She pointed to a bunch of tall tropical-looking
plants with great spreading leaves and big green-white stalks.
"They're called Palmae Christi."
"Whut?"
"That's Latin. It means 'Hands of Christ,'" said Hale with
reverence. "You see how the leaves are spread out--don't they look
like hands?'
"Not much," said June frankly. "What's Latin?"
"Oh, that's a dead language that some people used a long, long
time ago."
"What do folks use it nowadays fer? Why don't they just say 'Hands
o' Christ'?"
"I don't know," he said helplessly, "but maybe you'll study Latin
some of these days." June shook her head.
"Gettin' YOUR language is a big enough job fer me," she said with
such quaint seriousness that Hale could not laugh. She looked up
suddenly. "You been a long time git--gettin' over here."
"Yes, and now you want to send me home before sundown."
"I'm afeer--I'm afraid for you. Have you got a gun?" Hale tapped
his breast-pocket.
"Always. What are you afraid of?"
"The Falins." She clenched her hands.
"I'd like to SEE one o' them Falins tech ye," she added fiercely,
and then she gave a quick look at the sun.
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