She kissed me good-night and then asked for "the other lady."
"Go to bed, child," I said: "I will give her your good-night."
"But I want to kiss her too," said Felipa.
She lingered at the door and would not go; she played with the latch,
and made me nervous with its clicking; at last I ordered her out. But on
opening my door half an hour afterward there she was sitting on the
floor outside in the darkness, she and Drollo, patiently waiting.
Annoyed, but unable to reprove her, I wrapped the child in my shawl and
carried her out into the moonlight, where Christine and Edward were
strolling to and fro under the pines. "She will not go to bed,
Christine, without kissing you," I explained.
"Funny little monkey!" said my lily friend, passively allowing the
embrace.
"Me too," said Edward, bending down. Then I carried my bundle back
satisfied.
The next day Felipa and I in secret began our labors: hers consisted in
worrying me out of my life and spoiling material--mine in keeping my
temper and trying to sew. The result, however, was satisfactory, never
mind how we got there. I led Christine out one afternoon: Edward
followed. "Do you like tableaux?" I said. "There is one I have arranged
for you."
Felipa sat on the edge of the low, square-curbed Spanish well, and
Drollo stood behind her, his great yellow body and solemn head serving
as a background. She wore a brown petticoat barred with bright colors,
and a little scarlet bodice fitting her slender waist closely; a
chemisette of soft cream-color with loose sleeves covered her neck and
arms, and set off the dark hues of her cheeks and eyes; and around her
curly hair a red scarf was twisted, its fringed edges forming a drapery
at the back of the head, which, more than anything else, seemed to bring
out the latent character of her face.
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