  Chiquita and Guacha proved a pleasant addition to the happy circle of little folk, for, though shy at first, the little Indian soon thawed out in the genial atmosphere about her. Many quaint little stories she told of Indian ways and customs, legends of the times of the Inca conquests, and stories of the days when her forefathers had been Caciques of the tribe. She was a sweet-natured little soul, and the Senhora kept her with them until the last day of their stay. The evening before they were to return to Sao Paulo, all sat around the camp-fire, laughing, talking, and telling stories, Guacha beside Maria, for the two little girls had grown nearly inseparable. The green and red cockatoo was "To-morrow we start toward home," said Lola dreamily, as she sat resting her head against her mother's knee. "Saudade, "Oh, no, papa, how could I be really homesick when I am having such a delightful time with my cousins," said Lola sweetly. "But I should like to see grandmamma in Para and my dear old nurse at the fazenda." "I want to see Joachim and Vicente," said Affonzo. "I want to see mamma," said Martim. Big boy that he was, he was not ashamed of being devoted to his mother. Maria's eyes filled with tears, and she slipped The Senhora hummed lightly under her breath the sweet Brazilian "Home Sweet Home," "Mine is the country where the palm-trees rear Their stately heads toward the azure sky, And where, in accents ever soft and clear, The sabiÁ sings her hymn of melody; Here, in my exile, say what warblers rare Can with the sabiÁ's notes their own compare? "Friendless, alone, at night, I dream of thee; My slumbering senses wrapped in peace and bliss I see the palms; the sabiÁ's melody Falls on my ears; once more I feel the kiss Of lips I love; I wake, the vision's gone, The sabiÁ to his native woods has flown. "Spare me, O God, until in peace I lie Then may the sabiÁ carol joyfully, Perched in the palms, my resting-place above. So gathering in the first-fruits of my love, No longer homesick, every heart-ache past, Bearing the sheaves for which in grief I strove, A plenteous harvest may I reap at last." As they finished, Maria heard from the slight figure beside her a sigh that was almost a sob and she turned quickly to find Guacha's eyes filled with tears, fixed upon her. "What is it?" she whispered. "Are you ill?" "Oh no," said Guacha. "But you all love each other so dearly and I have no one to love, only Chiquita," as the cockatoo rubbed his fluffy head against her cheek. "You have me," said Maria. "But you are going away from me," she answered mournfully. "No, my child." Maria's father laid his hand kindly upon the little Indian's dark head. "You may come with us if you will." "Oh, papa!" cried Maria, her face alight with eager delight. "Will you really take Guacha back with us?" "I thought that you might like to have her go back with us and play that she was your sister," he said pleasantly. "Your aunt says she will take care of you both during the rest of the year, and the old people who have cared for your little friend are ready to give her to us if she wants to come. How about it, Guacha? Will you go far off to Para and be Guacha's sister?" She looked from him to Maria, from Maria to the Senhora, who smiled at her kindly. "May I take Chiquita?" she asked. "He hasn't a friend in all the world but me." "Of course you may take your birdie, you dear little girl," said the Senhora, "and we shall all hope to have you very happy with us." Guacha gave a contented little sigh, and slipped her hand into Maria's. "You are all so good," she said. "I could never be anything but happy with you." "It will be ever so jolly," broke out Affonzo, the irrepressible. "Yes," said Martim. "I'll have another girl cousin to tease, but she won't treat me as unkindly as you treat your Brazilian cousins, Maria." "Well, maybe not," laughed Maria, "but you know Guacha is the only one of you all who is really and truly my Little Brazilian Cousin." THE END. FOOTNOTES: |
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