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"What's your name?" Esmond Clarenden asked. "Po-a-be. In your words, 'Little Blue Flower," the girl said. "Then, Little Blue Flower, you must stay with us." She pointed toward the eastern sky where a faint light was beginning to show above the horizon. "See, the day comes!" "Then we will break camp now," my uncle said. "Not in the face of this storm, Clarenden," Jondo declared.
I'm chaperon. I could take the priest on my lap if he isn't too bulky," I answered. "I want to take Po-a-be. I can't tell you why now." The lashes dropped over the brown eyes, and I wondered how she could think that I could refuse her anything. "Oh, we'll take her on faith and the stage-coach.
Po-a-be, our Little Blue Flower, is my heathen cousin, descended from the same chief's daughter. The Hopi's faith is a part of him, like his hand or eye, and I have never gained much with the tribe save through blood-ties. But because of that I have their confidence." "You have all men's confidence, Father Josef," I said, warmly. "Thank you, my son," the priest replied.
He did not see the Mexican woman standing motionless, a dark splotch against a dun wall, until a soft Hopi voice called, eagerly, "Beverly, Beverly." The black scarf fell from the bright face, and Indian garb not Po-a-be, the student of St.
He was as determined to win Po-a-be as she that he should fail. And he was cunning in his schemes." Father Josef paused and looked at Eloise. "To make the story short," he began again, "Santan could not make the Hopi woman hate Beverly, although she knew that her love was hopeless, as it should be. Pardon me, daughter," Father Josef said, gently.
"You will see that no harm comes to my little Po-a-be. The wolves of the forest are not the only danger for the unprotected lambs," she said, earnestly. "I'll do my best, Mother Bridget," I responded, feeling a swelling pride in my double charge. Mother Bridget patted Eloise's hand and turned away.
She looked at me with keen, half-quizzical eyes. Then she said, quietly: "You will find the little girl down by Flat Rock Creek. The Indian girl, Po-a-be, is with her. There may be several Indian girls down there, but Po-a-be is alone with little Eloise." I bowed and turned away, conscious that, with this good nun's sincerity, she was smiling at me back of her eyes somehow.
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