I await the morrow, Nina mia,
    I await the morrow, all through the night,
  For the entrancing music and dancing
    With thee, my song-bird, my heart’s delight. 
  Come dance, my Nina, in thy mantilla,
    Think of our love and do not say no;
  Hasten then my treasure, grant me this pleasure,
    Dance then tomorrow the bolero!

Over at the corral, Pablo rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and permitted a thin film of smoke to trickle through his nostrils.  He, too, was content.

“Carolina,” he remarked presently, in English, “is happy to beat hell.”

“I haven’t any right to be, but, for some unknown reason, I’m feeling gay myself,” his master replied.

He started toward the harness-room to get the saddle for Panchito, and Pablo lingered a moment at the fence, gazing after him curiously.  Could it be possible that Don Miguel Jose Maria Federico Noriaga Farrel had, while sojourning in the cold land of the bewhiskered men, lost a modicum of that particularity with women which had formerly distinguished him in the eyes of his humble retainers?

“Damn my soul eef I don’t know sometheeng!” Pablo muttered, and followed for a saddle for the gray gelding.

XIX

When the Parkers emerged from the hacienda, they found Don Mike and Pablo holding the horses and waiting for them.  Kay wore a beautifully tailored riding-habit of dark unfinished material, shot with a faint admixture of gray; her boots were of shining black undressed leather, and she wore a pair of little silver-mounted spurs, the sight of which caused Pablo to exchange sage winks with his master.  Her white-pique stock was fastened by an exquisite little cameo stick-pin; from under the brim of a black-beaver sailor-hat, set well down on her head, her wistful brown eyes looked up at Don Mike, and caught the quick glance of approval with which he appraised her, before turning to her mother.

“The black mare for you, Mrs. Parker,” he suggested.  “She’s a regular old sweetheart and single-foots beautifully.  I think you’ll find that stock-saddle a far more comfortable seat than the saddle Miss Kay is using.”

“I know I’m not as light and graceful as I used to be, Mike,” the amiable soul assured him, “but it irks me to have men notice it.  You might have given me an opportunity to decline Kay’s saddle.  There is such a thing as being too thoughtful, you know.”

“Mother!” Kay cried reproachfully.

Don Mike blushed, even while he smiled his pleasure at the lady’s badinage.  She observed this.

“You’re a nice boy, Michael,” she murmured, for his ear alone.  “Why, you old-fashioned young rascal!”—­as Don Mike stooped and held out his hand.  She placed her left foot in it and was lifted lightly into the saddle.  When he had adjusted the stirrups to fit her, he turned to aid Kay, only to discover that the gallant Panchito had already performed the honors for that young lady by squatting until she could reach the stirrup without difficulty.