that glimmered with yellow and mauve.
The earth was all damp with rain, the leaves were all fresh and tropical thick, yet many old leaves were on the ground, beaten down.
“Niña! You are going out already! Wait! Wait! The coffee. Concha! quick!”
There was a running of bare feet, the children bringing cup and plate and sweet buns and sugar, the mother hastily limping with the coffee. Ezequiel came striding along the walk, lifting his hat. He went down to the servants’ quarters.
“Ezequiel says—!” Juana came crying. When suddenly a soft, slack thud seemed to make a hole in the air, leaving a gap behind it. Thud!—Thud!—Thud!—rather slowly. It was the big drum, irresistible.
Kate rose at once from her coffee.
“I am going to the church,” she said.
“Yes Niña—Ezequiel says—I am coming, Niña—”
And Juana scuttled away, to get her black