Now Felipa's arms were unpleasant: they were brown
and lean, scratched and stained, and they terminated in a
pair of determined little paws that could hold on like grim
Death. I shall never forget coming upon a tableau one day
out on the barren — a little Florida cow and FeUpa, she hold-
ing on by the horns, and the beast with its small fore feet
stubbornly set in the sand ; girl pulling one way, cow the
other ; both sileht and determined. It was a hard contest,
but the giri won.
" And if you pass over her elbows, there ate 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.
" Have we not feet too ? " I replied sharply.
But I knew what she meant. Bare feet are not pleasant
to the eye nowadays, 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 cha-
parral. 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 de-
fiantly.
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 salt-
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FELIPA. 203
marsh, and to go down to the oceaii was quite a voyage to
Felipa. She bade us good-by joyously; then ran back to
hug Christine a second time, then to the boat again ; then
back.
" I thought you wanted to go, child ? " I said, a little im-
patiently ; for I was reading aloud, and these small irruptions
were disturbing. •
" Yes," said Felipa, " I want to go { and still — Perhaps
if the gracious sefiora would kiss me again — "
Christine only patted her check and told her to run away :
she obeyed, but there was a wistful look in her eyes, and, even
after the boat had started, her face, watching us from the
stem, haunted me.
" Now that the little monkey has gone, I may be able at
last to catch and fix a likeness of her," I said ; " in this case
a recollection is better than the changing quicksilver reality."
" You take it as a study of ugliness ? "
" Do not be hard upon the child, Christine."
" Hard ? Why, she adores me," said my friend, going off
to her hammock under the tree.
Several days passed, and the boat returned not. I accom-
plished a fine amount of work, and Christine a fine amount
of swingeing in the hammock and dreaming. At length one
afternoon I gave my final touch, and carried my sketch over
to the pre-Raphaelite lady for criticism. " What do you see ? "
I said.
" I see a wild-looking child with yellow eyes, a mat of curly
black hair, a lank little bodice, her two thin brown arms
embracing a gaunt old dog with crooked legs, big feet, and
tumed-in toes."
"Is that all?"
"AU."
" You do not see latent beauty, courage, and a possible
great gulf of love in that poor wild little face ? "
" Nothing of the kind," replied Christine decidedly. " I
see an ugly little gfirl ; that is all."
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204 FELIPA.
The next day the boat returned, and brought back five
persons, the old grandfather, Felipa, Drollo, Miguel of the
island, and — Edward Bowne.
"Aheady?" I said.
"Tired of the Madre, Kitty; thought I would come up
here and see you for a while. I knew you must be pining for
•me."
" Certainly," I replied ; " do you not see how I have wast-
ed away ? "
He drew my arm through his and raced me down the
plank-walk toward the shore, where I arrived laughing and
out of breath.
" Where is Christine ? " he asked.
I came back into the traces at once. " Over there in the
hammock. You wish to go to the house first, I suppose ? "
" Of course not."
" But she did not come to meet you, Edward, although
she knew you had landed."
"Of course not, also."
" I do not understand you two."
" And of course not, a third time," said Edward, looking
down at me with a smile. " What do peaceful little artists
know about war ? "
"Is it war?"
"Something very like it, Kitty. What is that you are
canying ? "
" Oh ! my new sketch. What do you think of it ? "
" Good, very good. Some little g^rl about here, I suppose }
"Why.itisFeKpa!"
"And who is Felipa? Seems to me I have seen that old
dog, though."
" Of course you have ; he was in the boat \vith you, and
so was Felipa ; but she was dressed in boy's clothes, and that
g^ves her a different look."
" Oh ! that boy ? I remember him. His name is Philip.
He is a funny little fellow," said Edward calmly.
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FELIPA. 205
*• Her name is Felipa, and she is not a boy or a funny lit-
tle fellow at all," I replied.
" Isn't she ? I thought she was both/* replied Ned care-
lessly ; and then he went off toward the hammock. I turned
away, after noting Christine's cool greeting, and went back to
the boat
Felipa came bounding to meet me. " What is his name ? "
she demanded.
" Bowne."
" Buon — Buona ; I can not say it."
" Bowne, child — Edward Bowne."
"Oh! Eduardo; I know that. Eduardo—Eduardo— a
name of honey."
She flew off singing the name, followed by DroUo carrying
his mistress's palmetto basket in his big patient mouth ; but
when I passed the house a few moments afterward she was
singing, or rather talking volubly of, another name — ** Miguel,"
and "the wife of Miguel," who were apparently important
personages on the canvas of her life. As it happened, I never
really saw that wife of Miguel, who seemingly had no name
of her own ; but I imagined her. She lived on a sand-bar in
the ocean not far from the mouth of our salt-marsh ; she drove
pelicans like ducks with a long switch, and she had a tame
eagle ; she had an old horse also, who dragged the driftwood
across the sand on a sledge, and this old horse seemed like a
giant horse always, outlined as he was against the flat bar and
the sky. She went out at dawn, and she went out at sunset,
but during the middle of the burning day she sat at home and
polished sea-beans, for which she obtained untold sums ; she
was very tall, she was very yellow, and she had but one eye.
These items, one by one, had been dropped by Felipa at vari-
ous times, and it was with curiosity that I gazed upon the
original Miguel, the possessor of this remarkable spouse. He
was a grave-eyed, yellow man, who said little and thought
less, appl}ing cut bono? to mental much as the city man ap-
plies it to bodily exertion, and therefore achieving, I think, a
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2o6 FELIPA.
finer degree of inanition. The tame eagle, the pelicans, were
nothing to him ; and, when I saw his lethargic, gentle counte-
nance, my own curiosity about them seemed to die away in
haze, as though I had breathed in an invisible opiate. He
came, he went, and that }N2& all ; exit Miguel.
Felipa was constantly with us now. She and DroUo fol-
lowed the three of us wherever we went — followed the two
also whenever I staid behind to sketch, as I often staid, for
in those days I was trying to catch the secret of the salt-
marsh ; a hopeless effort — I know it now. " Stay with me,
Felipa," I said ; for it was natural to suppose that the lovers
might like to be alone. (I call them lovers for want of a bet-
ter name, but they were more like haters ; however, in such
cases it is nearly the same thing.) And then Christine, hear-
ing this, would immediately call "Felipa!" and the child
would dart after them, happy as a bird. She wore her boy's
suit now all the time« because the senora had said she " looked
well in it." What the senora really said was, that in boy's
clothes she looked less like a grasshopper. But this had been
translated as above by Edward Bowne when Felipa suddenly
descended upon him one day and demanded to be instantly
told what the gracious lady was saying about her ; for she
seemed to know by intuition when we spoke of her, although
we talked in English and mentioned no names. When told,
her small face beamed, and she kissed Christine's hand joy-
fully and bounded away. Christine took out her handkerchief
and wiped the spot.
" Christine," I said, " do you remember the fate of the
proud girl who walked upon bread ? "
"You think that I may starve for kisses some time?"
said my friend, going on with the wiping.
" Not while I am alive," called out Edward from behind.
His style of courtship was of the sledge-hammer sort some-
times. But he did not get much for it on that day ; only lofty
tolerance, which seemed to amuse him greatly.
Edward played with Felipa very much as if she was a
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FELIPA.
207
rubber toy or a little trapeze performer. He held her out at
arm's length in mid-air, he poised her on his shoulder, he
tossed her up into the low myrtle-trees, and dangled her by
her little belt over the claret-colored pools on the barren ; but
he could not frighten her ; she only laughed and grew wilder
and wilder, like a squirrel. " She has muscles and nerves of
steel," he said admiringly.
" Do put her down ; she is too excitable for such games."
I said in French, for Felipa seemed to divine our English now.
" See the color she has."
For there was a trail of dark red over the child's thin oval
cheeks which made her look unlike herself. As she caught
our eyes fixed upon her, she suddenly stopped her climbing
and came and sat at Christine's feet. " Some day I shall wear
robes like the sefiora's," she said, passing her hand over the
soft fabric ; " and I think," she added after some slow con-
sideration, " that my face will be like the sefiora's too."
Edward burst out laughing. The little creature stopped
abruptly and scanned his face.
" Do not tease her," I said.
Quick as a flash she veered around upon me. " He does
not tease me," she said angrily in Spanish ; " and, besides,
what if he does ? I like it." She looked at me with gleam-
ing eyes and stamped her foot.
" What a little tempest ! " said Christine.
Then Edward, man-like, began to explain. " You could
not look much like this lady, Felipa," he said, " because you
are so dark, you know."
"Am I dark?" ^
"Very dark; but many people are dark, of course; and
for my part I always liked dark eyes," said this mendacious
person.
" Do you like my eyes ? " asked Felipa anxiously.
" Indeed I do : they are like the eyes of a dear little calf I
once owned when I was a boy."
The child was satisfied, and went back to her place beside
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2o8 FELIPA.
Christine. " Yes, I shall wear robes like this," she said
dreamily, drawing the flowing drapery over her knees clad in
the little linen trousers, and scanning the effect ; " they would
trail behind me — so." Her bare feet peeped out below the
hem, and again we all laughed, the little brown toes looked
so comical coming out from the silk and the snowy embroid-
eries. She came down to reality again, looked at us, looked
at herself, and for the first time seemed to comprehend the
difference. Then suddenly she threw herself down on the
ground like a little animal, and buried her head in her arms.
She would not speak, she would not look up : she only re-
laxed one arm a little to take in Drollo, and then lay mo-
tionless. Drollo looked at us out of one eye solemnly from
his uncomfortable position, as much as to say: "No use;
leave her to me." So after a while we went away and left
them there.
That evening I heard a low knock at my door. " Come
in," I said, and Felipa entered. I hardly knew her. She was
dressed in a flowered muslin gown which had probably be-
longed to her mother, and she wore her grandmother's stock-
ings and large baggy slippers ; on her mat of curly hair was
perched a high-crowned, stiff white cap adorned with a rib-
bon streamer ; and her lank little neck, coming out of the big
gown, was decked with a chain of large sea-beans, like ex-
aggerated lockets. She carried a Cuban fan in her hand
which was as large as a parasol, and Drollo, walking behind,
fairly clanked with the chain of sea-shells which she had
wound around him from head to tail The droll tableau and
the supreme pride on Felipa's countenance overcame me, and
I laughed aloud. A sudden cloud of rage and disappoint-
ment came over the poor child's face : she threw her cap on
the floor and stamped on it ; she tore off her necklace and
writhed herself out of her big flowered gown, and, running to
Drollo, nearly strangled him in her fierce efforts to drag off
his shell chains. Then, a half-dressed, wild little phantom,
she seized me by the skirts and dragged me toward the look-
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FELIPA.
209
ing-glass. " You are not pretty either," she cried. " Look at
yourself ! look at yourself ! "
" I did not mean to laugh at you, Felipa," I said gently ;
" I would not laugh at any one ; and it is true I am not pretty,
as you say. I can never be pretty, child ; but, if you will try
to*be more gentle, I could teach you how to dress yourself so
that no one would laugh at you again. I could make you a
little bright-barred skirt and a scarlet bodice : you could help,
and that would teach you to sew. But a little girl who wants
all this done for her must be quiet and good."
" I am good," said Felipa ; " as good as ever3rthing."
The tears still stood in her eyes, but her anger was for-
gotten : she improvised a sort of dance around my room, fol-
lowed by DroUo dragging his twisted chain, stepping on it
with his big feet, and finally winding himself up into, a knot
around the chair-legs. .
" Couldn't we make DroUo something too ? dear old Drol-
lo ! " said Felipa, going to him and squeezing him in an : en-
thusiastic embrace. I used to wonder how his poor ribs-
stood it : Felipa used him as a safety-valve for her impetuous
feelings.
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.
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2IO FELIPA.
" Funny little monkey P said my friend, passively allow-
ing the embrace.
" Me too/' said Edward, bending down. Then I carried
my bundle back satisfied.
The next day Felipa and I in secret b^;an 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 fol-
lowed. " 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 baclcgroimd. 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
ofiF 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 an)rthing
else, seemed to bring out the latent character of her face.
Brown moccasins^ red stockings, and a quantity of bright
beads completed her costume.
" By Jove ! " cried Edward, " the little thing is almost
pretty."
Felipa understood this, and a great light came into her
face : forgetting her pose, she bounded forward to Christine's
side. " I am pretty, then ? '• she said with exultation ; " I
am pretty, then, after all ? For now you yourself have said
it — have said it."
" No, Felipa," I interposed, " the gentleman said it." For
the child had a curious habit of confounding the two iden-
tities which puzzled me then as now. But this afternoon,
this happy afternoon, she was content, for she was allowed to
sit at Christine's feet and look up into her fair face unmolest-
ed. I was forgotten, as usual
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FELIPA. 211
** It is always so/' I said to myself. But cynicism, as Mr.
Aldrich says, is a small brass field-piece that eventually bursts
and kills the artilleryman. I knew this, having been blown
up myself more th^i once; so I went back to my painting
and forgot the world. Our world down there on the edge of
the salt-marsh, however, was a small one : when two persons
went out of it there was a vacuum.
One morning Felipa came sadly to my side. " They have
gone away," she said.
" Yes, child."
** Down to the beach to spend all the day."
" Yes, I know it."
" And without me ! "
This was the climax. I looked up. Her eyes were dry,
but there was a hoUow look of disappointment in her face
that made her seem old ; it was as though for an instant you
caught what her old-woman face would be half a century on.
" Why did they not take me ? " she said. " I am pretty
now : she herself said it."
" They can not always take you, Felipa," I replied, giving
up the point as to who had said it.
" Why not ? I am pretty now : she herself said it," per-
sisted the child. " In these clothes, you know : she herself
said it. The clothes of the son of Pedro you will never see
more : they are burned."
" Burned ? "
"Yes, burned," replied Felipa composedly. "I carried
them out on the barren and burned them. DroUo singed his
paw. They burned quite nicely. But they are gone, and I
am pretty now, and yet they did not take me ! What shall I
do?"
" Take these colors and make me a picture," I suggested.
Generally, this was a prized privilege, but to-day it did not
attract ; she turned away, and a few moments after I saw her
going down to the end of the plank-walk, where she stood
gazing wistfully toward the ocean. There she staid all day,'
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FELIPA.
going into camp with Drollo, and refusing to come to dinner
in spite of old Doming^a's calls and beckonings. At last the
patient old grandmother went down herself to the end of the
long walk where they were, with some bread and venison on
a plate. Felipa ate but little, but DroUo, after waiting politely
until she had finished, devoured ever3rthing that was left in
his calmly hungry way, and then sat back on his haunches
with one paw on the plate, as though for the sake of memory.
Drollo's hunger was of the chronic kind ; it seemed impos-
sible either to assuage it or to fill him. There was a gaunt
leanness about him which I am satisfied no amount of food
could ever fatten. I think he knew it too, and that accounted
for his resignation. At length, just before sunset, the boat
returned, floating up the marsh with the tide, old Bartolo
steering and managing the brown sails. Felipa sprang up
joyfully ; I thought she would spring into the boat in her
eagerness. What did she receive for her long vigil ? A short
word or two ; that was all. Christine and Edward had quar-
reled.
How do lovers quarrel ordinarily ? But I should not ask
that, for these were no ordinary lovers : they were extraor-
dinary.
" You should not submit to her caprices so readily," I said
the next day while strolling on the barren with Edward. (He
was not so much cast down, however, as he might have
been.)
" I adore the very ground her foot touches, Kitty."
" I know it. But how will it end ? "
" I will tell you : some of these days I shall win her, and
then — she will adore me."
Here Felipa came running after us, and Edward immedi-
ately challenged her to a race : a game of romps began. If
Christine had been looking from her window she might have
thought he was not especially disconsolate over her absence ;
but she was not looking. She was never looking out of any-
thing or for anybody. She was always serenely content where
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FELIPA,
213
she was. Edward and Felipa strayed off among the pine-
trees, and gradually I lost sight of them. But as I sat sketch-
ing an hour afterward Edward came into view, carrying the
child in his arms. I hurried to meet them.
" I shall never forgive myself," he said ; " the little thing
has fallen and injured her foot badly, I fear."
" I do not care at all," said Felipa ; " I like to have it hurt.
It is my foot, isn't it ? "
These remarks she threw at me defiantly, as though I had
laid claim to the member in question. I could not help
laughing.
" The other lady will not laugh," said the child proudly.
And in truth Christine, most unexpectedly, took up the rSIe
of nurse. She carried Felipa to her own room — for we each
had a little cell opening out of the main apartment — and as
white-robed Charity she shone with new radiance, " Shone "
is the proper word ; for through the open door of the dim
cell, with the dark little face of Felipa on her shoulder, her
white robe and skin seemed fairly to shine, as white lilies
shine on a dark night. The old grandmother left the child in
our care and watched our proceedings wistfully, very much as
a dog watches the human hands that extract the thorn from
the swollen foot of her puppy. She was grateful and asked
no questions ; in fact, thought was not one of her mental
processes. She did not think much ; she felt. As for Felipa,
the child lived in rapture during those days in spite of her
suffering. She scarcely slept at all — she was too happy : I
heard her voice rippling on through the night, and Christine's
low replies. She adored her beautiful nurse.
The fourth day came : Edward Bowne walked into the
cell. •* Go out and breathe the fresh air for an hour or two,"
he said in the tone more of a command than a request.
" The child will never consent," replied Christine sweetly.
" Oh, yes, she will ; I will stay with her," said the young
man, lifting the feverish little head on his arm and passing his
hand softly over the bright eyes.
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214 FELIPA.
" Felipa, do you not want me ? " said Christine, bending
down.
" He stays ; it is all the same," murmured the child.
** So it is. — Go, Christine," said Edward with a little smile
of triumph.
Without a word Christine left the cell. But she did not
go to walk ; she came to my room, and, throwing herself on
my bed, fell in a moment into a deep sleep, the reaction after
her three nights of wakefulness. When she awoke it was
long after dark, and I had relieved Edward in his watch.
" You will have to give it up,'* he said as our lily came
forth at last with sleep-flushed cheeks and starry eyes shielded
from the light. "The spell is broken; we have all been
taking care of Felipa, and she likes one as well as the other."
Which was not true, in my case at least, since Felipa had
openly derided my small strength when I lifted her, and beat
off the sponge with which I attempted to bathe her hot face,
" They " used no sponges, she said, only their nice cool hands ;
and she wished " they " would come and take care of her again.
But Christine had resigned tn toto. If Felipa did not prefer
her to all others, then Felipa should not have her ; she was
not a common nurse. And indeed she was not. Her fair
face, ideal grace, cooing voice, and the strength of her long
arms and flexible hands, were like magic to the sick, and —
distraction to the well ; the well in this case being Edward
Bowne looking in at the door.
" You love them very much, do you not, Felipa ? " I said
one day when the child was sitting up for the first time in a
cushioned chair.
" Ah, yes ; it is so strong when they carry me," she re-
plied. But it was Edward who carried her.
" He is very strong," I said.