She had in her arms a little lad
of four years old, suffering the tortures of croup.
"Mi madre," she cried, "you know how to save him! He is
dying! Save him! Listen to me! The Holy Mother says so";
and she laid the child on her knee.
A change like a flash of light passed over the Senora's face.
"The poor little one!" Her motherly instincts crushed down
everything else. In the child's agony she forgot her own
grief. With glad hearts the doctor and Antonia encouraged her
in her good work, and when at length the sufferer had been
relieved and was sleeping against her breast, the Senora had
wept. The stone from her heart had been rolled away by a
little child. Her own selfish sorrow had been buried in a
wave of holy, unselfish maternal affection. The key to her
nature had been found, and henceforward Isabel brought to her
every suffering baby.
On the next day they marched ten miles through a heavy rain,
and arrived at Burnett's settlement. The women had
shelter, the men slept on the wet ground--took the prairie
without cover--with their arms in their hands. They knew they
were in the vicinity of Santa Anna, and all were ready to
answer in an instant the three taps of the drum, which was the
only instrument of martial music in the camp, and which was
never touched but by Houston.
Another day of eighteen miles brought them to within a short
distance of Harrisburg.
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