She wondered why he had come, and why he was anxious to go to the Lake
of Xochimilco. But she reflected with the patience and resignation of an
oppressed race that it was no business of hers. He was a good youth. He
had spoken to her with compliments as one speaks to a lady of high
degree, and he bent manfully on the oar. He was welcome. But he must
have a name and she would know it.
"What do you call yourself?" she asked.
"William," he replied. "I come from a far country, England, and it is my
pleasure to travel in new lands and see new peoples."
"Weel-le-am," she said gravely, "you are far from your friends."
Ned bent his head in assent. Her simple words made him feel that he was
indeed far from his own land and surrounded by a thousand perils. The
woman did not speak again and they moved on with an even stroke down the
canal which had an uniform width of about thirty feet. They were still
passing houses of stone and others of adobe, but before they had gone a
mile they were halted by a sharp command from the shore. An officer and
three soldiers, one of whom held a lantern, stood on the bank.
Ned had expected that they would be stopped. These were revolutionary
times and people could not go in or out of the city unnoticed.
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