It was a hard contest, but the girl
won.
"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 for hours.
"Have we not feet, too?" I replied sharply.
But I knew what she meant. Bare feet are not pleasant to the eye
now-a-days, 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 chapparal. 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 river, and to go down to the ocean was quite a voyage to Felipa.
Pages:
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138