been doing, Iza ?" Iza blushed and looked into her chocolate cup, as she answered slowly: "I gave--a--flower--away.