“For the sake of Miguelito,” Jacket urged.  “Caramba!  What a hard-hearted father begot that boy!”

“Hush!” The fisherman was scowling.  To O’Reilly he said, “You do wrong to tempt a poor man.”

“My brother Esteban is sick.  He is a frail little lad with a crooked back.  God will reward you.”

“Perhaps!  But how much will you pay?”

“Ten Spanish sovereigns like this—­all that I have.”

“No!  It is not enough.”

O’Reilly took Jacket’s hand and turned away.  “I’m sorry,” said he. 
“I wish I might offer you more.”  He had taken several steps before
Morin hailed him.

“Come back to-morrow,” the fisherman cried, crossly.  “We will try to talk like sensible people.”

The brothers Villar were back at Morin’s fish-stand on the following afternoon and they returned daily thereafter until they at last prevailed over the Spaniard’s fears and won his promise of assistance.  That much accomplished, they made several cautious purchases, a coat here, a shirt there, a pair of trousers in another place, until they had assembled a complete boy’s outfit of clothing.

At first Rosa refused absolutely to desert her two faithful negro friends, and O’Reilly won her consent to consider his plan of escape only after he had put the matter squarely up to Asensio and his wife and after both had refused to enter into it.  Asensio declared that he was too sick to be moved, and asserted that he would infinitely prefer to remain where he was, provided he was supplied with sufficient money to cover his needs.  Evangelina agreed with him.

Then, and not until then, did Rosa begin her preparations.  First she made Evangelina cut her hair, a sacrilege that wrung sighs and tears and loud lamentations from the black woman, after which she altered the suit of boy’s clothing to fit her figure, or rather to conceal it.

When at last she put it on for O’Reilly’s approval she was very shy, very self-conscious, and so altogether unboylike that he shook his head positively.

“My dear, you’ll never do,” he told her.  “You are altogether too pretty.”

“But wait until I put that hideous hump upon my back and stain my face, then you will see how ugly I can look.”

“Perhaps,” he said, doubtfully.  A moment, then his frown lightened.  “You give me a thought,” said he.  “You shall wear the jewels.”

“Wear them?  How?”

“On your back, in that very hump.  It will be the safest possible way to conceal them.”

Rosa clapped her hands in delight.  “Why, of course!  It is the very thing.  Wait until I show you.”