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Rh “Oh, well, so they are,” replied Felipe, “compared with us; but one reason is, they share everything with each other. Old Pablo feeds and supports half his village, they say. So long as he has anything, he will never see one of his Indians hungry.”

“How generous!” warmly exclaimed Ramona; “I think they are better than we are, Felipe!”

“I think so, too,” said Felipe. “That's what I have always said. The Indians are the most generous people in the world. Of course they have learned it partly from us; but they were very much so when the Fathers first came here. You ask Father Salvierderra some day. He has read all Father Junipero's and Father Crespi's diaries, and he says it is wonderful how the wild savages gave food to every one who came.”

“Felipe! you are talking too much,” said the Señora's voice, in the doorway; and as she spoke she looked reproachfully at Ramona. If she had said in words, “See how unfit you are to be trusted with Felipe. No wonder I do not leave the room except when I must!” her meaning could not have been plainer. Ramona felt it keenly, and not without some misgiving that it was deserved.

“Oh, dear Felipe, has it hurt you?” she said timidly; and to the Señora, “Indeed, Señora, he has been speaking but a very few moments, very low.”

“Go call Alessandro, Ramona, will you?” said Felipe. “Tell him to bring his violin. I think I will go to sleep if he plays.”

A long search Ramona had for Alessandro. Everybody had seen him a few minutes ago, but nobody knew where he was now. Kitchens, sheepfolds, vineyards, orchards, Juan Can's bedchamber,—Ramona searched them all in vain. At last, standing at the foot of the veranda steps, and looking down the garden, she thought she saw figures moving under the willows by the washing-stones.