“And when you slip off, how do you get on again?” I asked.
“Little pony is tame, and I never fall off,” she said. “Sometimes I get off, then I climb on again.”
“And what do you do all day long—talk and play?”
“I talk to my doll; I take it on the pony when I go with the sheep.”
“Is your doll very pretty, Anita?”
No answer.
“Will you let me see your doll, Anita? I know I shall like your doll, because I like you.”
She gave me an anxious look. Evidently doll was a very precious being and had not met with proper appreciation. After a little nervous fidgeting she left me and crept out of the room; then presently she came back, apparently trying to screen something from the vulgar gaze in her scanty little dress. It was her wonderful doll—the dear companion of her rambles and rides. With fear and trembling she allowed me to take it into my hands. It was, or consisted of, the forefoot of a sheep, cut off at the knee; on the top of the knee part a little wooden ball wrapped in a white rag represented the head, and it was dressed in a piece of red flannel—a satyr-like doll, with one hairy leg and a cloven foot. I praised its pleasing countenance, its pretty gown and dainty little boots; and all I said sounded very precious to Anita, filling her with emotions of the liveliest pleasure.
“And do you never play with the dogs and cats and little lambs?” I asked.
“Not with the dogs and cats. When I see a very little lamb asleep I get down and go softly, softly and catch it. It tries to get away; then I put my finger in its mouth, and it sucks, and sucks; then it runs away.”
“And what do you like best to eat?”
“Sugar. When uncle buys sugar, aunt gives me a lump. I make doll eat some, and bite off one small piece and put it in pony’s mouth.”
“Which would you rather have, Anita—a great many lumps of sugar, or a beautiful string of beads, or a little girl to play with?”
This question was rather too much for her neglected little brain, which had fed itself with such simple fare; so I was obliged to put it in various ways, and at last, when she understood that only one of the three things could be chosen, she decided in favour of a little girl to play with.
Then I asked her if she liked to hear stories; this also puzzled her, and after some cross-questioning I discovered that she had never heard a story, and did not know what it meant.
“Listen, Anita, and I will tell you a story,” I said. “Have you seen the white mist over the Yí in the morning—a light, white mist that flies away when the sun gets hot?”
Yes, she often saw the white mist in the morning, she told me.
“Then I will tell you a story about the white mist and a little girl named Alma.”
“Little Alma lived close to the River Yí, but far, far from here, beyond the trees and beyond the blue hills, for the Yí is a very long river. She lived with her grandmother and with six uncles, all big tall men with long beards; and they always talked about wars, and cattle, and horse-racing, and a great many other important things that Alma could not understand. There was no one to talk to Alma and for Alma to talk to or to play with. And when she went out of the house where all the big people were talking, she heard the cocks crowing, the dogs barking, the birds singing, the sheep bleating, and the trees rustling their leaves over her head, and she could not understand one word of all they said. At last, having no one to play with or talk to, she sat down and began to cry. Now, it happened that near the spot where she sat there was an old black woman wearing a red shawl, who was gathering sticks for the fire, and she asked Alma why she cried.
“ ‘Because I have no one to talk to and play with,’ said Alma. Then the old black woman drew a long brass pin out of her shawl and pricked Alma’s tongue with it, for she made Alma hold it out to be pricked.
“ ‘Now,’ said the old woman, ‘you can go and play and talk with the dogs, cats, birds, and trees, for you will understand all they say, and they will understand all you say.’
“Alma was very glad, and ran home as fast as she could to talk to the cat.
“ ‘Come, cat, let us talk and play together,’ she said.
“ ‘Oh no,’ said the cat. ‘I am very busy watching a little bird, so you must go away and play with little Niebla down by the river.’
“Then the cat ran away among the weeds and left her. The dogs also refused to play when she went to them; for they had to watch the house and bark at strangers. Then they also told her to go and play with little Niebla down by the river. Then Alma ran out and caught a little duckling, a soft little thing that looked like a ball of yellow cotton, and said:
“ ‘Now, little duck, let us talk and play.’
“But the duckling only struggled to get away and screamed, ‘Oh, mamma, mamma, come and take me away from Alma!’
“Then the old duck came rushing up, and said:
“ ‘Alma, let my child alone: and if you want to play, go and play with Niebla down by the river. A nice thing to catch my duckie in your hands—what next, I wonder!’
“So she let the duckling go, and at last
