It wasn't his
steer and it wasn't mine. It belonged to the Farrel estate, and, since
there is nobody to lodge a complaint against him, I suppose he'll kill
another steer when his rations run low. This way, daughter. Right
through the hole in the wall."
They passed through a big inset gate in the adobe wall, into the patio.
At once the scent of lemon and orange blossoms, mingled with the more
delicate aroma of flowers, assailed them. Kay stood, entranced, gazing
upon the hodgepodge of color; she had the feeling of having stepped out
of one world into another.
Her father stood watching her.
"Wonderful old place, isn't it, Kay?" he suggested. "The garden has
been neglected, but I'm going to clean it out."
"Do not touch it," she commanded, almost sharply. "I want it the way
it is."
"You little tyrant!" he replied good-naturedly. "You run me ragged and
make me like it."
From a rocker on the porch at the eastern end of the patio Kay's mother
rose and called to them, and the girl darted away to greet her. Mrs.
Parker folded the girl to a somewhat ample bosom and kissed her
lovingly on her ripe red lips; to her husband she presented a cheek
that showed to advantage the artistry of a member of that tribe of
genii who strive so valiantly to hold in check the ravages of age. At
fifty, Kay's mother was still a handsome woman; her carriage, her
dress, and a certain repressed vivacity indicated that she had mastered
the art of growing old gracefully.
Pages:
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86