When all was ready Manuel took leave of the household; Tio Polo held
his stirrup while he mounted, adjusted the girths and saddle, and
cheered him off in military style; then turning to Dolores, who
stood admiring her cavalier as he trotted off, "Ah Dolorocita,"
exclaimed he, with a nod and a wink, "es muy guapo Manuelito in su
Xaqueta" ("Ah Dolores, Manuel is mighty fine in his jacket.") The
little damsel blushed and laughed, and ran into the house.
Days elapsed without tidings from Manuel, though he had promised
to write. The heart of Dolores began to misgive her. Had any thing
happened to him on the road? Had he failed in his examination? A
circumstance occurred in her little household to add to her uneasiness
and fill her mind with foreboding. It was almost equal to the escapado
of her pigeon. Her tortoise-shell cat eloped at night and clambered to
the tiled roof of the Alhambra. In the dead of the night there was a
fearful caterwauling; some grimalkin was uncivil to her; then there
was a scramble, then a clapper-clawing; then both parties rolled off
the roof and tumbled from a great height among the trees on the hill
side. Nothing more was seen or heard of the fugitive, and poor Dolores
considered it but the prelude to greater calamities.
At the end of ten days, however, Manuel returned in triumph, duly
authorized to kill or cure; and all Dolores' cares were over.
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