"Of course you know more about it than I do," admitted Eveley. "We--we do not understand the situation at all. I--think perhaps they are too shrewd for us. Let's not talk of it--it excites you, dear. I want you to rest and be quiet. I did not know that any one could love--Mexico--like that."

"Have you seen Mexico? Oh, not the dry, barren border country, but my Mexico, rich with jewels and gold, studded with magnificent cities, flowering with rare fruits and spices, a mellow, golden, matchless land, peopled by those who are skilled in arts and science, lovers of beauty, and--Ah, you do not know Mexico. You know only the half-breed savages who run the borderland, preying on Mexican and American alike. You do not know the real Mexico of beautiful women, and brave and gallant men. How could you know?"

Then her voice became soft and dreamy again. "I visited here long years ago. I was out in your Old Town, where the Indian maid Ramona lived. I stood in the square there. Do you know the story, Eveley, of the early days when your Captain Fremont and his band of soldiers stood there, ready to lower the flag of Mexico and to raise in its place your Stars and Stripes? As your soldier stepped forward to tear down our flag, a little girl of Mexico, another Marie like me, who was watching with aching heart from the window of the 'dobe house on the other side, shocked at the outrage, leaped from the cas.e.m.e.nt forgetting her fear of the foreign soldiers, and with one tug of her sharp knife cut the rope.

As the flag of Mexico fell, she caught it in her bare hands, and pressed it against her lips, her little form shaken with sobs. 'Forgive me,' she said to the soldiers, but it is the flag of my country, I could not see it dragged in the dust.'"

Eveley leaned over and put her hand on Marie's arm. "I have heard the story many times, but I never caught the glory of it before. It was the feeling in her that is in me now--that is in all America--only ours is for America, and hers was for Mexico--as yours is."

"When I look at you, and know the tenderness of you, and the great heart of you, I feel that America must be the heaven of all the world, and Americans the angels." Then Marie's face darkened, and her lips became a scarlet line. "But who then has stood heartlessly by, and watched the writhing and anguish of my Mexico, withholding the hand of power that could bring peace? Who has stood by and smiled while Mexico lay crushed and bleeding beneath the heel of despotism and treachery?"

"We haven't understood, Marie," begged Eveley. "We could not understand.

We--we naturally trust people, we are like that, you know, and--"

"And whom can one trust? My faith has been as my faith in G.o.d--yet when so many falter, and then turn back in betrayal--how can one trust?

Perhaps we are all deceived--perhaps every faction in my country is seeking only to despoil and enslave." Then her face grew bright and luminous as she said, "But there are those who are princes of sacrifice and love, risking all their world, their lives, their honor, for my Mexico. If there be any faith, it is in them. You call them bandits--Yes?

I call them sons of G.o.d."

Eveley changed the subject as quickly as she could. The bandits who had been driven desperately from crag to cranny, berated in the press, denounced in the pulpit, deprecated on the platform--were these the princes of Marie's Mexico, the idols of their women's hearts, the saviors of their faith, their hope of freedom? It was very confusing.

She told Marie how she worked every day down-town, and how the little Cloud Cote would be her own all day, how she had friends coming often in the evening, friends who would love Marie, but whom she never need to see except when her heart desired. And she told of the lovely lawn, with its pavilions and pergolas and crevices and vines, and of the canyon drifting away down to the bay.

And Marie sat with her chin in her hands, her eyes soft and humble, dog-like, on Eveley's face.

CHAPTER XV

SERVICE OF JOY

It was not often that Eileen Trevis, who was manifestly born for business, waxed hysterically enthusiastic. And so one morning a few days later, when an incoherent summons came from her over the telephone, Eveley was astonished almost to the point of speechlessness.

"What is it?" she gasped. "What has happened? Is it bad news?"

"Good, good, good," exulted Eileen. "Wonderful, delicious, thrilling.

Please hurry. It is nearly lunch-time, isn't it? I have been trying to get you all morning,--come quickly.--Never mind about your luncheon.--Are you coming?"

"I am on the way," shouted Eveley, crashing the receiver on to its hook, and flying with scant ceremony from the office, hoping it was truly the luncheon hour, but scorning to waste the time to look.

"She is in love," she said aloud as she ran down the stairs, spurning a tardy elevator. "She is in love, and she is engaged, or maybe she has eloped and is already married. Eileen Trevis,--of all people in the world. Whoever would have thought it?"

Only the absence of traffic officers in that part of the city kept Eveley from arrest that day, and only the protection of Heaven itself saved her from total wreckage, for she spun around corners, and dodged traffic warts at a rate that was positively neck-breaking. The last block before she reached Eileen's home was one long coast, and she drew up sharply with a triumphant honk.

Eileen was on the steps before she had time to turn off the engine.

"Is it a husband?" cried Eveley.

"No, babies," chortled Eileen.

Eveley put her fingers over her lips, and swallowed painfully.

"It isn't your turn," she said disapprovingly. "You have to do these things in proper order. You can't run backward. It isn't being done."

"Don't be silly," said Eileen. "Hop out, and come in. I am having a nursery made out of the maid's bedroom that has never been used. It is perfectly dear, with blue Red-Riding-Hoods, and blue wolves and blue Jacks-and-Jills on a white background."

"There is something wrong about this," said Eveley solemnly, as she followed Eileen into the house, and up the two flights of stairs to her apartment.

"It is Ida's babies, stupid," explained Eileen at last. "I am to have them after all. Poor Jim's sister is ill, and I must say, it almost serves her right,--she was so snippy about the children."

"Oh, Ida's babies! And has the Aunt-on-the-Other-Side-of-the-House had a change of heart?"

"Yes, a regular one. Heart failure, they call it. I tried so hard to get them when Ida died, but Agnes flatly refused to give them up and since her brother was their daddy and he was alive, I could not do much. I asked for them again, you know, when Jim died, and she was ruder than ever. But since the dispensation of heart failure, she can not keep them.

I got a letter this morning, and wired for them to start immediately and I just got an answer that they will be here to-morrow afternoon. Then I sent for the decorators."

"You aren't any mother for small children," protested Eveley, with an argumentative wave of her hand. "You are born for business. Everybody says so. You do not know anything about babies."

"Oh, yes I do," cried Eileen ecstatically. "They have fat legs and dimples, and Betty sucks her thumb and has to be scolded, and Billy shouts 'More jam' and smudges it on his knees."

"Are you giving up your position?"

"Oh, mercy, no. We have to live. Poor Jim only left them insurance and nothing else, and that did not last very long. I sent the other aunt a small check every month to help along and sort of heap coals of fire on her head at the same time. No, I shall have to work harder than ever now.

But I get one seventy-five a month now,--and lots of families live on less."

"Who will keep house then--Betty?"

"Don't ask silly questions, Eveley, I am so nervous anyhow I hardly know what I am saying. You remember my laundress, don't you? She is so nice and motherly and a Methodist and respectable and all that,--only old and hard up. She is coming to live with us,--she will have the den for her room, and is closing her cottage. She is to keep house and look after the babies while I am at work. She only charges twenty-five a month, so I can manage. The rent does seem high, fifty dollars,--but we need the room, though you all thought it was so extravagant for me to have such a large apartment to myself. But you know how I am, Eveley,--I like lots of s.p.a.ce,--a place for everything, and everything where it belongs. So I was willing to stand the expense, and now it is a good thing I did. Come and see the baby room."

Eveley duly admired the blue Red-Riding-Hoods and Jacks-and-Jills, exclaimed over the tiny white beds, and tiny white tables and chairs, and then said:

"You seem to be enjoying this experience, so I suppose you do not feel it is your duty, nor anything sordid like that?"

"Oh, no," laughed Eileen. "I am doing it because I am just crazy about those babies, and I am sort of lonely, Eveley, though I have never realized it before. And when I think of coming home to a frolic with fat little babies in white dresses and blue ribbons,--well, I am so happy I could fairly cry."

So Eveley put her arms around her, and kissed her, and offered a few suggestions about appropriate food for angel babies,--feeling very wise from her recent experience with Nathalie and Dan, and invited them all to go driving with her on Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and mentally planned to send them an enormous box of candy in the morning after their arrival, and then said she must hurry back to work.

"Oh, you poor thing," cried Eileen in contrition. "You did not have any luncheon at all, did you? Wait until I fix a sandwich and you can slip into the dressing-room and eat it. It will only take a minute. You may have some of these animal cookies too,--I got a dollar's worth,--I knew the babies would love them. Now, Eveley, won't you come to dinner to-morrow night and meet my little blesseds? The train comes at six-ten, and Mrs. Allis, I mean, Aunt Martha,--we have decided to call her Aunt Martha,--will have dinner all ready for us."

"Certainly I'll come," said Eveley promptly. "I shall love it. And I'll come for you in the car and take you to the station."

After work that night, Eveley went into the ten-cent store, and bought a startling array of drums and horns and small shovels, and sent them out to Eileen's for the babies. And that night she insisted that Nolan must come to dinner with her to hear the great good news.

"It is just because she wants to do it," she said happily. "That is why she is so full of joy. It is plain selfishness,--she has no thought of doing her Christian duty nor any such nonsense. And--well, you would hardly know Eileen. Her eyes are like stars, and her voice runs up and down stairs in beautiful trills, and she forgot to wear her hair net."

"Wait till Billy gets jam on her lace bedspread, and Betty cuts up her new bonnet to get the pretty flowers, and wait till they both get mad and yowl at once,--she'll be lucky if she remembers her Christian duty then."

"Isn't he crabbish, Marie?" asked Eveley plaintively. "He doesn't like to see people happy and thrilled and throbbing."