Uncle Adan had been taken ill. He was suffering from the exhalations of the swamp land through which he must travel to clear the river field. He had that and the cacao patch both on his mind. There was a general air of carelessness about the plantation of San Isidro which had never obtained before since Agueda's memory of the place. The peons and workmen lounged about the outhouses and stables, lazily doing the work that was absolutely needed, but there was no one to give orders, and there was no one who seemed to long for them. It appeared to be a general holiday.

Uncle Adan lay and groaned in his bed at the further end of the veranda, and wondered if the cacao seed had spoiled, or if it would hold good for another day. When Agueda begged him to get some sleep, or to take his quinine in preparation for the chill that must come, he only turned his face to the wall and groaned that the place was going to rack and ruin since those northerners had come down to the island. "I have seen the Se?or plant the cacao," said Agueda. "He had the[Pg 269] Palandrez and the Troncha and the Garcia-Garcito with him. He ordered, and they worked. I went with them sometimes." Agueda sighed as she remembered those happy days.

Uncle Adan turned his aching bones over, so that he could raise his weary eyes to Agueda's.

"That is all true," he said. "The Se?or can plant, no Colono better. But one cannot plant the cacao and play the guitar at one and the same time."

Agueda hung her head as if the blame of right belonged to her.

"You act as if I blamed you, and I do," said Uncle Adan, shivering in the preliminary throes of his hourly chill. "You who have influence over the Se?or! You should exert it at once. The place is going to rack and ruin, I tell you!"

Agueda turned and went out of the door. She was tired of the subject. There was no use in arguing with Uncle Adan, either with regard to the quinine or the visitors. She went to her own room, and took her hat from the peg. When again she came out upon the veranda, she had a long stick in one hand and a pail in the other. Then she visited the kitchen.

"Juana," she said, "fill this pail with water and tell Pablo and Eduardo Juan that I need them at once."

[Pg 270]

She waited while this message was sent to the recalcitrant peons, who lounged lazily toward the House at her summons.

"De Se?orit' send fo' me?" asked Pablo.

"I sent for both of you," said Agueda. "Why have you done no cacao planting to-day?"

"Ain' got no messages," replied Pablo, who seemed to have taken upon himself the r?le of general responder.

"You know very well that it is the messages that make no difference. Bring your machetes, both of you," ordered Agueda, "and come with me to the hill patch."

For answer the peons drew their machetes lazily from their sheaths.

"I knew that you had them, of course. Come, then! I am going to the field. Where is the cacao, Pablo?"

"Wheah Ah leff 'em," answered Pablo.

"And where is that?"

"In de hill patch, Se?o'it'."

"And did some one, perhaps, mix the wood ashes with them?"

Pablo turned to Eduardo Juan, open-mouthed, as if to say, "Did you?"

Agueda also turned to Eduardo Juan. "Well! well!" she exclaimed impatiently, "were the wood ashes mixed, then, with the cacao seeds?"

[Pg 271]

Eduardo Juan shifted from one foot to the other, looked away at the river, and said, "Ah did not ogsarve."

"You did not observe. Oh, dear! oh, dear! Why can you never do as the Se?or tells you? What will become of the plantation if you do not obey what the Se?or tells you?"

"Se?o' ain' say nuttin'," said Eduardo Juan, with a sly smile.

Agueda looked away. "I am not speaking of the Se?or. I mean the Se?or Adan," said she. "You know that he has charge of all; that he had charge long before—come, then! let us go."

As Agueda descended the steps of the veranda, she heard Beltran's voice calling to her. She turned and looked back. Don Beltran was standing in the open door of the salon. His pleasant smile seemed to say that he had just been indulging in agreeable words, agreeable thoughts.

"Agueda," said Beltran, "bring my mother's cross here, will you? I want to show it to my cousin."

Agueda turned and came slowly up the steps again. She went at once to her own room and opened the drawer where the diamonds lay in their ancient case of velvet and leather. The key which opened this drawer hung with the household bunch at her waist. The drawer had not been opened for[Pg 272] some time, and the key grated rustily in the lock. Agueda opened the drawer, took the familiar thing in her hand, and returning along the veranda, handed it to Beltran. Then she ran quickly down the steps to join the waiting peons. But Felisa's appreciative scream as the case was opened reached her, as well as the words which followed.

"And you let that girl take charge of such a magnificent thing as that! Why, cousin, it must mean a fortune."

"Who? Agueda?" said Beltran. "I would trust Agueda with all that I possess. Agueda knew my mother. She was here in my mother's time."

The motherly instinct, which is in the ascendant with most women, arose within the heart of Agueda.

"Come, Palandrez, come, Eduardo Juan," said she. They could hardly keep pace with her. If there was no one else to work for him while he dallied with his pretty cousin, she would see that his interests did not suffer.

"Why, then, do you not go up there in the cool of the evening, Palandrez? You could get an hour's work done easily after the sun go............