"What makes this woman so much your friend that she
comes and tells your grandmother about the key?"
So the whole story came out at last--about the long, sad winter at
the panaderia; the grandmother's attempts at sewing; her failing
eyes; the lack of customers, yet the daily giving of bread to the
poor neighbor and her three children; the trust that the Lord knew
about the panaderia and its occupants.
The Zanjero's wife understood it all now. She looked up at her
husband. There were tears in her eyes as she said:
"While you are forgiving that man, you'd better think how much
forgiveness I need for having stopped taking bread of the panaderia
in the heart of winter, when they needed the money so badly! To
think of their struggling along, and yet giving bread every day to a
woman and three babies! If the panadeiia folks had not done this,
you'd never have found out about this plan to rob the zanja! That
woman would simply have kept the story and the key to herself, and
those dishonest men would have found somebody else to open the gates
at night for them. It was only because she thought that you were a
noted customer of the panaderia that she sent you word of this plan
to steal the water."
The great Zanjero turned and looked at Rosa.
"Tell that sick woman," he said gravely, "that I forgive her husband
for opening the gate, though I don't know how much water he helped
steal that night.
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