Bamrogina shrugged her greasy brown shoulders. "As you will,—but I shall not touch him. He shall rot first and the birds can fly away with his meat."
"The men shall carry him. Come, take hold, or it will be too late to do anything."
"You were at Manila, Señora Garabella," went on the fat woman, suspiciously. "Perhaps you know the pig."
"I do not—although he looks very much like an Americano that did me a great service. It is because of this that I take pity on him."
But little more was said, Inez Garabella being in no humor for further talking. Soon the old men were on their way to the village, carrying Walter between them. Passing the single street with its irregular row of nipa huts, they came to a house of fair pretentions situated in a garden which had once been surrounded by a stone wall, now, however, greatly dilapidated.
"Place him upon yonder couch," said Senora Garabella. "I will do what I can for him, and you can watch out that he does not escape," she added, half sarcastically; and then one after another the neighbors withdrew, leaving Walter and the lady and the two servants of the place to themselves.
