"This is foolish and unseemly--though all thy quarreling is that, the saints know well.

Our guests are Americanos; our guests, who are our friends," she stated gently, looking at Jose.

"Not all Spaniards are good, Jose; not all gringos are bad.

They are as we are, good and bad together.

Speak not like a child, amigo mio." The guitar which Jose flung down upon a broad stool beside him hummed resonant accompaniment to his footsteps as he left the veranda.