That morning at the first flush of dawn she had gone into her garden to pick the choicest vegetables, which she placed in a basket among banana-leaves and flowers; then she had looked along the bank of the river for the _pako_ which she knew the curate liked for salads.

Putting on her best clothes and without awakening her son, she had set out for the town with the basket on her head.

As she went up the stairway she, tried to make as little noise as possible and listened attentively in the hope that she might hear a fresh, childish voice, so well known to her.

But she heard nothing nor did she meet any one as she made her way to the kitchen.

There she looked into all the corners.