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' I laughed, but you were offended and would not talk
with me, and for the rest of the day appeared so serious that then
I wanted to cry. On our way back to the town through the hot sun,
I picked some sage leaves that grew beside the path and gave them
to you to put in your hat so that you might not get a headache. You
smiled and caught my hand, and we made up."
Ibarra smiled with happiness as he opened his pocketbook and took from
it a piece of paper in which were wrapped some dry, blackened leaves
which gave off a sweet odor. "Your sage leaves," he said, in answer
to her inquiring look. "This is all that you have ever given me."
She in turn snatched from her bosom a little pouch of white
satin. "You must not touch this," she said, tapping the palm of his
hand lightly. "It's a letter of farewell."
"The one I wrote to you before leaving?"
"Have you ever written me any other, sir?"
"And what did I say to you then?"
"Many fibs, excuses of a delinquent debtor," she answered smilingly,
thus giving him to understand how sweet to her those fibs were.


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