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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76495 ***
+
+
+[Illustration: “PATTY CREPT BEHIND THE HEDGE AND WAITED.”]
+
+
+
+
+  _THE
+  GLAD LADY_
+
+
+  _BY_
+
+  _AMY E. BLANCHARD
+  Author of “A Journey of Joy,” “Wits’ End,” etc._
+
+  [Illustration: colophon]
+
+
+  _BOSTON
+  DANA ESTES & COMPANY
+  PUBLISHERS_
+
+
+
+
+                           _Copyright, 1910_,
+                         BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY
+
+                          _All rights reserved_
+
+
+                              _Presswork by
+                           THE COLONIAL PRESS
+                  C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A._
+
+
+
+
+                                   TO
+                       DOÑA MARTINA AND DON JUAN,
+
+              THOSE WELL-LOVED FRIENDS WHO HAVE MADE SPAIN
+              FOR ME A HAPPY MEMORY, I DEDICATE THIS STORY
+
+                                                                A. E. B.
+
+
+
+
+                            CONTENTS
+
+
+         CHAPTER                                PAGE
+
+              I. THE PARTY ARRIVES                 9
+
+             II. A MOUNTAIN TOWN                  21
+
+            III. THE WALK                         35
+
+             IV. ANTIQUITIES                      48
+
+              V. MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME             61
+
+             VI. THE DAY OF SAN JUAN              76
+
+            VII. THE INXANOS                      90
+
+           VIII. A ROMERIA                       105
+
+             IX. ONLY A DONKEY                   119
+
+              X. SANTA MARIA MARINA              133
+
+             XI. GIPSIES                         148
+
+            XII. TOMÁS TELLS                     163
+
+           XIII. THE LONG WHITE ROAD             178
+
+            XIV. THE SILVER MERCHANT             192
+
+             XV. A LONELY HILL                   206
+
+            XVI. BY REASON OF SAINT ANTHONY      221
+
+           XVII. PATTY IS PUZZLED                235
+
+          XVIII. WAITING                         249
+
+            XIX. DON FELIPE’S SURPRISE           264
+
+             XX. THE THREE WISHES                281
+
+
+
+
+                  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+                                                PAGE
+
+  “PATTY CREPT BEHIND THE HEDGE AND WAITED”
+     (page 236)                         _Frontispiece_
+
+  “‘HE SAYS I AM A GLAD LADY’”                     33
+
+  “‘DON’T YOU GET HOMESICK?’”                      70
+
+  “PERDITA”                                        86
+
+  “‘WHAT ARE YOU BEATING THAT DONKEY FOR?’”       120
+
+  “‘AT YOUR FEET, LADIES’”                        186
+
+  “‘GLAD LADY!’”                                  286
+
+
+
+
+                              THE GLAD LADY
+
+
+
+
+                                CHAPTER I
+
+                            THE PARTY ARRIVES
+
+
+It was at San Sebastian that the various members of the party became
+an integral. When separated they were quite as dissimilar as the
+constituent parts of certain chemical combinations. The company was
+headed by Dr. Juan Estradas who, when a lad, had rushed to the war in
+Cuba, had later gone to the United States to study medicine and had
+there married an American girl, known in this tale as Doña Martina.
+Number three is represented by Don Tomás, the doctor’s younger brother,
+who, having always remained upon Spanish soil, spoke no language but
+Castilian, unless the two expressions, “Shocking” and “Awful badth
+form,” may be said to display some knowledge of English. Number four
+may be discerned in the person of Miss Patience Blake, commonly known
+as Patty, the pretty sister of Doña Martina. A schoolmate of Miss
+Patty’s, one Paulette Delambre, completes the number.
+
+The two girls had just arrived from a convent in France, where they had
+been learning various branches supposed to be useful to young ladies: a
+little embroidery, some music and water-color sketching; to these, in
+Patty’s case, was added French. Neither girl knew more than three words
+of Spanish and generally addressed one another in French, although
+Paulette spoke English fairly well. They had but just reached their
+hotel, Patty in a heated frame of mind because the customs officers
+at Irun had kept them so long over their luggage that they had nearly
+missed their train, and furthermore had questioned the presence of so
+many new frocks.
+
+“They actually assailed my veracity,” she explained to her sister, “and
+it didn’t help a bit when some one said that probably they thought we
+were dressmakers. Do we look like dressmakers, I want to know? I wish
+we had never seen your stupid old Spain.”
+
+She turned to Don Tomás, who simply beamed upon her, not understanding
+a word she said. But seeing a fitting occasion to air his English, he
+remarked, “Shocking! Awful badth form.” Then every one laughed, which
+cleared the air, and the five entered their hotel in better spirits.
+
+Patty’s first act, after reaching her room, was to take off her hat
+and fluff out her dark hair; it was Paulette who displayed rings of
+red gold about her forehead and whose eyes were blue. “They always
+take me for the French one,” remarked Patty, “and Paulette is always
+supposed to be the American by everyone but her own countrymen. It is
+rather convenient sometimes, for I hear very free criticisms of things
+United States. By the way, Tina, you haven’t told us one word about
+your plans. You simply wrote that we were to spend the summer in the
+north of Spain and that I needn’t be afraid of melting. You’ve prinked
+enough, Polly, let me come.”
+
+“We shall stay for a day or two in San Sebastian,” replied Doña
+Martina, “and then we shall go further along the coast to a place in
+the mountains or by the sea, whichever you choose to say. It is one of
+the old family houses of the Estradas, and the doctor thinks it will be
+an ideal spot to summer in. We have spent a little time there and he is
+so enthusiastic that I have become so, too. I hope you all will like
+it, Patty.”
+
+Patty looked over her shoulder rather ruefully. “What in the world can
+we find to do? Don’t tell me I shall not have a chance to air my Paris
+frocks.”
+
+“That is a small consideration,” said her sister. “We shall have such
+air as you never breathed. We shall see such scenery as will delight
+your soul, and we shall do things we never did before.”
+
+“What things?” inquired Patty, pulling down her belt and trying to
+look at the back of her trim figure.
+
+“Oh, we shall have a mountain pony or a burro to take us junketing
+around to all the neighboring villages; we shall go to all the fiestas,
+make a trip to Covadonga; visit all the old churches and monasteries;
+go fishing; take a daily dip in the sea if we like, and--What more do
+you want, Patty?”
+
+“Men,” replied Patty sententiously.
+
+“Well, there is Tomás.”
+
+“I didn’t say _a_ man, nor _the_ man; I said men. One man won’t go
+around when there are two girls.”
+
+“You want too much,” replied her sister. “However, I can’t say what you
+may find before the summer is over. I’ll venture to say if there is a
+desirable man within a radius of fifty miles he will pop out of a cave
+or from the sea when you come in sight; it is always that way.”
+
+Patty laughed. “Tell me about Don Tomás.”
+
+“I wrote to you all I know about him. Juan says he is a single-hearted
+unspoiled boy. Remember, Patty, that I have made my brother-in-law’s
+acquaintance only within the last few days, and Juan had not seen him
+for ten years till about a month ago. He was only fourteen when his
+brother left home.”
+
+“So he is twenty-four now. He is rather nice looking, but I didn’t know
+Spaniards ever had red hair. He might be an Irishman, or anything. I
+am disappointed that he hasn’t melting dark eyes and shining black
+hair.”
+
+“I should think you would like a contrast. You see dark eyes and hair
+every time you look in the glass, and that is often enough, heaven
+knows.”
+
+“You needn’t laugh, Polly,” said Patty, turning to Paulette, who showed
+her appreciation of this last remark by a gay little giggle. “There
+is one thing consoling about it: he may like contrasts, and unless he
+is already satiated with dark Spanish types he perchance will admire
+little Patty Blake.”
+
+“He hasn’t a penny; at least he has very little,” returned Doña Martina
+quickly.
+
+“That wouldn’t prevent his admiring me,” retorted Patty calmly. “I
+didn’t say I wanted to marry him offhand.”
+
+“You are a fleert incorrigible,” said Paulette, coming into the
+conversation.
+
+“I am sure I don’t know where you have made your observations, surely
+not at the convent,” Patty remarked.
+
+“I use my ear, not my eye alone, and I am sorree for zat nice young
+man.”
+
+“Oho!” Patty turned to look at her quizzically. “I see I must be
+polishing up my armor. Come on, girls, let us go down. Juan told us not
+to be too long, and we want to see what we can of the outside world
+before we go into retreat.”
+
+“You talk as if you were going back to the convent,” said her sister.
+“You know it will not be like that. Weren’t you happy there, Patty?”
+She put her arm affectionately across her sister’s shoulder.
+
+“Oh, yes, happy enough, but one can get tired even of a good thing. I
+am glad not to be going back.”
+
+“I wish we could stay a long time here at San Sebastian, if you would
+like that,” returned her sister wistfully, “but you know we aren’t
+rich, Patty, and this is a very expensive place for persons of our
+means.”
+
+“Bless you, honey,” whispered Patty giving her a hug; “I’m only
+fooling, Tina. I don’t really care a rap about staying. I am sure it
+will be far nicer, much more romantic, and distinctly more interesting
+to go to that queer mountain place that nobody ever hears about much
+less goes to. Don’t mind my nonsense; I am only showing off before
+Polly. Don’t you think she is rather nice considering that she has
+money? Would you ever suspect it?”
+
+“She seems very nice, and, no, I shouldn’t suspect. One doesn’t usually
+expect a fact of that kind to be very apparent in one who is truly a
+lady, you know.”
+
+“Of course. I know that, but she hasn’t any people, you see, and
+doesn’t come of the aristocracy. She has a stuffy old shopkeeping uncle
+or guardian or something of that kind, but I never heard her speak
+of anyone else belonging to her. She was so delighted when you said
+she might come. She is the nicest French girl of the whole bunch and
+there were plenty to choose from at the convent. I find, Tina, that it
+doesn’t make much difference about nationality: it is just individuals.”
+
+“I’ve found that out, too,” responded Doña Martina, “otherwise I should
+never have married Juan.”
+
+“He is a dear,” Patty agreed, “so generous and courteous, and the soul
+of honor.”
+
+“And he is so constant and faithful, dear soul. Indeed, Patty, I might
+have gone far afield in many a country and never have met a finer man.”
+
+“So glad you’re pleased, dear,” returned Patty lightly. “Now, if you
+are ready, let us go down and see the world, the flesh, and the devil.”
+
+“The world is out on the Esplanade; there is plenty of flesh there,
+too, you will find, while, to quote Emerson, ‘even the dear old devil
+is not far off.’”
+
+Patty laughed and the sisters returned to the room where they had left
+Paulette, then the three descended to the corridor to find Don Juan
+and his brother pacing up and down talking earnestly and with many
+gestures. “Are they quarrelling already?” asked Patty, pausing on the
+lower step and looking after the two men.
+
+“Quarrelling? No, of course not,” Doña Martina answered with a smile.
+“That is only a little way they have when they are interested. It may
+be only the weather of which they are talking.”
+
+“Never,” declared Patty. “I am enthusiastic myself, but I never could
+get up such an intensity of expression, such violence of action over
+such a simple matter as the weather.”
+
+“You’re not a Spaniard,” returned her sister.
+
+“Let us ask them the subject of their discourse and settle it at once,”
+proposed Patty; “it would be interesting to know.”
+
+They advanced toward the two men, who now hurried forward with
+apologies for not having seen them sooner.
+
+“And what were you talking about that you couldn’t see us?” Patty asked
+Don Juan.
+
+“What? Let me see, what. Simple matters enough; of what we may be
+having for luncheon, of the report that we shall have rain to-night.”
+
+Doña Martina brought her hands softly together. “What did I tell you?”
+she exclaimed with a nod toward her sister. “I said it might be the
+weather.”
+
+“Yes, but the other subject: luncheon, warranted any amount of
+excitement,” returned Patty as they all turned toward the dining-room.
+
+An hour later the party was included in the throng which promenaded
+the Esplanade. To Patty’s share fell Don Tomás as escort. “It is
+very beautiful,” said the girl with a wave of the hand toward the
+rock-encircled harbor.
+
+“Shocking,” replied Don Tomás with a desire to say something his
+companion could understand.
+
+“Oh, no, not at all.” Patty turned to speak to her sister. “Come here,
+Tina, and walk with us; we need a translator.”
+
+Doña Martina joined the two.
+
+“Tell him,” said Patty, “that I will teach him English if he will teach
+me Spanish.”
+
+Her sister bent a searching look upon the girl’s innocently grave face.
+“Very well,” she said. “He agrees,” she went on after a few words in
+Spanish to her brother-in-law.
+
+“Is he delighted at my gracious suggestion? He ought to be.”
+
+“Why, any more than you?”
+
+“Because he is a man.”
+
+“That is no reason.”
+
+“It is to me. All right, Tina, you may go back to your husband. We
+shall get along now, no doubt, since he knows what is expected of him.”
+
+“I shall walk with you two,” said Doña Martina firmly. “You are not to
+be trusted.”
+
+“Oh nonsense! You can keep your stern eye upon us all you like, but
+I shall be embarrassed if you are listening to my faltering tongue
+lisping in Castilian. Go back or Juan will be jealous.”
+
+“What a silly speech. However, I will go because I want to, and
+because it is reasonable to believe you will get on better if I am not
+listening.”
+
+In a few minutes there was low laughter heard from the two, who plunged
+into a halting conversation, and it was evident that the progress was
+pleasant if not rapid.
+
+It was a gay scene. Representatives from all parts of the world joined
+in the crowd which watched the bathers. Nurse-maids with their charges,
+Spanish girls wearing mantillas, vendors of all sorts, newsboys,
+American tourists, Englishmen, Frenchmen, Moors, matadors, Spanish
+dons, fat old ladies puffing along with waddling poodles, fat old men
+with the visible expression of having sacrificed normal proportions
+to good living, wicked looking cavaliers with black moustachios, and
+in their eyes the smouldering flames of burnt-out fires, prattling
+children, innocent school-girls with their governesses, romping
+school-boys passed and repassed in endless parade. It was, as Patty
+said, a corner of the universe where the world, the flesh and the devil
+met.
+
+“And what did you learn from Tomás?” asked Don Juan when they had
+returned.
+
+“I learned that _una señorita es maravillosa_.”
+
+“And he?”
+
+“Oh, he learned, ‘the aith of a ’orse.’”
+
+“Now, Patty,” put in her sister.
+
+“Truly, Tina, he did.”
+
+“And nothing more?”
+
+“Ask him,” said Patty, walking away.
+
+Her sister followed. “Patty, I warned you that he has not a penny, not
+a _perrono_.”
+
+“Did I say I wanted his _perronos_ or even _pesetas_?”
+
+“No, but--”
+
+“What?”
+
+“You mustn’t try to ensnare him.”
+
+“Do you care more for him than for me?”
+
+“Of course not, but I want to protect him.”
+
+“I thought you meant to be my chaperon. How do you know but that I am
+the one who needs protection?”
+
+“I know you better than I do him.”
+
+“Then, my dear, wait till you know him better before you take him under
+your sheltering wing. He may be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I an
+innocent lamb for all you know.”
+
+“He is a single-hearted, unspoiled boy, as I told you, not one of those
+blasé creatures you might find in Madrid or Paris, and you are not to
+make him unhappy.”
+
+“Don’t you want me to have a good time?”
+
+“Not at the expense of someone else. I didn’t think you were
+hard-hearted, Patty.”
+
+“And all this because I taught him to say ‘the aith of a ’orse.’” Patty
+spoke in an injured tone.
+
+“If I could be sure that were all.”
+
+“Oh, my dear, would you have me confine his English to that sentence
+only? When he really wants to learn must he stop there? and must I let
+him teach me nice things in Spanish while he learns only Ollendorf
+English? I certainly would be hard-hearted if I tried to be as mean as
+that. Trust the young man to take care of himself. As for me, like the
+pussy cat in the nursery rhyme, ‘if you don’t hurt her she’ll do you
+no harm.’ Now, Tina, dear, don’t get into agonies over me. I’m not as
+dreadful as I appear upon first sight, and your dear little red-headed
+Tomás shall not break his nice warm Spanish heart. I’ll be a good girl,
+Tina, truly and--No I won’t tell you that, it would be too great a blow
+to my self-esteem if you should agree with me. I’ll tell Polly. Where
+is she?”
+
+What she had to tell Paulette Tina did not find out, but whatever it
+was, certain it appeared that Paulette’s eyes fell before a stolen
+glance Tomás gave her as she took her seat opposite him at table that
+evening.
+
+
+
+
+                                CHAPTER II
+
+                             A MOUNTAIN TOWN
+
+
+“Corn-fields!” cried Patty, looking from the window as the train
+proceeded on its way toward Bilbao. “We might almost think it our
+native land.”
+
+“Not with a tenth century monastery in sight,” returned her sister.
+
+“Quite true, but I hadn’t seen the tenth century monastery when I
+spoke. Those are surely fig trees. Where corn and apples grow can there
+be figs? At least one doesn’t learn from our geographies that they
+flourish together.”
+
+“They do here,” Don Juan told her. “You must prepare to have more than
+one surprise, _hermana mia_.”
+
+“I’m beginning to get them. What gorgeous views. Spain is fine. I
+imagined it a dry and arid plain with a weazened tree sticking up once
+in a while out of the dust.”
+
+“It isn’t all like this,” her sister admitted, “but you will have to
+confess that Asturias is wonderful.”
+
+“And Asturians?” with a sly glance at Tomás.
+
+Doña Martina frowned and Patty laughed gleefully, while Tomás looked
+from one to the other interrogatively. “She is a naughty child,” Doña
+Martina told him in his own language.
+
+“She is a charming one nevertheless,” returned Tomás in the same tongue.
+
+“What does _deleitosa_ mean?” asked Patty, rapidly turning over the
+leaves of the small dictionary she carried.
+
+“It is not necessary to know,” replied Doña Martina, in dignified
+reproof.
+
+“You look so funny when you purse up your lips that way, Tina,” said
+Patty, “exactly as you used when I was a little girl and would pick
+green gooseberries from the bushes. You have always thought you must be
+the one to bring me to task, being ten years older. Oh, I have found
+the word. Now, what must I say? _Gracias señor. Me gusto mucho._ Is
+that right, Juan?” She turned to her brother-in-law, who smiled an
+indulgent affirmative.
+
+“I shall beat you with my Spanish, Polly,” Patty went on, “and I
+venture to say I shall learn it before Don Tomás does English. I rather
+hope I may, for it is so funny to hear him say goomans for women, and
+moosilahga for mucilage. However, I wish there were a language we
+both knew and which you didn’t, Tina, then we certainly would enjoy
+ourselves.”
+
+“Do not listen to her, Doña Martina,” said Paulette, “she does but to
+tease you.”
+
+“I do but to look out the window at present,” said Patty. “See those
+stunning looking men. I should say they were Englishmen.”
+
+“They probably are,” Don Juan told her. “There are quite a number
+connected with the mines in northern Spain. These may be mining
+engineers.”
+
+“Oh!” Patty watched the three well set up figures approaching the train
+from the small station at which they had just stopped. “Do you know any
+of them, Juan?” she asked.
+
+“I have met two or three and have found them very agreeable men. One
+sees them in Gijon or Santander, but rarely in our little pueblo.”
+
+The train moved on, now passing a white village cuddled in the
+hollow of a mountain, now by reason of a twist in the road, suddenly
+disclosing a glimpse of the sea overhung by bold promontories, again
+affording a view of a gray convent perched high on the top of a
+craggy height, then corn-fields again offering little variety till
+a picturesque procession of gipsies or a cow-cart led by a stalwart
+mountaineer lent life to the scene.
+
+In the course of time Bilbao was reached, a night was spent there
+and then the beaten path of the tourist was left behind and the
+unfrequented roads of Asturias were entered. From height to height,
+from village to hamlet, the train wound its way, until at last Tomás
+exclaimed, “Here we arrive,” and springing to his feet he gathered the
+coats, bags and umbrellas from the racks, and in a few minutes the
+train had moved off, leaving the five standing on the platform.
+
+Patty looked about her. “So this is it,” she said to Paulette.
+
+“And it is in ze mountains as we are hoping. Zey are on all side and
+how beautiful.”
+
+“It is beautiful and unlike anything I ever knew. Now where do we go?
+Are we to walk or ride, Tina?”
+
+“It is only a short walk to the _fonda_ where we are to stop for a few
+days while our house is being made ready.”
+
+“_Fonda?_ Oh, yes, that means the inn. And when we get there shall we
+know it by any sign?”
+
+“No, there is nothing to distinguish it to the uninitiated, but it is
+known to the people hereabouts as _Fonda de Victor_ on account of the
+man who owns it.”
+
+“Pigs! Tina, I smell them.”
+
+“You may see them, for they are quite free to run the streets, but that
+odor, my dear, is only oil, unrefined oil, used by the peasants for
+cooking.”
+
+“It is ghastly.”
+
+“You won’t mind it after a while.”
+
+“No, I believe I shall not.” Patty sniffed the air. “Now I know what
+it really is, it doesn’t seem so disagreeable. I recognize an olivish
+quality to it, and it really is not so terrific as I imagined. Such is
+the power of mind over matter. What’s that awful noise? Why don’t they
+grease their cart-wheels?”
+
+“My dear girl, they wouldn’t for the world,” Don Juan hastened to say.
+“Do you see those little narrow roads winding up the mountains? Suppose
+one cow-cart should meet another without warning what happens unless
+they know by the creak of the wheels that another is coming? If they
+did not hear how could they turn aside in the proper place?”
+
+“They sound like the hugest kind of buzzing creature. I suppose one
+gets used to it after a while, but I do hope and trust they do not
+start forth early in the morning or I foresee that my morning nap is
+lost.”
+
+“They do start out rather early in the morning,” Don Juan was obliged
+to confess, “but you will get used to them, too.”
+
+“And is this the place, this long white building? Isn’t it fascinating?
+though it is primitive with a vengeance.”
+
+A dark-eyed, buxom woman came hurrying out to meet them with many
+expressions of welcome, and a timid little handmaid hovered in the
+background, all interest to see the _Inglesas_ and their friend,
+Mlle. Delambre, less a person of importance. The little _fonda_ was
+scrupulously clean, the board floors scrubbed white, though innocent
+of rug or carpet, the beds were soft, the home-spun linen fresh and
+sweet-smelling, the white-washed walls showed no mark nor speck. The
+small _mirador_ faced the _plaza_, at once the center of the town and
+the market-place. Here, too, took place any special event, such as a
+comedia or a dance. Under the wide-branched tree on one side was the
+village fountain, whose constantly flowing stream sang a little tune
+in a pleasant tinkle which told of clear cold mountain sources from
+which the town was abundantly supplied. There was scarce a cessation of
+comings and goings from the fountain. Slim girls with buckets poised
+on their heads, old women who adjusted their circular pads carefully
+before lifting their water jar to its place, tiny children who carried
+their burdens unsteadily, but who, to imitate their elders, before
+filling their small pails, took up a handful of sand to scrub the
+vessel outside and in, that it might always be bright and shining. A
+fine odor of newly baked loaves came from the bakery opposite and above
+the tap-tap of the shoemaker upon his last arose his clear song in some
+weird Asturian ballad. Beyond all, against the bluest of skies, were
+the mountains.
+
+Patty leaned her elbows upon the railing of the _mirador_ and viewed it
+all.
+
+“How do you like it?” asked Paulette, coming and putting an arm around
+her friend.
+
+“Immensely. And you?”
+
+“It is delightful. How primitive! How rural!”
+
+“Rural indeed. See that lordly pig grunting around below there, and
+turkeys as I live, not to mention a host of chickens and, oh, the
+dogs, what a company of them. I see where those stale biscuits go, the
+ones we bought on our way here and couldn’t eat. Don’t you like these
+little balconies with the flowers swinging from them? I hope there are
+balconies at Juan’s house. There must be, I suppose, for all Spanish
+houses seem to have them.”
+
+“Where are we to hang our frocks?”
+
+“Oh, dear, where indeed? On the floor, I reckon. We’d better not unpack
+much, only what we shall need for a few days. Tina hopes we can leave
+by the end of the week. It is too bad we could not go at once to the
+house, but Juan says this is the best _fonda_ about and it is something
+of a novelty to stay here.”
+
+“What must the others be?”
+
+“I can’t imagine, though there is nothing to complain of here. I am
+sure it was not much better at the convent. We lack clothes presses, to
+be sure. They say the food is good, all oil, I suppose judging from
+the odors now arising.”
+
+A gentle tap at the door interrupted them. “_Á comer_,” said the little
+maid to whom they opened.
+
+“What do you suppose that means?” said Patty looking at Paulette.
+
+“Dinner, perhaps.”
+
+Patty went through the motions of eating, looking inquiringly at
+Consuelo who, though amused, nodded gravely and beckoned them to follow
+her.
+
+They found Doña Martina, Don Juan and Tomás seated at a long table
+where there were two other guests, one a _viajante_ or traveling man,
+the other Patty concluded to be an Englishman. Nothing could be more
+courteously polite than the _viajante_. “He ate with his knife yet his
+attentions to us might put a courtier to the blush,” Doña Martina said
+afterward.
+
+Little Consuelo ran hither and thither, so anxious for the _Inglesas_
+to be pleased that she watched every mouthful they ate with an absorbed
+interest. “As if,” said Patty, “the entire foundations of the kingdom
+would totter if we failed to do justice to each dish.”
+
+The _comedor_ was the room in which first-class guests alone were
+served. Below stairs in the wine shop were tables for the second and
+third class meals, these varying in quality according to the price.
+Matilda herself, supervised all. Her loud though kindly voice and her
+quick step were heard when one passed near the kitchen, and woe be to
+the _vaquero_ who might royster too uproariously.
+
+The _viajante_ conversed affably with Don Juan. The Englishman made a
+single remark to Don Tomás which, not being understood caused a lapse
+into silence on the part of the Britisher. “I knew he was English,”
+said Patty in a low voice to her sister as the young man’s tall
+athletic figure disappeared in the doorway. “I couldn’t be mistaken. He
+is one of those whom we saw getting on the train at Llanes I am sure.
+One of the kind of Englishman whose chief ambition in life seems to be
+to look more bored than any other Englishman. I wonder why he didn’t
+vouchsafe a remark to some of us who could speak his own language.”
+
+“Well, you see he was at the other end of the table. Juan was speaking
+Spanish to the _viajante_, Tomás and I were conversing in the same
+language while you and Paulette were chattering in French.”
+
+“What’s he doing in Spain if he doesn’t speak Spanish?”
+
+“The same thing that you are doing, perhaps.”
+
+Patty laughed at the retort. “Never mind, I shall speak only in English
+to-morrow and then we shall see. Why don’t you chide me, Tina? Reproof
+is in order.”
+
+“Anything to keep you from luring Tomás into your toils.”
+
+“Oh, Tomás!” Patty gave a glance in that young man’s direction. “Of
+course he counts, too. I shall not be afraid of having to talk to both.
+Paulette can have the traveling gentleman. Can you and Juan go with us
+to hunt up a drug store? There are some things we want. I suppose there
+is one.”
+
+“I really don’t know, but I will ask Juan.”
+
+“Meantime I will have a lesson from Tomás, for I do not mean to remain
+in ignorance of things I might know when it depends upon a little study
+to gain the knowledge.”
+
+As they left the _fonda_ to follow the long white road for a short
+distance they observed the Englishman pacing up and down, taking the
+solace of his pipe. “I know he is lonely, poor fellow,” remarked Patty.
+“I don’t suppose Juan could invite him to go with us, could he?”
+
+“Juan is not going with us; he has some letters to write,” said Doña
+Martina shortly.
+
+“Did he tell you where to find the drug store?”
+
+“Yes, it is in the jail building.”
+
+“Heavens! what a combination. Healing for bodily ills on one hand and
+punishment on the other. And where is Tomás?”
+
+“He is helping Juan.”
+
+“Then we go alone, do we? Is it safe?”
+
+“Do you imagine that bandits are going to descend upon us from the
+mountains? You couldn’t be safer in your own room, and you’re far safer
+than you would be at home. Come along, Patty, and don’t be so silly.”
+
+“You see Paulette and I have been so used to being Argus-eyed by a
+sister we don’t dare move without one.”
+
+“And am I not sister enough?”
+
+“Oh, well, yes, but I can’t get accustomed to your being a proper
+chaperon although you have tried to serve in that capacity ever since
+I was born. You don’t tell me this is the place? Why, it looks like a
+plain stone house.”
+
+“Yes, I am sure this is the place.”
+
+“But there is no light.”
+
+“We will knock.” After some banging on the door they heard footsteps
+coming down the stairs, keys jingled and a bolt was drawn back, then a
+man appeared, candle in hand. Evidently trade was not so brisk as to
+require the constant presence of the druggist in the shop. He ushered
+them into a queer little place, fumbled sleepily around among the
+shelves and finally produced the articles they wanted, the door was
+locked and bolted after them and they returned to the _fonda_. The
+whiff of a pipe and the appearance of a figure which stepped out of the
+shadow told them that the Englishman was following.
+
+“I do believe he came behind us all the way,” whispered Patty, “just to
+see that no harm befell us. That was rather nice, I think.”
+
+“It was entirely unnecessary,” replied her sister, “and I am not sure
+but that it was impertinent.”
+
+“Oh, Tina. I don’t believe that, do you, Paulette?”
+
+“It maybe was an impertinence,” said Paulette after a little hesitation.
+
+“Oh bless me! How suspicious you are. Of course it would necessarily
+be so in your country,” returned Patty annoyed at this construction.
+“For my part I think it was a nice knightly thing to do. Quite like an
+American and a Southerner at that.”
+
+“Oh, dear me, Patty,” Doña Martina began, “if you begin to create
+knights in this free and easy style I don’t know where you will land.
+Give you a bone and you will construct a mastodon any time.”
+
+“A little imagination is an excellent thing to have in the family,”
+retorted Patty. “It comes in very handily sometimes. I adore my
+imagination; I wouldn’t be without it for the world. You and Paulette
+are of the earth. My golden flower of knighthood may be nothing
+but a yellow primrose on the river’s brim to you, but oh, my heart, who
+knows what it may prove to be in my eyes.”
+
+[Illustration: “‘HE SAYS I AM A GLAD LADY.’”]
+
+“It may prove to be an inexpressible bore,” replied her sister. “There
+come Tomás and Juan to meet us.”
+
+“I’m glad of it. Now we can take a longer walk in this lovely air. I
+feel the need of it after two days of travel.”
+
+The party, reinforced by Don Juan and his brother, wandered up the long
+windings of the little village, white in the starlight. From over the
+high walls of the gardens stole sweet odors, the tinkle of a mandolin
+and the gay jangle of a tambourine came from the _patio_ of a small
+house. A couple of strolling youths did not cease their song as they
+passed, and when the party paused at the little bridge which spanned
+a small stream leaping over its pebbly bed, they could distinguish a
+murmur underlying the more insistent sounds.
+
+“_Me gusta mucho_,” said Patty turning to Tomás.
+
+“_Me alegro infinito_,” said Paulette, and Patty found that Paulette
+likewise sought to take advantage of opportunities, and that upon the
+garden of her understanding were also falling the seeds of knowledge.
+
+Yet so merry was Patty that Tomás with a slow striving for English
+words, said, “You are always a gladth ladthy, Miss Pattee.”
+
+Patty laughed. “Do you hear what your brother calls me, Juan?” she
+asked. “He says I am a glad lady.”
+
+“An excellent name for you,” Don Juan responded.
+
+“It suits her exactly, Tomás,” agreed Doña Martina.
+
+“She is always to laugh herself,” explained Tomás. “She is so joyful.”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER III
+
+                                THE WALK
+
+
+The next day the family dined alone. The _viajante_ with his big wagon
+drawn by sturdy mules with gay trappings and jangling bells, had
+departed, while the smoke of the Englishman’s pipe was no longer wafted
+upon the air. “It seems sort of lonely,” remarked Patty, “and I didn’t
+have a chance to see my knight gallop off wearing my gage upon his
+sleeve.”
+
+“Good reason why,” said Doña Martina: “he went by train, and he would
+have looked well, wouldn’t he, wearing a gage upon his sleeve? with
+that bored look of his.”
+
+Patty sighed melodramatically. “I shall have to give all my attention
+to Tomás then,” she said, “a good thing for my Spanish, perhaps. I have
+a new incentive, for I believe Paulette is trying to get ahead of me;
+she reels off her sentences with an _aplomb_ positively appalling. I’ve
+been devoting myself to those dreadful verbs, you see, while she has
+been increasing her vocabulary. Shall I ever compass _Ser_ and _Estar_,
+do you believe?”
+
+“I shouldn’t try to at once. Much better adopt Paulette’s method.”
+
+“So I shall from henceforth, and I’ll plunge in boldly without
+waiting to be exact. I know it is the best way, but I am so proud and
+conscientious, you know.”
+
+“I am aware of the pride, but I have yet to be impressed by the
+conscientiousness.”
+
+“You are too mean for words, Tina. To think that you should enjoy
+abusing your poor little sister in the way that you do is dreadful, and
+when she has just escaped from the rigors of a convent too.”
+
+“My poor little sister thrives under the abuse, it seems.”
+
+“You always take everyone’s part against me. One would suppose, for
+example, that Tomás was your sure enough brother and I only your
+sister-in-law.”
+
+Doña Martina was silent for a moment, feeling there was some truth in
+the remark. “Well, you see,” she began, “I don’t want you to throw
+yourself away on a poor man like Tomás. I am afraid you would not be
+happy if you married him.”
+
+“I’m not marrying him.”
+
+“You might.”
+
+“Well, suppose I should. I’m sure we could get along. Haven’t you been
+telling me that one can rent a nice little house for forty dollars
+a year, hire a servant for three or four dollars a month and buy a
+donkey for seven? What more could one ask? It is a paradise for poor
+people from your own account. Why shouldn’t I settle down here, too, to
+a love-in-a-cottage existence? I should think you would be delighted to
+have me for a neighbor.”
+
+“Oh, Patty dear, so I should.” Her sister came over and took the girl’s
+face between her hands. “I never know when you are serious, dear. You
+talk so much nonsense. If you were really to fall in love, you two, and
+could be happy living that way, why of course--”
+
+Patty laughed gleefully. “Oh, you darling old thing! Of course I am not
+serious. I couldn’t stand it, not even to be near you. I should die of
+the blues when winter came.”
+
+“But winter here is not dreary a bit. The flowers bloom in the garden
+all the year around; you should see the geraniums--and if one has a few
+friends they are enough. Of course we came here originally for Juan’s
+health. After that dreadful illness of his last winter it seemed the
+best thing to do and he pined for his native air. You see how much good
+it has done him; he is quite another man, and as long as it makes him
+happy to stay I shall not say a word.”
+
+“I fancy he will get tired of it after a while and will want a broader
+field for his energies.”
+
+“Perhaps, but I shall try to be content either way. At least,” she
+added after a pause, “I shall be while I have you with me. There is
+such freedom from the rush and worry of a big city and we can live on
+so very little. Then, too, it is such a pleasure for Juan and Tomás to
+be near one another after the long separation.”
+
+“What did Tomás do before you all came?”
+
+“Oh, he had an old housekeeper who did very well for him, and he has
+his friends both here and in the towns near by.”
+
+“Fancy my ever marrying a Spaniard,” said Patty after a moment’s
+silence.
+
+“No one could be truer, more faithful and honorable than my husband.
+Spaniards are much like other folk, there are good and bad among them;
+so far I have found the good to predominate. Do you find all our own
+countrymen absolutely blameless? The Spaniards are proud, to be sure.”
+
+“I’ve been looking for that far-famed Spanish pride,” said Patty, “but
+up to the present I have discovered only the frankest conceit, and have
+been wondering if that passes for pride.”
+
+“Oh, conceit isn’t confined to Spaniards. I’d like you to find anything
+more conceited than an out and out American or Englishman?”
+
+“Not in just the same way. There is a childishness about the Spaniard’s
+conceit.”
+
+“Which makes it much more endurable.”
+
+“Dear me, how we do argue in and out, first on one side and then on
+the other. All right, Tina, I’ll consider it.”
+
+“Don’t you make Tomás unhappy, that is all I ask. I don’t want you to
+get him into your toils and then drop him.”
+
+“How can I tell anything about him unless I do get him into my toils as
+you express it?”
+
+“Oh, go ’long, you foolish child; you are too much for me.”
+
+“I’m too much for myself sometimes,” confessed Patty. She went to the
+window and began dropping bits of biscuit to the turkey-hen below, who
+turned a mild eye upward and solicited the alms in a little cooing
+voice. “I never knew that turkey-hens had such lovely eyes,” remarked
+Patty; “this one is quite fascinating which is more than I can say of
+the pig. Oh, come here, Tina, and see these beauty parrots, two of
+them. A man has brought them out from the next house and has set them
+free on the _plaza_. They are walking all about and are so funny.”
+
+“The _plaza_ is the place where everything goes on,” returned her
+sister. “It is a very diverting place, I find. There comes Juan walking
+as if an idea had suddenly cropped up in his cranium.”
+
+“He is not coming at such a pace as warrants us to think there is
+anything very exciting on hand.”
+
+“His pace is quite energetic for a Spaniard. Don’t you know, my dear,
+that it is very inelegant to seem hurried in Spain? If you wish to be
+considered a lady of quality, you must merely saunter; never seem in a
+hurry to get anywhere.”
+
+“Oh dear, and I do love to fly along. I like to walk with vim and take
+my exercise as if I enjoyed it.”
+
+“Don’t do it in Spain. Well?” Doña Martina leaned over to speak to her
+husband who had paused beneath the balcony. “Would we like to go to a
+peasant’s home to see an ancient loom? A patient of yours? Old Antonia?
+Why, I am sure we should like it. You would wouldn’t you, Patty?”
+
+“I’d delight in it. Where’s Polly? I know she will be ready for any
+sort of outing.”
+
+“We can come around by the _playa_ if you care to walk so far,” Don
+Juan told them as the three joined him below stairs.
+
+“And what is the _playa_, please?” asked Paulette.
+
+“The seashore, the beach.”
+
+“Oh, do let us go there. I have been crazy to see it,” said Patty. “We
+can walk any distance, can’t we, Polly?”
+
+“Oh, yes, to be sure. I, too, wish to see the sea, that bay of Biscay
+of which we hear so much.”
+
+“It is really just like the sea, I suppose, for the bay is only a part
+of the ocean curving down a little towards Spain. Is this where the
+weaver lives?”
+
+“Yes. She weaves only very coarse linen for household use, but the
+loom is a very old one which has been in use a hundred years at least;
+no one knows how long, and the house, too, is quite well worth seeing
+as a type of those in which the peasants live. You will not think them
+so badly housed. Antonia is poor, but you will see she has certain
+comforts.”
+
+“And where is Tomás?” asked Patty.
+
+“He is coming. He went to the post-office and will meet us here.”
+The visit to the weaver was soon over. While the girls examined the
+loom the doctor made his call upon his patient, then Don Tomás joined
+them and up the long _carretero_ they sauntered. Once in a while a
+light-hearted teamster passed them, lolling back in his wagon and
+singing some weird song whose final note poised and echoed long after
+the sound of the wagon wheels ceased. Then, too, they met brown peasant
+women carrying burdens upon their heads which did not prevent them
+from giving a “_Buenos tardes_,” or a “_Vaya V. con Dios_.” A little
+maid minding a couple of sheep, a goat, and a cow as they cropped the
+wayside grass, interested Patty. “Do they allow that?” she asked. “I
+mean, why doesn’t everyone herd their cows and sheep along the road?”
+
+“Juana’s family have been granted special privileges,” Doña Martina
+answered. “You will find some odd customs here.”
+
+“Here we turn off,” said Don Juan. “The old house just ahead is the
+one to which we go next. In former times it was occupied by a bishop,
+and there are interesting inscriptions over the doors and windows. It
+is an extremely old house and has withstood the attacks of war.”
+
+“What war?” asked Paulette.
+
+“I am sorry to say it was your own nation which committed the outrages
+of which you can see many evidences in this part of the country.”
+
+A flight of stone steps led to the dimly lighted room at the doorway of
+which they were met by a dignified old woman who ushered them in with
+the air of one accustomed to receive honorable guests. The room was
+of good size but showed the ravages of time. It was simply furnished,
+though some rare old chests showed fine carvings, the wooden seats
+would have delighted an antiquarian, while the ancient windows and
+casements permitted no doubt of the extreme age of the house. All was
+neat and orderly, but the utmost simplicity prevailed. The kitchen
+utensils of copper and brass shone brightly, and there were a few
+specimens of old pottery on the shelves, but no more than necessity
+demanded.
+
+Patty looked with interest upon the primitive fireplace. “It is exactly
+the same kind of thing you can imagine Sarah cooked Abraham’s dinner
+upon,” she remarked. “How do they manage it? It looks just like an
+altar.”
+
+“The fire is kindled on the top of the--altar as you call it, and the
+food is cooked over that,” her sister told her.
+
+“Isn’t it primitive?”
+
+“Very, but it is wonderful what a variety of food can be cooked in that
+simple manner, and it is more surprising that it is cooked so well.”
+
+“Is that the only kind of stove you have in your kitchen?”
+
+“About the same.”
+
+“Good! then I shall see how it is used and when I keep house in Spain I
+shall not be at a loss if my cook leaves suddenly.”
+
+Her sister shook her head at this offending speech and turned her
+attention to Paulette who was examining the rudely hewn timbers, black
+with age. Old Francesca was pouring out her woes into Don Juan’s
+sympathetic ears. She was bent with rheumatism, for the cure of which
+she had offered candles to the saints in vain. “She belongs to a good
+old family,” Don Juan told them as they came away, “but they became
+impoverished, and now Francesca has not the comforts she needs. She has
+to work in the fields and that is not good for her.”
+
+“That old woman?”
+
+“Yes, you may see her and her sister in the haying season bringing in
+all the hay to fill their loft. I have seen the two of them bent under
+such a load as hid them from sight.”
+
+“Yet she has some valuable old possessions; why doesn’t she sell them?”
+
+“First, because she could not be induced to part from them, and again
+because there are few purchasers of such things in this part of the
+country. You are far from the track of the tourist, my dear, and
+transportation over these mountain roads is expensive.”
+
+“Now for the _playa_,” said Doña Martina. “Paulette, my dear, your
+French heels will never take you comfortably over this rough road.
+Better let Tomás pilot you. Patty, Juan and I will look out for you,”
+and Patty, who expected Tomás to give his attention to her, was obliged
+to turn back that she might be under her sister’s wing.
+
+The way was lovely enough in spite of stones, for great trees met
+overhead, and a little stream babbled a winding course to the sea. Wild
+flowers enlivened the green, wild honeysuckle, English daisies and
+big-eyed marguerites, wild rose blooms, too, spotted the bushes, and
+the little partridge-pea threw its tendrils over the rocks. At last
+a narrow strip of beach, with high cliffs on either side confronted
+them. Great jagged pillars supported the roofs of cave-like structures,
+through which one could pass to the sands beyond.
+
+“They look as if they had been hewn out by Hercules or Titan, or some
+of those old fellows,” said Patty. “I am coming here to take a dip
+sometimes. I suppose it is perfectly safe.”
+
+“Oh, dear, yes, and you see those great caves on each side afford
+proper bath houses,” said her sister. “The unwritten law is that the
+men take the right, the women the left.”
+
+“It is such a nice, peaceful place I should like to spend a day here
+with a book and--”
+
+“And what?”
+
+“Tomás,” whispered Patty, with a little laugh.
+
+“You and Tomás could easily come,” replied her sister, calmly,
+“although, of course, you would not be so rude as to leave Paulette at
+home.”
+
+“She would very likely decline to go,” said Patty, willing to enter
+into an argument. “I think this one trip will be enough for her French
+heels.”
+
+“How about yours?”
+
+“Oh, I have a fine pair of tennis shoes at home which I shall wear next
+time. I brought them purposely for rough walking, but I didn’t put them
+on to-day because I didn’t know it would be rough.”
+
+“I shall not allow you to go off for a whole day with Tomás; it would
+scandalize the community,” her sister went on.
+
+“When he is your brother?”
+
+“He is not yours.”
+
+“Oh, well, if that is the case, you and Juan can go, too. We can take
+lunch. Juan can fish, you can go to sleep, and if Paulette decides to
+go with us she can read.”
+
+“And what will you do?”
+
+“I will study Spanish with Tomás. We can find some nice little
+out-of-the-way corner where we shall be undisturbed.”
+
+“You will? We shall see.”
+
+“Exactly. That is what I thought we could do. By the way, talking of
+fishing, that was mighty good fish we had to-day. What was it?”
+
+“_Merluza_ they call it.”
+
+“Do they get it here?”
+
+“Yes, near by. We think it very fine. But Patty,”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“Please don’t trifle with Tomás.”
+
+“My dear, we thrashed that out long ago, and we decided that forty
+dollars a year for a house and--”
+
+“Do stop your foolishness. Here comes Juan,” said Martina, hastily. And
+Patty was left to meditate upon her shortcomings while the other four
+went to examine the curious rocks.
+
+She sat quite unconcernedly upon the rock where she had ensconced
+herself and at last had the satisfaction of seeing Tomás advancing
+toward her alone, Paulette having remained with the other two. “I was
+tired; it was such a long walk,” said Patty, smiling up sweetly. Her
+vocabulary was sufficient by this time to compass ordinary phrases.
+
+“But it is sunny and hot here; we will find the shade,” said Tomás. And
+Patty had the delight of being escorted to a sequestered corner while
+her sister cast anxious glances toward the spot where she had left the
+girl.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IV
+
+                               ANTIQUITIES
+
+
+“Paulette,” Patty spoke from the pillows against which she lay, her
+arms over her head. Her dark hair had dropped in a dusky coil over
+the white covers, her eyes were full of mischief. “I’ve decided to be
+generous and let you have the old don. Fancy your living in a twelfth
+century palace and having precious old gold cups to drink from with
+wonderful old jewelry to wear.”
+
+“Bah!” exclaimed Paulette, “I want no old man. You are quite welcome
+to your twelfth century palace. I prefer a younger house wiz a younger
+man.”
+
+“That is because you have not judgment enough to make the most of your
+opportunities. It is not every day given a girl to meet a wealthy
+grandee of Spain who owns more land than anyone else for miles around,
+has half a dozen old palaces, coaches and such things to burn, and
+who, moreover, belongs to one of the oldest families in the country. I
+am surprised, Paulette. I thought I had brought you up better than to
+scorn such wonderful gifts.”
+
+“But, _ma chère_, you forget one very important sing.”
+
+“And what may that be?”
+
+“Suppose the gentleman prefaire my friend Pattee and do not fix the eye
+upon me?”
+
+“Then all you have to do is to make him fix the eye upon you. As if any
+man turned to black hair when golden locks come within his range of
+vision. Fancy a coach and four with outriders! They say that is the way
+he rides about the country.”
+
+“Oh, zey say, zey say a great many sings. I am not content to sit in ze
+coach wiz ze old man; zat is not enough for me. When is he to arrive,
+zis prince?”
+
+“He isn’t a prince, he is simply a blue-blood don, and he has already
+arrived. I saw the back of his head as he was about to ride away
+yesterday. He didn’t come in his coach and four but on horseback. He
+is rather small for his age which is somewhere near seventy, he has
+dispensed with some of his hair in the course of time, but is brisk and
+natty. He mounted his horse with great agility and I should say that he
+was good for at least ten years.”
+
+“He is a vidow?”
+
+“No, my dear, he couldn’t be under any circumstances. I believe he is
+a bachelor. He has invited us all to lunch to-day and then I shall see
+you weaken before the wonders of his palace. They say he spends most
+of his time viewing his estates and indulging a fancy for antiques;
+would we were older! He has a manager or superintendent or _mayordomo_,
+or whatever you may call it, with men under him, and they say he has
+so much property he doesn’t recognize his own when he meets it on the
+road. It must be rather nice when you drive along and remark upon some
+particularly attractive place to have your agent say: ‘That belongs to
+you, sire.’ It is said that often happens in Don Felipe’s case. See
+how much information I have gathered for your benefit. What Tina could
+not tell me Juan was able to, as the Estradas and Velascos have been
+neighbors for centuries.”
+
+“So kind you are, and how much of this information did you gather for
+yourself?”
+
+“Only so much as would make me an intelligent guest to-day when we go
+to the _palacio_ to lunch. It will not be a mere _merienda_, Paulette,
+but a state affair when I hope all the gold dishes will be put to use
+and you will be sufficiently impressed with the magnificence of your
+future _ménage_.”
+
+“La-la-la, how you take it all for granted. So large an imagination you
+have. Perhaps I spur-rn it all and desire the love in a cottage.”
+
+“Ah-h!” Patty sprang from the bed, turned Paulette’s face toward the
+light and regarded her fixedly, then she smiled. “Well, my dear, all
+I know is you won’t have to live in a hovel. With your income you
+could even afford something approaching what they call a palace in
+this land. Yet, I hate to see the coach and four and the gold dishes
+go to waste.”
+
+“Zen vy not take zem yourself, if zey are so easy to be procured?”
+
+“Ah, why? That is what I don’t know. I rather imagine it is because
+like yourself, love in a cottage appeals to my youthful fancy more
+forcibly. However, one can never tell. I may fall on my knees and
+adore when I see the twelfth century palace. I almost wish you had a
+decided yearning for it. A real well-established rivalry would be most
+exciting, and might spur me on to use my most fetching blandishments.”
+
+“What nonsense are you girls talking?” said Doña Martina, putting her
+head in at the door.
+
+“Oh, we’re only discussing Don Felipe.”
+
+“Quarreling already over the possession of him?”
+
+“Yes, but not exactly in a way which would flatter his don-ship. Each
+is trying to sacrifice herself for the good of the other; I want to
+give him to Paulette with my blessing while she insists that I shall
+take him. Queer, isn’t it?”
+
+“You certainly must have great confidence in your own charms. A man
+who has withstood the attractions of women, young and old, for half a
+century isn’t likely to succumb to two chits like you,” returned Doña
+Martina, “and you might as well spare yourself further argument.”
+
+“Now since you say that I believe I have received the necessary
+impetus,” said Patty. “Conceive of the glory it would be to storm a
+fort which has held out against all former assaults and to have it
+surrender to you. I have decided, Polly; you can’t have him. Mine be
+the palaces, the coaches, the gold and silver, the jewels rare. ‘They
+say I may marry the laird if I will,’” she sang, dropping into a
+Spanish dance.
+
+“Isn’t she silly?” asked Doña Martina. “We know just how much of what
+she is saying she means.”
+
+“Wait till this afternoon,” said Patty, pausing in her dance. “I am
+going to find Juan, you two can entertain one another till I get back.”
+
+“She is not half so frivolous as she seems,” remarked Doña Martina,
+when Patty left the room. “She has much good sense and you should see
+her rise to an emergency.”
+
+“She is so glad to be free of convent life; I sink it zat reason
+which makes her volatile,” returned Paulette, “but I know her serious
+and earnest, too. I see zat side at times. She says many sings to be
+talking. As you Americans say, she speaks by ze hat.”
+
+Doña Martina laughed. “That is quite true, Paulette.”
+
+“She is so good company. All ze girls like her, and ze sisters look
+over many sings zey will not excuse in ozzers, for she is so studious,
+so alert. Zey say, ‘Ah, zat Mademoiselle Blake, she is American, she
+does not know better,’ and we all smile for we understand. It is Patty
+and zat is sufficient for us.”
+
+“I can understand, too,” said Doña Martina. “I try to be severe with
+her and she turns my own weapons against me. She can already wheedle
+Juan into anything, and as for Tomás.”
+
+“Ah, zat young man”--began Paulette.
+
+“What were you going to say?” asked Doña Martina, seeing that she did
+not go on.
+
+“Only zat he is a very amiable young man, zat was all.”
+
+Doña Martina looked puzzled but did not pursue the subject. Instead she
+proposed that they join Patty and Don Juan who were sitting under the
+big tree at the side of the _plaza_.
+
+As the two passed out Matilda stopped to give them a hearty greeting in
+her boisterous tones, Rosario looked up from her embroidery frame with
+a shy smile, and Consuelo coming from the bakery across the way with
+some little twisted loaves in a basket, fairly beamed when the ladies
+gave her a word in Spanish. A large wagon drawn by mules in jingling
+harness, had stopped before the door; men were unloading pigskins of
+wine and were joking heartily with Matilda. Doña Martina and Paulette
+waited for two creaking cow-carts to pass before they crossed the
+road to the big tree. The carts were led by somber-looking men with
+long goads laid across the shoulders. A touch of the goad between the
+horns of the cows sufficed to guide them. The patient creatures with
+a sheepskin pad to hold the yoke and a red fringe over their eyes to
+protect them from insects, plodded along slowly.
+
+“Will they ever get there?” said Patty, looking after them. “I don’t
+wonder it is considered inelegant to walk briskly in this country when
+even the teams creep along like that.”
+
+“I have seen donkeys go at quite a trotting pace,” said Paulette.
+
+“So have I, and you, too, would go at a trotting pace if you had a
+hatpin jabbed into you at every step. I saw a girl this morning taking
+that very means of making her poor little donkey go faster.”
+
+“I wish I had seen her,” said Don Juan, fiercely. “I would have stopped
+that business fast enough.”
+
+“Oh, yes he would,” Doña Martina hastened to say, seeing that Patty
+looked incredulous. “He would have rated her soundly. None of them dare
+to practise such cruelties when Don Juan is around, I can assure you.
+It is time to get ready, Patty, if we are to take the noon train.”
+
+“Don Felipe should have sent his coach for us,” said Patty, rising to
+her feet.
+
+“The train will get us there sooner than the coach could.”
+
+“Yes, but there is no haste in Spain, and fancy the glory of riding in
+such a magnificent way. Do you prefer milk-white steeds or coal-black
+ones, Polly?”
+
+“I prefaire to go in the train,” returned Paulette, scornfully.
+
+“Perhaps you will prefaire to come back in the coach,” said Patty,
+mockingly. “Have you decided what to wear, Polly, dear?”
+
+“Ze gown which is ze most unbecoming,” Paulette declared.
+
+“Oh, how silly to appear in your most unbecoming gown before three men,
+not to mention the _mayordomo_. I shall wear my very best and outshine
+you all. You’d better wear that lovely soft green thing; you look
+better in that than in anything else.”
+
+“Perhaps I do,” returned Paulette.
+
+It was but a short distance to the station nearest Don Felipe’s old
+_palacio_ and the walk from the railway was a charming one through a
+long avenue arched over by great trees. Don Felipe stood on the steps
+to meet them, and with old-fashioned dignity and many compliments,
+conducted them up a long flight of stone steps which led inside the
+house, to the first floor. As the girls ascended, they caught sight of
+several carriages on one side of the lower floor and of some half dozen
+horses stamping in their stalls on the other.
+
+“How queer,” whispered Patty to her sister. “Do they always keep their
+horses and carriages in the basements of the palaces?”
+
+“Sh!” warned Doña Martina. “He knows some English,” and Patty subsided.
+
+They were ushered into a great hall, crowded with wonderful old
+furniture, carven chests, chairs and cabinets. On the walls hung dim
+but rare old pictures, in the cases in a corridor beyond they caught
+sight of collections of painted fans, of jewels, of fine porcelain.
+There was scarce an article to be seen which did not possess some
+history or which did not represent great antiquity.
+
+Patty flitted from one thing to another, commenting in broken Spanish
+on this, going into ecstasies in English over that, pouring out in
+voluble French her admiration of something else. Don Felipe spoke
+French fluently, and at last this came to be the accepted language,
+except when Don Tomás, looking bewildered, would ask for some
+explanation or would make the remark, “Shocking! Awful badth form.”
+Paulette was scarcely less vivacious than Patty, and her little French
+mannerisms, her gestures and exclamations were more pronounced, so
+that Don Felipe did not want for enthusiasm in his guests. He led them
+from room to room, pausing at last before the floor of a spacious old
+kitchen, whose black rafters and dim walls enclosed a scene which Doña
+Martina declared she would like to paint. Four or five old women
+hovered over the copper and brass vessels which were set over the fire
+in the huge fireplace. On the floor lay a watchful dog. Perched high on
+a dresser was the house cat. Baskets of vegetables and fruit lent color
+to a picture which indeed was well worth painting.
+
+“It is perfectly delightful,” declared Doña Martina for the third or
+fourth time. “The whole place is perfectly charming.”
+
+“It is yours, señora,” returned Don Felipe.
+
+“Do you think he would give me a copper kettle, that queer one over
+there?” whispered Patty to her sister, who, understanding Spanish
+hospitality perfectly, did not take Don Felipe at his word, but
+expressed the proper thanks and said that some time she would enjoy
+making a sketch.
+
+In the great dining-room a lunch was spread, and as Patty prophesied,
+it was served from fine old plate, rare china and costly glass. At the
+close of the meal, Don Felipe begged the ladies to keep their coffee
+cups as souvenirs. “That you may not forget the old man who has been so
+honored by your presence,” he said.
+
+The coach with four black horses bore them home. Don Felipe, his
+_mayordomo_ by his side, stood on the steps to wave a last farewell.
+Patty looked back at the old gray palace, at the carved balconies,
+sculptured escutcheons and windows, around which clung blossoming
+vines. “I feel as if I were in a fairy tale,” she murmured. “Really,
+Paulette,” she added, “I am quite jealous, for I am sure you have the
+finest cup.”
+
+“No, Doña Martina has,” Paulette insisted, and so it proved to be. Don
+Felipe was nothing if not discreet in his attentions, and had tried to
+show no preference.
+
+“Though,” said Patty plaintively, “I did say he was tiresome when I
+meant to ask him if he were tired. I shall never get that frightful
+verb _Estar_ in the right place. It all comes of my trying to show
+off and compliment Don Felipe in his own language. I shall stick to
+French next time. I knew I should get into trouble with your stupid
+old language,” she continued, turning to Don Tomás. “I don’t see why
+one verb _to be_ isn’t enough for you anyway. I saw you grinning at my
+mistake.” The truth being that Don Tomás had kept a perfectly straight
+face, although it was impossible for him to hide the amusement in his
+eyes. “Don’t you think it was horrid of you?” Patty went on, as if the
+entire fault was due to Don Tomás.
+
+“Shocking! Awful badth form,” returned Don Tomás with an attempt at
+propitiation.
+
+Then, having wrung this from him, and raised a laugh at his expense,
+Patty was satisfied.
+
+“It is all nonsense to pretend that Don Felipe didn’t understand that
+you made a perfectly natural mistake,” Doña Martina told her sister. “I
+am sure your Spanish isn’t so correct at any time that he couldn’t see
+that you meant the other thing.”
+
+“Then I must redouble my efforts to learn,” said Patty calmly. “Tomás
+will have to devote more time to me.” So did she retaliate and was
+immediately in a better humor.
+
+“Who would ride in a motor car when one can set the whole population
+agog by dashing into town in this style?” said Doña Martina as the
+equipage rattled up the street and stopped before the _fonda_, the
+observed of men, women, and children. Matilda, pleased beyond measure
+at the honor, bustled out to meet her guests, the children of the
+neighborhood gathered in a group at a respectful distance, while the
+girls at the fountain paused in their task of scrubbing their buckets,
+to gaze at this display of splendor. Don Felipe’s coach was well known,
+though seldom did it stop at the door of any of the villagers.
+
+The next day came three huge bouquets for the ladies from Don Felipe,
+and no one could tell which was the more beautiful, though Patty
+declared that the presence of a _clavel_ in Paulette’s meant more than
+appeared to the uninitiated. “It is you, Polly, I am sure,” she told
+her friend. “The _clavel_ is always the token of a young man’s regard.”
+
+“Young man, did I hear you say?”
+
+“Oh, pshaw! Why such distinctions? A Spaniard’s, then. A Spanish man’s
+regard. Must I give up that lovely old palace just as I am beginning
+to appreciate, and was planning how to make it more cleanly?”
+
+Paulette shrugged her shoulders. “Sillee, Sillee, Sillee,” she chanted.
+
+“There is one thing I can do,” said Patty: “I can go and buy a post
+card of the place. Tomás and I saw some last evening, and I shall not
+tell you where they are.”
+
+“He will tell me.”
+
+“Oh, will he?” Patty turned and gave Paulette a swift scrutiny.
+
+“I believe you really would rather have the forty-dollar-a-year house
+than the twelfth century palace,” she remarked. “What a pity that it
+isn’t Tomás who owns the _palacio_, but then, poor old Don Felipe, what
+compensation would there be for him? Really, Polly, I made no mistake
+in calling him tiresome, and maybe I knew my Spanish better than I
+pretended when I said _es cansado_ instead of _esta_. Now I am going to
+get the post cards and I shall buy them all so there will be none left
+for you.”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V
+
+                          MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME
+
+
+The next day there was such an influx of custom, so many cattlemen to
+demand meals, that the dining-room was insufficient to accommodate both
+these and Don Juan’s party; moreover, Matilda declared that it would
+not do to seat ladies at the table with so many rough men, therefore
+dinner was served in the little _sala_.
+
+“Six places,” said Doña Martina as they sat down. “Matilda has not
+counted noses this time; there is one too many.” She had hardly spoken
+when the door opened and in walked the young Englishman who had left
+them the week before. He bowed to the company and sat down at the end
+of the table. On his right was Patty, on his left Doña Martina.
+
+“As I was saying,” Patty began, in English, “a twelfth century palace
+may be very charming to look at and to live in during the summer, but
+in winter the saints deliver me from a chilly house.”
+
+The young man looked up brightly. “You are English, American, of
+course, and I fancied you were all Spaniards.”
+
+“We are a composite party.” Patty had found the entering wedge. “My
+sister and I are Americans, my brother-in-law is Spanish, and so, of
+course, is his brother, while my friend is French.”
+
+“Then you are a compatriot of mine.”
+
+“Are you an American?” It was Patty’s turn to be surprised. “We all
+thought you so deadly English.”
+
+“I have lived in England for a number of years. My mother was an
+Englishwoman. After my father’s death she went home to live and I
+completed my education in England.”
+
+“That accounts for it.”
+
+“For my seeming like an Englishman? Yes, of course, but I still claim
+America and am delighted to meet Americans. One finds very few in this
+part of the world.”
+
+“We haven’t met any. You are the first we have seen, and you are really
+a sort of mixture, aren’t you?”
+
+“I suppose I am, but in spite of that I still cling to the traditions
+of my boyhood. The happiest years of my life were spent in the States.”
+
+“That sounds very English, or foreign, I should say. We are so lordly
+in our claims that we call ourselves Americans and our country America,
+while here an Americano is one who has been to Spanish America. We are
+Inglesas because we speak English. I felt quite abashed when I asked a
+Spanish-American if he were not a Spaniard, and he quite indignantly
+replied, ‘No, I am an American.’ ‘But you speak Spanish,’ I persisted.
+‘So do you speak English,’ he said, ‘but you are not an Englishwoman.’
+It was quite a new point of view to me. That was when I first came
+abroad; now I am broader-minded.”
+
+“From what part of America are you?” asked Doña Martina, addressing her
+neighbor. “One cannot tell by your speech, you know.”
+
+“I was born in Louisville, Kentucky. My father’s name was Robert Lisle
+and mine is the same.”
+
+“I wonder if you could be related to Margaret Lisle, who married our
+uncle, Henry Beckwith.”
+
+“She is my first cousin.”
+
+“Really? Isn’t that a coincidence? As we are continually saying, the
+world is very small. I must tell my husband; he knows Uncle Henry very
+well. Why, you are quite like a relative, and from our own state, too.
+What are you doing down here in Spain? Traveling for pleasure?”
+
+“No, I am a mining engineer. I have come down with some Englishmen
+interested in the mines of this province. I have been to Gijon and am
+going to join my friends in Santander later on. I stopped off at this
+place, where I had been once before, and, remembering this good little
+_fonda_, I concluded it would be a proper center from which to make a
+few trips to Covadonga and other places in the neighborhood.”
+
+“Covadonga is one of the places we have in mind to visit,” Doña Martina
+told him. “Just now we are merely staying here till our house shall
+be in order. It should have been ready before this, but you know the
+Spanish _mañana_, and the painters will not have left it for a few days
+yet. Meanwhile, we are comfortable and are seeing something of the life
+in the village.”
+
+“Unfortunately for me, my Spanish is very shaky and I cannot get along
+without a phrase book. It seemed rather venturesome to come to these
+parts so poorly equipped, but the call was sudden, and I had no time to
+prepare for it.”
+
+“I’ve no doubt you know as much as Mademoiselle Delambre and I do,”
+Patty chimed in. “I make frightful mistakes, but I plunge in recklessly
+and am gradually getting a vocabulary.”
+
+“I thought before I ventured too far off by myself I would devote
+a little time to study, and perhaps you can recommend a teacher,
+or at least someone who would be willing to give me some hours of
+conversation each day.”
+
+“I am sure my husband can direct you to someone,” Doña Martina assured
+him, and with that, the meal having been finished, they all left the
+table.
+
+This new acquaintance brought a fresh element into the party. As Doña
+Martina remarked, “I told you so. Let Patty but appear and a man drops
+down from the skies; already there are three on the list and I hope she
+is content.”
+
+Paulette looked up from under her light lashes and smiled. She was fond
+of Patty, but in her heart of hearts she felt that her own attractions
+were not to be despised. She was a small person, rather chic, and,
+but for a somewhat large nose and a rough complexion, would have been
+considered pretty. As it was she made the most of a slim figure and
+golden locks, which were her chief charms.
+
+“Your golden hair, Polly, dear, is your fortune as much as your ducats
+are,” Patty had one day said to her when they were discussing each
+other in that perfectly frank way that young girls have. “With that
+and your very stylish and trig form you are saved from being utterly
+commonplace. Your eyes are rather small, your mouth nothing remarkable;
+you have too much nose; your feet are passable in high heels; your
+hands are positively ugly, but no one observes anything but those
+golden locks and that you have an air.”
+
+“And you, my dear Patty, may not have what you call an air, but cast a
+glance from those melting brown eyes upon even a _gamin_ in the street
+and he bows before you. Your nose is impertinent, but it is not, as
+mine, a feature whose bridge it is difficult to pass over. A _nez
+retrousée_ is not objectionable, it is in fact desirable with such
+eyes. A very long nose would give you a visage so melancholy as would
+make one fancy you a veritable ascetic. Your mouth is a trifle large
+for your nose, but better that than too small, else your eyes would
+seem out of proportion. Your figure is not bad, a little thin, but that
+is a fault which years may improve. I may grow too stout, you will not.”
+
+“How honest we are,” Patty returned. “That comes of hearing so much
+about confessions and the like, here in the convent.”
+
+The confessions were not so frequent, once the convent was left behind,
+for the two girls were now in the world of reality rather than of
+dreams, and there was too much that was vitally interesting going on
+about them to admit of vagaries and of such discussions as touched only
+personal appearance. Each tried to look her best and thoroughly enjoyed
+the pretty summer outfit which had been a matter of such moment at the
+time of providing.
+
+Patty had sought the _galleria_ after dinner, and stood watching
+the great stars slip down behind the mountains. From below came the
+laughter and chatter of the _vacqueros_ who had gathered in the
+wine-room. There was more movement than usual on the little _plaza_, on
+account of the presence of so many cattle drivers. The air was sweet
+with the scent of blossoms hidden behind garden walls or nodding from
+the boxes set in windows. Paulette, Don Tomás and Doña Martina were
+pacing the white way. Don Juan was busy over his papers. Patty, leaning
+her arms on the ledge of the _galleria_ rested her chin upon them. It
+was pleasant to be there. One seldom had a chance to be alone, and
+once in a while one must have time to think. How long ago it seemed
+since she and Tina had come from home, that home which was now broken
+up. Five years Tina had been married. Before that was the yellow house
+with white pillars, the garden--ah, yes, that was it--the scent of
+flowers reminded her of home. She could see her father pacing, pacing,
+his hands behind him, his head bent. That was after the days when her
+frail little mother, with big eyes like Patty’s own, used to walk the
+garden-paths, holding little Patty by the hand, the little six year old
+Patty, who suddenly missed the dear companion and found out there was
+no use in asking again for mother, for she was in far off heaven, too
+distant to reach. Then grandma Beckwith took mother’s place at table,
+and finally there was neither grandma Beckwith nor papa to haunt the
+garden walks, only Patty and Tina and the new brother Juan. Three years
+these had lived in the old house, then it was leased for a term of
+years and the two sisters came abroad, Patty to finish her education
+with the sisters in a convent, and Tina to follow her husband wherever
+his business might call him. They had gone to London first and then to
+Paris, where, within the last year, Don Juan had been desperately ill,
+and upon his recovery had felt that nothing would complete his cure
+but the healthful breezes of his native province in northern Spain. It
+had been a long two years for Patty, although there were visits from
+her sister once in a while, and one Christmas there had been a jolly
+good time at an old chateau, where lived an American fellow schoolmate,
+who had invited Patty with some other girls for a holiday visit. Now
+schooldays were over and what next? The summer here, and then would
+they go to Madrid as Don Juan sometimes thought of doing? Would they
+stay here in Asturias? Would they return to America? This present
+experience was delightfully novel and entertaining. It was pleasant,
+too, to be with dear old Tina, who tried to be so strict and to
+maintain such discipline with her young sister, just as she had always
+tried in the days gone by, but-- A homesick feeling came over Patty, a
+longing for the old home, the old ways, for the beloved country whose
+faults, like her own, were but youthful faults after all.
+
+She gave a long sigh, and presently became aware from a slight movement
+that someone had stepped out upon the balcony, then a voice said, “I
+beg your pardon. I didn’t know anyone was out here. Will my cigar annoy
+you?”
+
+“And I with a Spanish brother-in-law who smokes cigarettes eternally?
+No, Mr. Lisle, I have passed beyond feeling annoyed at so slight a
+thing as that. In the convent, of course, the sisters don’t smoke.”
+
+“The convent?”
+
+“Yes, I have been there for the past two years completing my education.
+I have learned many things--especially from the French girls.”
+
+She did not see the young man’s frown. “And from the sisters?”
+
+“Oh, I learned things from them, too, the dear doves. I have become
+fluent in excellent French. I learned to embroider beautifully; I can
+sketch--a little; my music isn’t so terrible and--well, the lives of
+the saints may be very edifying, but somehow they never did interest me
+as much as the lives of the sinners.”
+
+“Whom do you class among the sinners?”
+
+“Myself for one.”
+
+“I can scarcely credit that. Are you such a sinner?”
+
+“We are all miserable sinners, so sister Cecile used to say, and I
+think she meant I was one of the chief, yet, I am sure she loved me.
+Some day I must go back there to see them all, for I was really very
+happy after a fashion.”
+
+“And now?”
+
+“Oh, I am happier still now, though I was happiest in the dear old
+home. I have just been thinking about it. The smell of the roses
+brought it all back to me.”
+
+“Tell me about it. May I sit here?” He threw away his cigar and
+established himself on the bench which ran along one side of the
+_galleria_, while Patty sat opposite in a porch chair.
+
+“It is in Kentucky, you know,” the girl said, “not far from Lexington,
+and I spent all my childhood there. I had a governess after my mother
+died, then, after my father’s death, I went to boarding-school for a
+while. I was still at school when my sister married. We lived in the
+old home for a couple of years after that, then, when Dr. Estradas had
+to come over here, they brought me with them and sent me to a convent
+to finish my studies.”
+
+“Then you, too, are an orphan.”
+
+“Yes, I have no one but Tina.”
+
+“I have my grandfather and one uncle, no brothers or sisters. I, too,
+remember my old Kentucky home and my happy boyhood.”
+
+“Don’t you get homesick, oh so homesick for it sometimes? I do.
+‘For the sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home, my old Kentucky
+home so far away,’” she sang softly. “That almost breaks my heart,
+for my mother used to sing it to me, and it brings back everything,
+everything, the old house with the white columns, the roses in bloom,
+the sun shining on the trees. Oh, dear, why can’t things stay as we
+want them?”
+
+[Illustration: “‘DON’T YOU GET HOMESICK?’”]
+
+“There is nothing we can count on but change.”
+
+“Alas, no. Do you ever expect to go back?”
+
+“I should like to, but I probably shall not while my grandfather lives.”
+
+“You have an English home, though, and that must be lovely. I have been
+in England, and I know how charming some of the homes there are.”
+
+“Ours is not particularly so. It is in London, and though we have a
+garden, after a fashion, it is not like the one I remember in Kentucky,
+which must have been something like that of your childhood’s delight.”
+
+“Then you love your old Kentucky home the best?” Patty said eagerly.
+
+“Yes, I confess it. Perhaps when I see it again the glory will have
+departed, though in my dreams it is the most charming spot in the
+world.”
+
+“Did it have tall box walks and a perfect riot of roses climbing
+everywhere? Was there an old apple-tree with a lovely low crotch where
+you could sit? Was there a queer sun-dial and a fountain? Did the
+beehives stand at one end, and were there currant bushes all along one
+side? That is the way ours was.”
+
+“Ours was not unlike, except that my favorite was a cherry tree, and we
+had gooseberries instead of currants. There were no bees, but I kept
+pigeons and they used to strut up and down the graveled walks. It
+broke my heart to give up those pigeons.”
+
+“And it nearly killed me to part from my pony.”
+
+“My little mare, Betsy, is still there. I can imagine it was a wrench
+for you to give up your pony if you felt as I did about Bet.”
+
+“Who lives there now?”
+
+“An aunt, my father’s aunt, so it is not in the hands of strangers.”
+
+“Our house is. We have rented it and shall sell it when we have a good
+offer.”
+
+“Then you do not expect to go back there to live.”
+
+“No. Juan’s interests seem to be centering over here, and where Tina is
+I shall be. We may spend the winter in Madrid or Paris, so you see the
+prospect of going back to old Kaintuck is a very distant one. We leave
+this _fonda_ in a few days for Juan’s home. It is just beyond, between
+this and the next village, and there we shall spend the summer. Don
+Tomás has been living there alone since his mother’s death about three
+years ago, and the house really was badly in need of repairs.”
+
+“I notice you say Tomás with the accent on the last syllable, and not
+as we pronounce Thomas.”
+
+“Yes, that is the way the Spanish call it. I think I like it better.
+They are coming up. I must go in, for no doubt my sister wonders what
+has become of me.”
+
+She joined the others in the _sala_, leaving Mr. Lisle to his own
+reflections. “Where have you been all this time, Patty?” asked her
+sister.
+
+“Oh, I have been meditating part of the time. I should think you would
+be glad to know I do think sometimes.”
+
+“Were you out there on the _galleria_ all the time?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Doña Martina sniffed the air. “Someone is smoking. Was Juan with you?”
+
+“No, dearest of duennas, he was not. I had the charming society of our
+compatriot, and we have been talking of our Kentucky homes till I am
+sure he is homesick; I know I am.”
+
+Her sister’s face softened and she said gently: “It wasn’t exactly
+right for you to sit out there with him alone.”
+
+“Wasn’t it? I am sure we know just who he is.”
+
+“But he has not been properly presented and we know nothing about him
+except that his cousin married our uncle.”
+
+“Then, please, Tina, dear, go right to your room and write to Uncle
+Henry to find out. It takes so long to get letters back and forth.
+I’m afraid he will be gone before we can begin to treat him like a
+relation.”
+
+“Patty, Patty, you are perfectly irrepressible.”
+
+“Never mind. You will write, won’t you? Please, like an angel,” and
+she turned a pair of appealing eyes upon her sister, eyes so wistfully
+tender that Doña Martina, half laughing, said:
+
+“Well, yes, I will, if only to satisfy myself that he is all right.
+I’ll write to-morrow, Patty. I am too tired to-night.”
+
+But as fate would have it, the epistle never was written, for the very
+next day came a letter from Mr. Beckwith himself. Doña Martina handed
+it over to her sister with the remark, “There are moments when I feel
+that the Spanish are right in never doing to-day what can be put off
+till to-morrow. This is an actual answer to what I might have written
+and didn’t. There on the last page,” and Patty read: “By the way, Mag
+tells me that Bob Lisle’s son is somewhere in Spain. Of course we
+know it is a big place, but if you should happen to run across him do
+the boy a good turn if you can. He is a fine lad. His father was a
+great friend of mine and a better fellow never stepped. They say the
+son is like him, though I’ve not seen the youngster since he was in
+knickerbockers. He promised well then. Mag hears from him occasionally
+and of him from his aunt, old Mrs. Breckenridge, who lives on the Lisle
+place. She thinks there was never anyone like young Robert.”
+
+“So there,” Patty ejaculated, as she slowly refolded the letter. “Well,
+Tina, you will be nice to him.”
+
+“Of course, but not on your account, Mistress Patience Blake.”
+
+“For his own sake, then?”
+
+“Yes, and for Aunt Mag’s. I will tell Juan he is to be treated like a
+relative, and you know what that will mean to a Spaniard.”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER VI
+
+                           THE DAY OF SAN JUAN
+
+
+In a few days the little _fonda_ lost the guests who had set such a
+mark of distinction upon it that Matilda felt her house had risen to
+the highest repute. A rainy day had kept all within doors and had
+lent an opportunity for better acquaintance with Robert Lisle, an
+opportunity which was made use of, not alone by Patty, but by Doña
+Martina and her husband. These two latter had urged Mr. Lisle to make
+their house his home while he remained, but he had declined, saying
+his movements were uncertain and he might at any moment be called to
+Santander. He promised, however, to consider them as relatives upon
+whom he could drop in without ceremony.
+
+The charming old Estrada mansion could not be entirely seen from the
+high road; one must enter through a lofty gate before all the gray
+buildings came in sight, though they and the garden were visible
+from the side where one of the little narrow byways led off into
+the mountain. A low fence surrounded this side of the garden, which
+overlooked a green vale and the mounting reaches of the mountains
+themselves. Entering the main gateway, one saw first the house itself,
+with its stone patio, where countless pigeons cooed and pattered about.
+Above were stone balconies and deep set windows, over which were the
+sculptured arms of the house of Estrada. From a stone-paved hallway,
+into which one must first enter, opened dining-room, kitchen, pantries
+and servants’ quarters, while above stairs were the salon and the
+bedchambers, all spacious rooms, looking out upon the garden in one
+direction and the mountains in another. The furniture was old, but the
+rooms were comfortable and there were so many as well might accommodate
+a larger family. Beyond the house stood the little chapel, a covered
+way leading to it from the second storey. Further away were the stables
+and out-buildings. Fresh paint, where it was needed, gave an air of
+cleanliness to the place, though the fine old rafters, oaken floors
+and doors were left as they should be. In the garden, palms and apple
+trees, figs and oranges, roses and geraniums as high as your head, grew
+side by side, and this latter part of June there was a blaze of color.
+
+Word had gone forth that Don Juan invited the villagers to a _fiesta_
+in honor of his home-coming and of his name day, and as he had
+throughout the countryside a reputation for performing wonderful cures,
+for great charity, and for true kindness of heart, far and near, the
+people prepared for the occasion.
+
+Robert Lisle promised to be on hand and the evening before the day of
+San Juan appeared just as all were starting out for a walk.
+
+“Come with us,” said Doña Martina. “We are going to follow the custom
+of St. John’s Eve. This is the _vespera_, as they call it.”
+
+“And what is that?” he asked, taking from her hand the basket she
+carried.
+
+“We are going to deck the streams and springs. Those are rose leaves in
+that basket and those flowering branches which Juan and Tomás carry are
+for the same purpose. Come with us and help. It is such a pretty custom
+and I want the girls to see how it is done.”
+
+They pursued their way along a little stream which ran through the
+village. Here was the washing place where daily was seen a group of
+women beating out garments on the rocks or rinsing them in the clear
+mountain water. Further along was a bridge and further yet another, the
+latter in a quiet spot where the gurgle of the water and the whisper of
+the new leaves made a pleasant murmuring song. Here the party paused to
+strew their rose leaves and daisy petals.
+
+Nothing would do but that Patty must explore the stream further along.
+“It is much more fun to stand on the very edge and send the petals
+on their mission,” she declared. “One somehow has a more intimate
+relation with the stream doing it that way.” Tomás followed her and the
+two were soon making merry over the fate of certain of their offerings.
+
+“Come on, Glad Lady,” called Doña Martina. “We are going.”
+
+“What did you call her?” inquired Mr. Lisle.
+
+“Oh, that was Tomás’s first comment upon my sister. He said she was a
+glad lady and we thought it very apt.”
+
+“She certainly is a merry creature, so much more spontaneous and frank
+than most one meets. I think candor and spontaneity are the charm of
+our Southern girls.”
+
+“I like you to say ‘our’; it sounds as if you still felt you belonged
+to Kentucky.”
+
+“Oh, but you know, I do feel so.”
+
+“Paulette has vivacity enough,” Doña Martina went on, “but it is of a
+different quality.”
+
+“Quite so. Miss Paulette is entertaining, but--she is French.”
+
+“I see you have the insular prejudice.”
+
+Mr. Lisle laughed. “I am afraid I have. Where do we go next?”
+
+“To the _fuente_. The young people of the village will have bedecked it
+by now.”
+
+“That is the fountain?”
+
+“Yes, or the spring, as you choose. It is the great gossiping place,
+as I suppose you have noticed, for one is sure to meet one’s neighbors
+there during some part of the day.”
+
+“It is singing the same little contented tune,” said Patty, as she and
+Tomás came up. “It does not change it even for feast days. Aren’t you
+all excited over to-morrow? I think there are so many pretty customs
+for the day of St. John. I like to think of the young men climbing to
+the windows of their lady loves to fasten flowers and boughs there. I
+am wondering if Don Felipe will climb to our window, Polly, to set a
+bough of blossoms thereby. I’d like to observe him in the act.”
+
+“Patty,” her sister spoke reprovingly.
+
+“But wouldn’t he look just like a monkey? Give him a red cap and coat
+and he might go with a hand organ.”
+
+“Patty, you forget you are speaking of a friend of ours,” said her
+sister with dignity.
+
+“Oh, but he is a friend of mine, too, and I may yet be making red coats
+and caps for him myself, who knows? At all events, I’d like to see him
+scrambling up to our balcony.”
+
+The flowering branch was indeed there by the window the next morning,
+but by whom it was placed, or for whom it was intended, no one could
+discover. However, there were two nosegays, one each side the casement,
+so there was no disputing a claim to these. The two girls were
+laughingly squabbling over the bough of blossoms when Doña Martina
+called to them, “Come down, come down and see what our young friends
+have been doing.”
+
+The two hurriedly made their toilets and went down to find an archway
+of flowers over the gate, garlands festooned across the windows and
+twined around the balconies. In the center of the _patio_ was set a
+tree. “The presents have begun to arrive already,” Doña Martina told
+them. “Old Antonia has been here with a pair of pigeons and here comes
+Miguel with a basket.”
+
+“Isn’t it exciting?” said Patty, peeping out to watch Anita take the
+basket.
+
+“A remembrance for Don Juan, señora,” said the maid. Doña Martina
+lifted the cover to disclose a pair of white fowls.
+
+And so the procession kept up all morning. Here came a lad with a
+basket of fruit, there an old woman with a bucket of eggs, next a young
+girl with a pat of butter on a quaint plate of peasant-ware, plate
+and all intended for the good doctor. The climax was reached when a
+handsome dark-eyed girl appeared, leading a snow-white lamb, decked off
+with a wreath of daisies, the flowers of San Juan.
+
+All must go out to welcome the little lamb. “The true symbol of San
+Juan,” cried Doña Martina. “Isn’t it a darling? Come in, Perdita. Don
+Juan will want to thank you himself. Anita will take you to his study.
+She is very grateful,” Doña Martina explained to the girls, “for Juan
+cured her grandmother of threatened blindness. These peasants are such
+a superstitious set and someone had told the poor old grandmother to
+dry a piece of holy palm which had been blessed by the priest, to crush
+it to a powder and put it on her eyes. Imagine the result! I never
+saw Juan more indignant. ‘But, foolish woman,’ he said, ‘you have
+aggravated the trouble. You would be totally blind if you continued
+such a stupid course. Had you no better sense?’ ‘It was my faith, only
+my faith,’ wailed the poor old thing. They are just like that, and
+half the time all that is needed is a little common sense. Eye trouble
+is very common among them, and no wonder, for they use one another’s
+handkerchiefs indiscriminately and are utterly careless. Juan has cured
+scores of cases and they think he is a saint. I am sure Perdita has
+been coddling the lamb especially for this occasion.”
+
+“Isn’t she a pretty girl,” said Patty, watching the giver of the lamb
+depart. “She has such masses of wavy hair and such beautiful eyes; then
+what a fine straight figure and fine carriage.”
+
+“You should see her dance the _jota_; no one about here does it so
+well.”
+
+“Shall we see her this evening?”
+
+“Oh, yes, for we shall have good music. Now I must go and see if the
+maids have prepared refreshments enough. There will be a big crowd, I
+am sure. If any more presents come, tell me.”
+
+More presents did come straggling along all day, until the supply of
+such things as the country people could bring added a large store to
+the larder. “They are poor,” Doña Martina explained, “and Juan accepts
+no fees, so, as this is their opportunity to give what they can, we are
+obliged to accept the gifts.”
+
+“I think it is pathetic to see the little dabs some of them bring,”
+said Patty, watching Anita empty from a bag a small hoard of nuts.
+
+“Are we to dress for the occasion?” asked Paulette.
+
+“Why, a little, maybe,” Doña Martina told her. “White muslin frocks
+will do.”
+
+“I wish we could wear something really Spanish,” said Patty.
+
+“You can. I have a couple of shawls, _mantas de Manila_ they are called
+here, and you can wear them as the Spanish girls do. You shall have the
+yellow one, Paulette the red. You must stick red flowers in your hair,
+I will show you how to arrange it, and then you will do. Some of the
+girls will perhaps wear the Asturian costume, they know we like them
+to, and some will wear the _mantas de Manila_; others still will simply
+wear the best they have.”
+
+“Don’t I look Spanish?” cried Patty, well pleased with herself, when
+she stood ready for the dance. “You look stunning, too, Polly. Isn’t
+it a pretty dress?”
+
+“You at least look Spanish enough,” her sister told her. And, indeed,
+with the yellow shawl draped gracefully around her, a red _clavel_ over
+each ear, and a big fan in her hand she certainly did look as unlike an
+American girl as possible. “I must go show myself to Juan,” declared
+she, dancing out of the room.
+
+She ran impetuously into the study and struck an attitude, unfurling
+her fan as she did so. “Behold Carmencita!” she cried.
+
+“Bella! Hermosa!” came the comment from the man sitting near the window.
+
+“Don Felipe!” faltered Patty, taken aback. “I thought it was Don Juan.
+I saw someone and I didn’t stop to see that it was not my brother.”
+
+“Happy Don Juan, to dwell in the house with so much beauty,” returned
+Don Felipe with a bow.
+
+“I am dressed for the _fiesta_,” Patty explained, “and I came in to
+show my costume. I look quite Spanish, do I not?”
+
+“So much so that one might well believe you to be a native of my
+country. Perhaps you will one day adopt this old Spain of ours. Would
+it be difficult to persuade you?”
+
+Patty thought of the antique jewels and answered coyly, “No one has
+tried to as yet, and--” as she saw a sudden flash come into the old
+don’s eyes, “I have not been here long enough to say whether I should
+like to make this my adopted country or not.” Then turning her head
+over her shoulder, “Here comes my brother now. Am I not fine, Juan?”
+she cried. “I look much more Spanish than Polly. I wish I knew some of
+the Spanish dances.”
+
+“I should like to teach you,” spoke up Don Felipe.
+
+Patty cast down her eyes that she might hide the amusement in them at
+the vision of herself capering in the _jota_ opposite the small figure
+of Don Felipe. “Some time when we have not spectators, perhaps,” she
+said sweetly, “but to-day I shall only look on.”
+
+“They are coming! They are coming!” Anita at the door announced
+excitedly, and Patty ran out to join her sister and Paulette, who,
+standing in the doorway, waited for the approaching villagers.
+
+“They are singing,” said Patty.
+
+“Yes, the song of San Juan,” her sister told her. “Let us go down to
+the gate and see them in the dance. They sometimes come for miles
+singing and dancing all the way.”
+
+It could hardly be called a dance, though with joined hands a long line
+of young men and maidens chanted the song, progressing up the road
+while they took the step called the dance of San Juan. At the gateway
+they paused for a moment then entered singing still; Perdita at the
+head led a band of maidens who offered crowns of the field daisies,
+the flowers of San Juan. Then a young mountaineer approached with a bow.
+
+“Where is Juan?” asked Doña Martina nervously. “Call him someone,
+quick.” But at that moment the doctor appeared and then and there was
+raised a song in his honor. It had been composed by the schoolmaster
+and had many stanzas which praised the kingly doctor, his gracious
+wife, his beautiful guests, his princely brother, his estimable
+friends, and at last sounded the virtues of even his cow and chickens.
+After this the maids hurried out with trays of cake and wine, the blind
+violinist and his wife, who pounded on a drum, struck up a typical air
+and the dancing began.
+
+Most of the damsels considered it unladylike to display much action
+when dancing the _jota_, but Perdita was too greatly possessed with the
+spirit of the dance to be hedged about by conventionalities. With arms
+aloft, fingers snapping, body swaying, she responded to the steps of
+her partner. “It is a delight to see her,” said Patty to Don Tomás, who
+was standing by her side. “If only I could dance like that.”
+
+“I will teach you,” he offered.
+
+“I shall certainly not fail to accept your good offices,” she returned,
+“although we must practice when Don Felipe is not by. He has already
+offered to teach me.”
+
+[Illustration: “PERDITA.”]
+
+“He? That old _hombrecillo_? That _maniqui_?” There was scorn in the
+tones of Don Tomás.
+
+Patty laughed softly. It was not often that Don Tomás showed such
+temper. “There comes Mr. Lisle,” she said. “I wonder if he dances.”
+
+“These Englishmen, they do not dance, they simply spin,” returned
+Tomás. “It is in Spain only that dancing is an art.”
+
+“There’s vanity for you,” said Patty standing on tip-toe that Mr. Lisle
+might see her across the group of onlookers. “You Spaniards are the
+most guilelessly vain people I ever saw.”
+
+“A Spanish lady and not dancing!” said Robert Lisle as he came up.
+
+“The gladth ladthy is say she wish learn dance,” said Tomás, “and I am
+say I will teach.”
+
+“Don’t you want to learn the _jota_?” Patty asked the new comer. “It is
+just over and it is such a pretty dance. You should have seen Perdita.”
+
+“I am afraid a Spanish dance is beyond my powers, and that I have even
+forgotten the American method.”
+
+“If you ever knew you will pick it up again. We have had such a day
+of it, and--oh I believe they are going to illuminate the house and
+grounds! What fun! They will keep it up all night, I do believe. Why
+have you not been on hand to see our precious doings?”
+
+“I had some work to do which kept me, and I was out very early.”
+
+“Early enough to see them decorate this place? They came long before we
+thought of getting up. We heard voices, but were too sleepy to stir.
+After becoming accustomed to the noise of the cow-carts we have learned
+to sleep through anything. Did you walk out this way and do you know
+who set the blossomy bough by our window, and if it was intended for
+Polly or me?”
+
+“Ought I to tell if I do know?”
+
+“Certainly, how else can we smile on the one who desires our favor?”
+
+“Very well, I will tell you some time,” he added.
+
+Patty gave him a swift look wondering exactly what that meant, then she
+laughed lightly. “I fancied it might be Don Felipe, you know,” she said
+in an undertone.
+
+“The little man in the elegant waistcoat and riding boots?”
+
+“The same. He is a magnificent don with oodles of pesetas and would you
+think it? He came over on horseback to-day, though he often comes with
+a coach and four. The relations between Paulette and me are strained
+already on his account, as we both pine for his collection of antique
+jewels. I wish I had not thought of the jewels just now, for I am
+instantly seized with a feeling that I am neglecting my opportunities
+by not going over to talk to him. I shall have to leave you.” And in
+another moment she had joined the group among whom were her sister and
+Don Felipe.
+
+There seemed no wearying the dancers and their number was soon
+increased by a company from another village. The young men of this
+_pueblo_ bore a tall slim tree from which all the branches had been
+cropped. It showed only a small tuft of green leaves at the very top,
+but was decked out with ribbons and flowers. The girls followed,
+jangled their tambourines and sang the song of the day as they came
+down the road and into the garden, where the tree was set up.
+
+Another supply of cake and wine was brought forth, the dancing became
+more and more exciting, though the watchers began to be weary, yet the
+lights in window and balcony were not extinguished till long after
+midnight, and even then the song of the dancers still echoed from a
+distance.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER VII
+
+                               THE INXANOS
+
+
+Robert Lisle walked home under the great stars that evening with a
+new sense of restlessness at heart. He was rather a lonely young
+man, feeling something of the alien in his grandfather’s house, yet
+having cut loose from the ties which bound him to his native land. His
+grandfather did not hesitate to remind him that he was not a Sterling
+in name and that therefore he could not expect that inheritance which
+might have fallen to him had he been born heir to a son of the house.
+The old man was not unkind, but he was not a companionable person.
+He had given his grandson the education which befitted his station,
+had equipped him with the profession the boy preferred, and had
+allowed him a place in his home whenever he should choose to accept
+his hospitality. Having done this much he felt that he had fulfilled
+his duty, and asked little in return. On one subject, however, he
+had expressed a decided opinion: Robert should marry money, should
+choose a wife of good family as well. Robert had tacitly accepted the
+arrangement in not differing with his grandfather when the subject was
+brought up, but to-night the idea suddenly became distasteful. Instead
+of Miss Moffatt, whose neutral tints were of mental as well as of
+physical quality, he saw a merry laughing witch of a maid, whose eyes
+could be meltingly tender or full of mischief, who, while she appeared
+only a little less than a trifler, nevertheless, had depths as yet
+unstirred in her nature.
+
+He had had glimpses of this underlying the exterior; he knew all that
+her gay laughter hid. He had looked below the surface. The glad lady!
+How well the name suited her. How well she would love once she had
+given her heart. But--. He stood still in the road and looked back over
+the long white way, then with an impatient fling he turned and trudged
+on. “What’s the use,” he muttered. “I can’t afford it. I must not think
+of it. A penniless, struggling fellow, what have I to offer a girl? No,
+I must not think of it. Moreover, there is the old don, and if not, the
+other fellow whom she evidently favors.”
+
+Meanwhile Don Felipe had ridden away, and out in the _patio_ Tomás
+was teaching Patty the _jota_, while Doña Martina called to them from
+above, “Come in, come in, you scandalous pair,” she cried. “Don’t you
+know it is past midnight? Haven’t you had dancing enough?”
+
+“We have only seen it, we haven’t taken part in it,” replied Patty,
+halting in her practice of the step. “We’ll come in presently, Tina.
+There may never come another day like this. Why grudge us a few
+moments?”
+
+“This isn’t to-day, as you call it; it is to-morrow.”
+
+“Then consider what a triumph. It ought to be put on record. I have
+beguiled one Spaniard into catching up with _mañana_.”
+
+“Paulette has gone in,” Doña Martina said after watching the two for a
+few moments, “and I am so tired and so cold waiting here.”
+
+“We’ll stop at once,” decided Patty. “Poor old Tina, I didn’t realize
+I was keeping you up, and it does warm one up so to dance the _jota_
+that I forgot you might be cold. I am a selfish pig. I’ll come right
+in, dear. _Buenas noches_, Tomás. _Muchas gracias._ It has been lots of
+fun, hasn’t it?”
+
+“Shocking! Awful badth form,” returned Tomás, laughing.
+
+Patty with a giggle of delight at the reply, ran in to find Paulette
+already fast asleep, and the house dark and silent. She, herself,
+however, was in no mood for slumbers. Her blood was tingling with
+excitement of the dance. She opened her window and went out on the
+balcony. The flowering branch set there that morning was withered and
+drooping. Patty looked at it thoughtfully. “Poor lad,” she murmured,
+“and he hasn’t two cents to rub together.” She leaned over the stone
+railing. Tomás was smoking a last cigarette before going to bed; the
+scent of it was borne upward with the odors from the garden beds. “It
+wouldn’t be so dreadful to live in Spain, to be near dear old Tina
+to--” Her meditations stopped short. Tomás was just below. She leaned
+over and dropped one of the flowers from her hair. Tomás caught it and
+looked up. “Shocking! Awful badth form,” said Patty mockingly, and
+disappeared within.
+
+In spite of a waking resolution to fix his thoughts unwaveringly upon
+the quiet Miss Moffatt, Robert Lisle felt himself unresistingly drawn
+toward the Estradas house the next evening. “I was lonely; I had to
+come,” he said as he shook hands with Doña Martina.
+
+“My dear man, you don’t have to make an excuse for coming. You know you
+are always welcome,” returned Doña Martina.
+
+Robert flushed up. “But I come so often,” he stammered.
+
+“Why shouldn’t you? Aren’t we birds of a feather who should flock
+together in a strange land? I’d feel very much hurt if you didn’t come
+often. The girls will be down directly. That witch of a Patty has some
+notion about going to the sea-caves to-night, a pretty rough walk, but
+there’s no doing anything with her once she sets her heart on a thing.
+She insists that she wants to visit the _inxanos_.”
+
+“And what are they?”
+
+“Here she comes; she will tell you.”
+
+“I’ve changed my dress and put on thick shoes, Tina,” the girl began.
+“Oh, Mr. Lisle, you must go, too. It is just the sort of thing you
+would like. We are going to see where the _inxanos_ live.”
+
+“I’ve just been asking about them. Who, or what are they?”
+
+“They are the little beings who build the caves, tiny creatures who
+live underground. I am delighted that the Spaniards have tales of
+something besides saints; I had enough of those at the convent. There
+are not only _inxanos_ but _xanos_, and they pronounce their name as
+though it were written Shaughnessy, though they use an x instead of an
+sh. The _inxanos_ are a sort of genii; they give you things when you
+ask them, but they, alas, like the genii generally require you to do
+something in return. I have written three wishes on a piece of paper
+and I am going to deposit the paper in one of the caves. Don’t you want
+to make three wishes, too?”
+
+“I certainly do.”
+
+“Oh, I knew you wouldn’t despise my fancy. You mustn’t tell your
+wishes, you know, or they may not come true. The _inxanos_ are very
+particular. Tomás has been telling me the most delightful tales of all
+these strange creatures. What I couldn’t understand, Tina translated
+for me. I must warn you of the _xanos_; they are water nymphs who haunt
+the forest streams and springs. They are a sort of Lorelei who charm
+the young men that happen to pass that way. I should hate to think of
+your disappearing head first into some stream to-night on account of
+the tricksy little things, so be very careful that you don’t linger.”
+
+As Robert looked at her he thought it was not only the _xanos_ who
+could lure a man from the path of duty, for try as he would to keep the
+image of Beatrice Moffatt before him, it was so cast into the shade by
+the sparkling face before him, that the image appeared but a shadowy
+ghost, a pale and intangible memory.
+
+“I must warn you, too, of the _huestos_,” Patty went on. “They are the
+evil spirits who work mischief to the utter destruction of human kind.
+Now, come in and write your three wishes. I have at last persuaded
+Polly to do hers, but I had an awful time to work upon her imagination
+sufficiently. She is so unsentimental, that Polly. When I had persuaded
+her to do it, she couldn’t make up her mind what to write. I knew in a
+minute.”
+
+“Will you tell me if your wishes should chance to come true?”
+
+“Will you promise to do the same?”
+
+“Yes, I promise.”
+
+“Then--Oh, I don’t know--Yes, I will tell, but I must do so in my own
+good time.”
+
+“And when will that be?”
+
+Patty laughed and shook her head. “You mustn’t pin me down. Remember
+it was you who said some day, when I asked you to tell me who fastened
+the blossomy branch by the window.”
+
+“If you will let me walk with you to the caves I will tell you this
+very night.”
+
+“Anything to have my present curiosity satisfied,” said Patty, with one
+of her most saucy smiles. “Come in. Polly must have made up her mind
+by this time, though we are not going just yet, for Tomás has promised
+to sing us some of those weird Asturian songs of his. He is perfectly
+adorable when he sings them.”
+
+Robert followed her upstairs to where Tomás was softly playing a few
+chords on his guitar. The three wishes were soon written out and the
+paper tucked away in Robert’s waistcoat pocket.
+
+“Now for the music,” said Patty. “Those songs of yours are just suited
+to out of doors, Tomás, so I think we’d better go out on the balcony.
+Sing that funny little song about Perequito, and that other, _Dame la
+mano, paloma_.”
+
+Tomás twanged out his accompaniments and began the curious little
+melodies of the province, songs which ended in a long upward soaring
+note, suggesting a call of the mountaineers. They were generally in a
+minor key and uncertain in measure, but even Robert Lisle was obliged
+to confess them charming.
+
+“No one but a true Spaniard can give them perfectly or even
+acceptably,” declared Doña Martina. “All imitations are absolutely
+colorless. We had some friends in Paris who tried them, but they did
+not sound like the same thing. Very little of the Asturian music is
+written, but Tomás has heard it all his life and knows it without
+notes.”
+
+“Now for the caves,” said Patty. “It will be slower walking at night,
+and we’d better start, don’t you think?”
+
+The night was soft and still, the mountain tops were faintly outlined
+against a starry sky, but were lost to view where the winding woodpath
+was entered. Tomás carried a lantern, yet they often stumbled over the
+rough places. “It is such a foolish thing to do at night,” said Doña
+Martina, pettishly. “I do hope, Patty, that you will not undertake any
+more such adventures.”
+
+“What is the use of coming to Spain if you can’t have adventures,”
+Patty made reply. “You needn’t come when I feel the call of the wild,
+Tina.”
+
+“But I have to. What would people think if I allowed you to go around
+unchaperoned?”
+
+“Juan could go with me; he wouldn’t mind in the least.”
+
+“As if he had time to follow your erratic movements. This coming
+out to-night is a perfectly foolish thing. I don’t see the sense of
+pretending you believe in _inxanos_ and such nonsense.”
+
+“Oh, Tina, you haven’t any imagination, while as for myself, I always
+did love make-believe plays.” Leaving her sister to the guardianship of
+Don Juan, Patty hurried ahead with Robert Lisle, in entire disregard of
+Tomás’ beacon light.
+
+“It isn’t dark under the stars,” she remarked to her companion.
+
+“It could never be dark where you are,” he replied.
+
+“What a nice speech, quite as if you were a real Kentuckian. Isn’t it
+now the time and place to tell of the blossoming branch? Who put it in
+the window?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“For--Paulette?”
+
+“For you.”
+
+“Oh!” Patty suddenly felt a little afraid--of what? She didn’t stop to
+question, but in her inattention to the path, she unwarily stumbled
+against a stone in the way and gave a sudden cry.
+
+Robert caught her hand to steady her, and he held it for a moment. A
+mad fire seemed to race through his veins and he said unsteadily, “I am
+not taking good care of you. I am afraid you have hurt yourself, when I
+would rather have been battered to bits than that you should feel the
+slightest pain.”
+
+“Oh, it was nothing,” Patty answered faintly. “I think--I think maybe
+we’d better wait for the light.”
+
+He released her hand and they stood silent till the others came up. “Oh
+dear,” Patty was saying to herself. “Oh dear!”
+
+The caves were not much further ahead, for the splash of waves beating
+upon the sands was now heard distinctly. Doña Martina refused to cross
+the stretch of pebbly beach which lay between the wooded path and the
+sea. “Juan and I will wait here while you silly children go ahead,” she
+said.
+
+“I’ve just thought,” said Patty to Robert, “that I’ve written my wishes
+in English. Do you suppose the _inxanos_ understand anything but
+Spanish?”
+
+“Genii ought to understand everything,” returned he. “Mine are in
+English, too.”
+
+“Well there is some comfort in that, for if they can’t read mine,
+neither can they yours, and if you are denied your wishes so shall I
+be. There is the moon, Tomás; we shall not need the lantern. Leave it
+with Juan and Tina; it is much more romantic without it.”
+
+They reached the caves without difficulty. Strange structures they
+were; great archways rising each side the opening to the beach and
+obstructing a clear view of the sea till one had passed under or beyond
+them. “What wonderful little people the _inxanos_ must be to build such
+places,” said Patty’s companion as they solemnly deposited their wishes
+in a crevice of the caverns.
+
+“We shall think them more wonderful if they grant our wishes,” she
+said. Then she touched Tomás softly on the arm. “Come,” she said to him
+in Spanish.
+
+He followed willingly and they disappeared around the corner of the
+rocks. “Let us explore a little further,” said Patty. “I don’t want to
+go just yet. You know the place well, don’t you, Tomás?”
+
+“Perfectly.”
+
+“Then let us watch the moon on the water for a few minutes. If they get
+tired they can go on. They know it is light enough for us to find the
+way without the lantern. Do you mind, Tomás?”
+
+“When you have given me the flower from your hair?”
+
+“Don’t get sentimental. That was only a little joke. You see you are a
+sort of brother and I can ask you to do things because we seem both to
+be of one family.”
+
+“Yes, that is it of course. You have no other reason?”
+
+“Certainly I have not. Now, Tomás, don’t try to look heart-broken. You
+know it is simply pretense.”
+
+“How do I know? I am not at all sure.”
+
+“Oh, yes you are, and if you are not you must be, for I am perfectly
+sure we don’t want to spoil our fun by any silliness. Just peep around
+the rocks and see if they have started yet. If they have we will
+follow. I hope the _inxanos_ will be good to us. You see I am doing
+this--I mean I wanted to wait here as a sort of propitiation to the
+_inxanos_, so they would know I am really in earnest. Do you think
+there could be any _inxanos_ there in that cave? I see some little
+shadowy thing.”
+
+Tomás fell in with her mood. “Shall we go see?”
+
+“If you like. They do appear to people, you know.” This conversation
+carried on partly in Spanish and partly in English was not perfectly
+understood on either side, but each managed to get the gist of what the
+other was saying.
+
+They clambered down the crags to enter the caves, a lofty aperture in
+the rocks, open on two sides. The shadowy form resolved itself into
+gray stone as they approached. They passed through to the pebbly-strewn
+stretch of sand on the further edge of which they had left Doña
+Martina. The four were standing there parleying.
+
+As the two figures came out from the cave Doña Martina called to them,
+“We are going.”
+
+“So are we,” returned Patty. “Don’t wait. We will follow.” And the
+party took up its tramp back through the woods by the winding stream.
+
+Robert Lisle did not tarry when the house was reached, but cutting his
+adieux short at the gate, strode off down the road.
+
+Patty looked after him pensively. “It was so romantic,” she remarked.
+“I wish Don Felipe had been there.”
+
+“Patty,” her sister began.
+
+“What, dear,” said Patty sweetly.
+
+“I am displeased with you.”
+
+“Dear me, what have I done?”
+
+Her sister took her arm and walked with her to the house. The others
+had gone on ahead. “Don’t you know it wasn’t the thing for you and
+Tomás to go flocking off by yourselves in that way?”
+
+“I asked him.”
+
+“So much the worse; it was very marked.”
+
+“And who was there to criticize?”
+
+“Mr. Lisle and Paulette.”
+
+“Oh, they don’t count. When you go seeking _inxanos_ you can’t be
+conventional, Tina. There is no sense in getting vexed over a little
+thing like that. Wait till I do something really outrageous.”
+
+“Which I suppose you are bound to do if you keep on.”
+
+“Rather than disappoint you, I will try, my dear. At present I don’t
+feel the least ‘compuncted,’ as Tomás said to-day. He is getting on,
+that Tomás.”
+
+“You mean--?”
+
+“With his English. We begin to understand each other at last.”
+
+“Oh, Patty, why will you?”
+
+“What will I?”
+
+“Flirt with Tomás.”
+
+“My dear girl, just because I say we are beginning to converse
+intelligently you put that construction upon the matter. Such a
+suspicious old gooseberry as you are.”
+
+“I wish I could believe there were no grounds for my suspicion.”
+
+“There aren’t any. If I am to flirt at all it will be with Don Felipe.
+He is well seasoned and can stand it. Good night, beloved. Don’t lie
+awake thinking over my peccadilloes. They are really the most harmless
+in the world. Good night,” and Patty flitted up the stairway in the
+wake of Paulette.
+
+“Did you have a pleasant walk home?” Patty asked her friend.
+
+“No,” was the reply. “Your Englishman was as mopey as an owl. He knows
+no French and is none too talkative in English. Why did you permit him
+to walk with me when he does not know my language?”
+
+“I thought a change would be good for him,” returned Patty.
+
+“But not for me.”
+
+“For you, too, perhaps. Why don’t you teach him French? He ought to
+know it.”
+
+“No, thank you, I have all I can do with Spanish.”
+
+“So I think have I,” responded Patty. “One would have to be very fluent
+to direct a houseful of servants properly, wouldn’t one?”
+
+Paulette vouchsafed no answer to this, and Patty saw that she was none
+too well satisfied with her evening.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER VIII
+
+                                A ROMERIA
+
+
+This being the season of the year for _fiestas_ and _romerias_ one of
+these was always in prospect even though Don Juan suggested only such
+as might be most interesting. That at the little old town of Celorio
+promised certain unusual features and all prepared to go.
+
+“What is the difference between a _romeria_ and a _fiesta_?” asked
+Patty.
+
+“A _romeria_ is a pilgrimage, properly speaking; a _fiesta_ is simply a
+feast day in honor of some special saint or some particular Madonna,”
+Don Juan told her. “Many pilgrims go to the _romeria_ of Covadonga on
+account of the miraculous image there which the faithful regard with
+much veneration. A _fiesta_ in our little village may be a very simple
+affair; a _romeria_ is more important, for it brings visitors from
+miles around. It has been a great many years since I went to Celorio,
+but Tomás says the _romeria_ there has lost none of its interesting
+features and that there will be a great many promisers this year.”
+
+“Promisers? And what are they?”
+
+“They are those who, during some illness of theirs or of someone near
+and dear, promise a white robe to the Virgin if they recover. I will
+not spoil the effect by telling you more. That is enough to make you
+understand what you will see. The very devout do many such things.”
+
+“What other things are done?”
+
+“Sometimes a very strict and wealthy lady will mortify the flesh by
+promising to wear only a certain color for so many weeks or months. The
+more unbecoming the color the greater the sacrifice. Purple is often
+chosen as being very trying to a sallow skin,” Doña Martina remarked.
+
+“I’m afraid,” said Patty with a smile, “that I’d never get into heaven
+if it depended upon such a sacrifice to my vanity. I’d look a fright in
+purple, wouldn’t I, Tomás?”
+
+This young man brought suddenly into the conversation from a brown
+study into which he was plunged, hurriedly replied, “Shocking, awful
+badth form,” that being the readiest English which came to him at the
+moment. Then, by the laugh which went up, perceiving that he had made
+the wrong reply, he asked, “What didth you say, Mees Pattee? I didth
+not hear correctly.”
+
+“I asked if you thought I would look well in purple.”
+
+“You wouldth look well in anything,” responded Tomás with a bow, and
+so redeemed his reputation for gallantry.
+
+“There will probably be no place to get lunch at Celorio,” said Doña
+Martina, “so we must take something with us, and our _romeria_ will be
+in the nature of a picnic, for after the service at the church we can
+go to the _playa_ and have our lunch. Celorio is directly on the sea.”
+
+“What fun that will be,” said Patty. “I shall like it better than going
+to a _fonda_, though that is a good experience, too. Is Celorio a
+pretty place?”
+
+“It is very old and interesting. The church is of the tenth century and
+there is an old monastery attached, with a pretty garden.”
+
+“And is it still used by the monks?”
+
+“No, like many another it has passed out of the hands of the old
+Benedictines who used to possess it, and now it belongs to some friends
+of Juan’s who have bought it for a summer home. If any of them happen
+to be there we can probably go through it. You will like to see the
+garden, I am sure.”
+
+“I’d like to see it all. Tell me some more about the _romeria_.”
+
+“A very peculiar and ancient dance is given, a strictly religious one,
+which is called the _danza prima_ because of its great antiquity,
+for no one seems to know when and how it originated. It is put into
+practice each year when the figure of the Virgin is borne from the
+church. Then the girls from the village sing their weird little song
+and dance the _danza prima_, the step of which is taken backward.”
+
+“It must be the queerest thing.”
+
+“It is very quaint and very individual.”
+
+“Have you asked Mr. Lisle to go with us?” said Patty suddenly.
+
+“No, but I shall do so, or you can when you see him.”
+
+“When I see him? Do you realize that he has not been here for, let me
+see--three days?”
+
+“And why?”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know. Sulky, probably.”
+
+“Again, why?”
+
+“Oh, well, just because. Don’t ask me to keep track of all the moods
+into which our young men fall. After all, elderly men are much more
+satisfactory. One can usually trace their seeming peevishness to a fit
+of indigestion or a desire for a smoke. Perceive Tomás, for example; he
+has been as one in a trance all the morning. Just now when he left the
+room he fairly staggered with dreaminess.”
+
+“It is all your fault, after your capers last night.”
+
+“My capers! Goodness, Tina, one would think me an _huesta_ or some
+other evil thing. Don’t be silly. Did you never play with two boys
+at the same time, I’d like to know? It seems to me I have a dim
+recollection of your having gone to a dance at home on one occasion,
+when you started forth with one individual of a fair complexion and
+came home with a dark-haired escort, unless someone spilt hair-dye on
+his head on the way back.”
+
+“Patty, how did you--”
+
+“How did I find out? I was peeping from the window when you came in and
+I saw--”
+
+“Never mind,” said her sister hastily. “You see I’d had a little tiff
+with Juan and we made up that night. It was quite a different thing,
+for it was a very serious matter with us.”
+
+Patty hugged her knees and rocked back and forth enjoying her sister’s
+discomfiture. “And how do you know it isn’t serious with me?” she asked.
+
+“What is?”
+
+“Oh, all this,” Patty replied indefinitely. “At least it is this way; I
+don’t want to favor one young man above another, because I am breaking
+my heart over Don Felipe. When he comes galumphin along he doesn’t know
+that each beat of his horse’s hoofs goes Pitty Patty.”
+
+“Silly.”
+
+“I simply adore the way his hair doesn’t grow about his temples, and
+that gap in his teeth is so unique. You wonder what has been there,
+then you find yourself gazing at the one wobbly front tooth which
+is left and calculate how long it will last without dropping out.
+He affords so many interesting conjectures that it doesn’t make any
+difference what he says, for his personality is so attractive it makes
+up for all else. His teeth are such curios I suppose that is why he
+hangs on to them; he wouldn’t have anything so modern as a new set for
+anything. If he could only buy an old set, one that had belonged to
+George Washington or some celebrity, no doubt he would pay any price.”
+
+“For a girl of twenty you are the most nonsensical child I ever saw.
+Will you never grow up?”
+
+“I hope not. I’m sure I don’t want to. It is enough to see what mature
+years have done for my sister for me to desire to keep out of my
+majority as long as possible. Don’t remind me of the approaching time
+when I shall be free, white and twenty-one.”
+
+“What about Robert Lisle? Shall I send him a note?”
+
+“No, don’t let’s bother about him. I wish you wouldn’t bring him into
+the conversation just now when I am ecstasying over Don Felipe. Isn’t
+ecstasying rather a good word? You spoil my train of thought.”
+
+“You really don’t want me to hunt up Robert Lisle? Tomás can stop at
+the _fonda_.”
+
+“No, you needn’t, so far as I am concerned. If you want him you will
+have to affix him to your train. He doesn’t deserve to be asked after
+staying away three whole days. Now he can whistle for invitations from
+me.”
+
+Doña Martina looked up with a smile. Patty seemed a little more
+emphatic than the occasion demanded. “Very well,” she returned. “We
+will trust to luck. If he comes we will ask him; if he doesn’t, we will
+not. We will leave it that way.”
+
+Robert Lisle did not appear that day and the next was the one set
+for the expedition to Celorio where Our Lady of Carmen would be
+triumphantly borne forth in procession. The village, which one passed
+through from the railway station, was not large, but was charmingly
+situated. The space around the church was full of people coming and
+going. On one side stretched blue reaches of sea; on the other arose
+the Cantabrian mountains. Behind the church stood the monastery around
+which a fair garden blossomed within high stone walls.
+
+Coming from the bright sunlight without, the church looked singularly
+dark and gloomy as one entered under the gallery for men, so that
+the two or three steps leading to the body of the church were only
+dimly discerned, but as one became accustomed to the dimness the very
+obscurity became a charm, and one could see the age-stained timbers,
+the quaintly carved capitols of the columns which supported the
+gallery, the grotesque vases in the chancel, which were now filled
+with flowers and were in the form of devils. They might well be of
+pagan origin, but none could tell how old they might be. The gleaming
+candle points at the altar gave the only light, and this was the more
+effective because of the dimness beyond, in which knelt upon the stone
+floor shadowy figures in black.
+
+Don Juan’s party found a place on one of the few benches near the
+entrance, and presently through the low-arched doorway came a
+white-robed woman on her knees. She was followed by another, then after
+an interval, by two together. Following these came a mother and her
+two sons on their bare knees. Others appeared from time to time all
+making their way slowly down the stone steps and up the body of the
+church to the altar where the white robes were deposited at the feet of
+the Virgin. Then mass was said and the Lady of Carmen, preceded by the
+dancing village maids, was carried forth to the music of the ancient
+_danza prima_. Following her came the _ramas_ borne by the worthiest
+young men of this and neighboring villages, then all who wished,
+carried tall candles and joined in the procession which passed around
+the church, to the noise of rocket bombs frequently sent off from the
+tower.
+
+“What are they going to do now?” asked Patty as she watched the
+villagers circle around the huge pyramids of loaves, decorated with
+flowers.
+
+“The girls will sing the song of the _rama_. It is rather a monotonous
+chant, and one gets deadly tired of it when it is kept up as long as
+it is liable to be, but it will probably interest you for a while,” Don
+Juan told her.
+
+“And what becomes of the _ramas_?”
+
+“The loaves are sold or given to the poor. Sometimes one person buys
+all and sells the bread for very little.”
+
+“It is a sort of harvest home, isn’t it?”
+
+“Yes, though here they make a religious ceremony of everything. They
+end up with a dance, however, and what begins a _romeria_ ends a
+_fiesta_.”
+
+“Where are you all?” asked Doña Martina, coming up. “We are going to
+have our lunch now. Tomás has gone to pick out a good place where we
+can be undisturbed. We’d better be walking down toward the shore.”
+
+A quiet place was not hard to discover, and before long the little
+party was cosily ensconced under a big tree near the cliffs.
+
+“This is the best chicken I ever ate,” remarked Patty. “I can’t see how
+Manuela does turn out such good things when I see her building that
+little fire of twigs on top of that stone hearth.”
+
+“When a thing has been done in the same way for centuries, the manner
+of doing ought to become perfection,” replied Doña Martina.
+
+“I suppose Manuela has the experience of generations to work with, for
+the methods have been handed down from mother to daughter who knows
+how long. Have some wine, Paulette? What would you like, Patty?”
+
+“A jug of wine, a loaf of bread and Thou,” she quoted.
+
+“Only for Thou, read Tomás,” her sister whispered. “Well, you have it
+all, for surely this wilderness were Paradise enow’.”
+
+“You have left out the singing in the wilderness.”
+
+“We had that awhile ago.”
+
+The last remnants of the feast were bundled up and bestowed upon a lame
+beggar whom they met on their way back to the church, and then, as good
+luck would have it, Don Juan found that his friends, the owners of the
+old monastery, were at home, and to the little party the great gates
+were opened, gates behind which the girls had been trying to peep, for
+the clambering flowers which had reached the top of the wall, gave
+promise of more beauty within.
+
+Through one corridor after another they were led by their obliging
+hosts. Many of the old cells remained just as they were when the old
+Benedictines pattered their prayers as they looked forth from the deep
+set windows; others had been altered to suit the needs of the family.
+Above the doors of the great _sala_ were coats of arms, for here more
+than one great personage had been housed. A wide porch overlooked the
+pretty garden, and the fields beyond, belonging to the estate stretched
+away and away toward the mountains. A crumbling tower was pointed out
+as the oldest part of the building; a thousand years old, said their
+guide.
+
+“Think of the old _frales_ who lived here,” said Doña Martina in an
+awed tone. “Think of all that has happened since this was built.
+Doesn’t it give one a strange feeling to contemplate these gray walls
+and think how long they have lasted?”
+
+“Can’t you fancy those Benedictine fathers walking in the garden below
+there, or sitting in their cells working over some beautiful old
+missal?” returned Patty.
+
+“I suppose there was also a nunnery somewhere near,” remarked Paulette.
+
+“No doubt, for the church would be the center of a settlement.”
+
+“It gives one much more of a sense of the reality of all that old
+history to come to a place like this,” said Patty. “Where does this
+lead?” for their guide opened a small door and beckoned them to follow
+him. Patty was the first to step through and she found herself standing
+in a small enclosed balcony. She peeped through the lattice work and
+caught her sister’s arm. “Oh, do see where we are,” she exclaimed. They
+looked down and beheld the nearly deserted church; only a few kneeling
+figures still occupied it. The gorgeously bedizened figure of the
+Virgin shone out in the light of the candles still burning around the
+altars.
+
+“The little gallery,” their host told them, “was used as a choir for
+the nuns who were placed behind the grating that they might not be seen
+by those below.”
+
+“They could be heard though,” commented Patty, “and I daresay their
+singing was very sweet. That adds another interest to this rare old
+spot.”
+
+The dancing was in full swing when they passed through the old gateway,
+leaving the scarlet geraniums and white lilies glorifying the sunlit
+places. The jovial notes of the _jota_ called them to watch the pretty
+dance, and when at last they took their leave rocket bombs were still
+going up, and the sound of violin and drum announced that another dance
+had begun.
+
+“It has been wonderful, this _romeria_,” said Patty, dreamily. “I feel
+as if I had made a real pilgrimage. Is it as wonderful at any of the
+fêtes in France, Paulette?”
+
+Paulette was not willing to admit that they were any less interesting
+and discoursed volubly upon a Breton feast day which she remembered and
+which she declared to be much more picturesque because of the costumes
+worn.
+
+The singing in the wilderness was furnished that evening when Tomás
+took his guitar into the garden and trolled forth some of the unwritten
+songs which they had not yet heard. Then he told them queer tales of
+the peasants and of the saints, of how in the time of a great drought
+a figure of the Virgin is carried from her own church to some other
+where she must stay till it rains. Sometimes the patron saint of some
+little chapel is given a change of residence in the same manner. “At
+one time long ago,” said Tomás, “there was a very great drought and the
+poor people became desperate. At last one peasant woman took by stealth
+the figure of a saint from a little chapel in her neighborhood. She hid
+it under a cloth and at a certain waterfall she gave it a good dousing
+which she thought this patron saint deserved. At once came a perfect
+torrent of rain, nearly carrying off woman and saint on their way back
+to the chapel. Ever since then the people call upon San Acisclo, as he
+is named, whenever rain is needed.”
+
+“That is a lovely tale,” the girls agreed. “Tell us some more, Tomás.
+Tell us about the _inxanos_.”
+
+“Oh, the _inxanos_ do many things. Not only do they build the caves in
+which they live, but they carry on business. There was a beautiful lady
+_inxana_ who did this, and there is a tale about her but I do not think
+it as interesting as some others. The tales are very numerous and some
+day perhaps I shall collect them.” He took up his guitar and began to
+sing a little love song. Overhead the stars were climbing down behind
+the mountains, the air was fresh and sweet with the odors from gardens
+and fields. It was very still, very beautiful. Patty’s thoughts drifted
+off to the old monastery, to the _frales_ and _religiosas_. On just
+such nights they had watched the stars set behind these same immovable
+hills. She felt very small, very young, and she snuggled up close to
+her sister, who put a protecting arm around her just as she had done to
+the little baby sister in that old home garden of Kentucky.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IX
+
+                              ONLY A DONKEY
+
+
+For two or three days longer nothing was seen of Robert Lisle, but Don
+Felipe was much in evidence and Patty was enjoying herself hugely.
+First she was teasing her sister, secondly she was bewildering the old
+don, thirdly she was annoying Paulette. Such a combination of effects
+was greatly to Patty’s mind. She did not mean the least harm. She
+was simply bubbling over with the joy of living. Little Don Felipe’s
+pomposity gave her intense amusement; he was so candidly conceited,
+had such a way of swelling out his chest and strutting around “for
+all the world like a little bantam rooster,” Patty declared. He was
+not hard-hearted except when the matter clashed with his opinion,
+for opinionated he was to a degree, and no one could differ with
+him without bringing forth a burst of indignant protest. This Patty
+delighted to do and having made the little man “dancing mad,” as she
+expressed it, would go off into shrieks of laughter, then he would
+stalk away in would-be dignity only to return at the first word of
+flattery. That Patty knew well how to put her limited vocabulary to
+the best use, when it came to flattery, Tomás perceived, at first
+sulkily and then with pretended indifference, turning to Paulette for
+consolation.
+
+There came a morning, however, when Patty felt that a respite from
+Don Felipe would be rather an agreeable change, so she started up the
+road toward a certain spot which Tomás had pointed out to her in one
+of their walks. It was removed from the _carretera_, so that only by
+certain twistings and turnings along narrow paths could one reach
+the silent shrine of _Nuestra Señora de Piedad_, whose tiny chapel
+closely embowered in the protecting branches of tall trees, stood at
+an angle of the wooded ways. Unfortunately for Patty’s desire for
+solitude, fate sent two knights her way and turned the current of her
+meditations. Just as she was about to leave the _carretera_ she espied
+a wretched-looking beggar beating his donkey, for in Spain a beggar may
+ride and has not the least shame of his profession. It is more noble
+to beg than to work and no disgrace to be poor. The tender-hearted
+Patty, who was nothing if not fearless, stopped short at sight of the
+poor beast’s affliction. “What are you beating that donkey for?” she
+demanded fiercely.
+
+The man muttered something under his breath and then whined out a
+petition for alms in the name of Mary.
+
+[Illustration: “‘WHAT ARE YOU BEATING THAT DONKEY FOR?’”]
+
+“Not a _perrono_ will I give to a man who treats his beast so,” said
+Patty. “I should think you would be ashamed to beg, anyhow, a great
+strong man like you. What has your donkey done that you should abuse
+him? He looks thin enough, goodness knows.”
+
+“He is an obstinate beast,” replied the man; “he threw me off in the
+dust.”
+
+“I don’t blame him for being an obstinate beast with such a master,”
+returned Patty with spirit, “and I am glad he threw you off, poor
+creature.”
+
+The man cast a baleful glance at her and fell to belaboring the donkey
+with redoubled energy. “Oh dear, oh dear!” Patty wrung her hands and
+looked right and left for someone to appear to whom she could appeal.
+Then out of a cloud of dust suddenly issued a horseman, a little spruce
+old man on a black horse. “Don Felipe!” cried Patty, eagerly.
+
+“Señorita!” exclaimed Don Felipe drawing up short. “What is the
+matter?” he asked as he alighted.
+
+“This man is beating his donkey unmercifully, and will not stop.”
+
+Don Felipe smiled. “Only a donkey, señorita. You are too
+tender-hearted. The man is but a beggar and is not fit for you to
+speak to. Here,” and he threw the man a copper which was received
+obsequiously and with whining thanks.
+
+“Won’t you tell him not to abuse his donkey?” begged Patty. “It has to
+work hard and looks so thin.”
+
+“What would be the use, my dear young lady? As soon as our backs were
+turned he would do it again; it is the way of these people; they are
+ignorant and one must make some difference between man and beast. No
+doubt the man is likewise hungry. Come, my dear young lady, let us go
+on toward the village and leave this wretched beggar.”
+
+“I am not going to the village,” said Patty determinedly.
+
+“And may I not accompany you on your walk? Surely you will not go far
+alone.”
+
+“I shall go a little further,” said Patty evasively.
+
+“On an errand of mercy? Ah, yes, you are always like that, so
+tender-hearted. Then I shall go with you. I cannot permit a lady to be
+alone upon the _carretera_.”
+
+But Patty did not budge, she simply looked at the donkey which the
+beggar was preparing to mount. “If I could only buy him,” she murmured.
+“Are donkeys expensive?” she asked.
+
+“Very cheap,” Don Felipe told her. “But this is laughable. What would
+you do with a scrubby beast like that? Fancy your sister and brother
+when you should appear with your purchase.”
+
+Patty made no reply. She had not a penny with her and was helpless in
+the face of such superior scorn. Don Felipe waited with ill-concealed
+impatience. It was not the correct thing for a young lady to do
+such wayward things. It was strictly unconventional to start off
+unaccompanied, in the first place, and he would see that she went home
+properly escorted, even though it meant an exercise of his legs to
+which he was not accustomed.
+
+But this necessity was obviated by the approach of another actor in the
+drama, for who but Robert Lisle should suddenly alight from Victor’s
+cart which was on its way to Ribadesella.
+
+“Oh, Mr. Lisle!” Patty ran toward him. “I am so glad it is you. I know
+you will try to make this man promise not to beat his poor little
+donkey. Such cruel blows and it is so thin, the poor patient little
+creature. If I could only buy him I would do it in a minute, but I have
+no money with me.”
+
+“It is the glad lady!” exclaimed the young man. “My dear Miss Patty, I
+have money with me. Would you like me to buy the _burro_?”
+
+“Oh!” The lovely eyes, half filled with tears, cast him a grateful
+look. “Please, please. I know Tina and Juan will let me have him, and
+I have the money at home. I would be willing to go without anything if
+only I may have him.”
+
+“But there is no need to do that, you see. I should like nothing better
+than to be the means of allowing him to exchange a hard master for a
+tender mistress,” said the young man. He stepped up to the beggar
+who cunningly perceived that it was to his profit to remain near by.
+“_Cuanto?_” said Robert, laying his hand on the donkey.
+
+“One hundred pesetas,” answered the man, thinking to drive a fine trade.
+
+“Bah!” exclaimed Robert, expressively, as he took out his purse. “I
+will give you forty and not a penny more.”
+
+The man’s greedy eyes devoured the money, the sight of which was too
+much for his cupidity, and he held out the bridle of the donkey with
+one hand, extending the other for the cash.
+
+Robert counted it out gravely, took the donkey by the bridle and led it
+over to where Patty stood.
+
+By this time Don Felipe had remounted his steed and with a supercilious
+smile as watching the transaction. “Seeing that I am of no use I will
+go on and leave you to follow with your valuable purchase,” he said in
+an amused tone, and the next minute he was clattering along the road.
+
+Patty gently stroked the donkey’s soft nozzle. “He will soon learn that
+there is such a thing as kindness in the world,” she said.
+
+“I wouldn’t put too much faith in his good qualities; they can be nasty
+little beasts,” Robert told her.
+
+“Because they are often so badly treated. I know this one will be good.
+You must let me pay for him, you know.”
+
+“No, if you refuse to take him as a gift I shall keep him myself, and
+the beggar’s treatment of him won’t be a patch upon my abuse.”
+
+“Tell that to the marines. I will take him if Tina will let me, but
+very likely she will not.”
+
+“Why should you not accept from me a scrubby little donkey, worth less
+than eight dollars, as well as a silver cup, worth much more, from Don
+Felipe?”
+
+“Because that is a horse of another color, or rather, I should say
+donkey. However, we shall see.”
+
+“Do you want to take the burro home now?”
+
+“No, I think I should first like to take him to the chapel of Our Lady
+of Pity where I was going. I shall ask her to bless him.”
+
+“Is there a need? He has already been blessed by a lady of pity, though
+I could wish she would not confine her compassionate acts to donkeys.”
+
+“There are donkeys and--”
+
+“Donkeys, you would say. I admit that, but why be kind to one variety
+and cruel to another?”
+
+“When was I cruel?”
+
+“Didn’t you promise to go to the cave of the _inxanos_ with me, and
+then only perform half of what you said?”
+
+“I kept my promise. I said I would go with you, but I didn’t say I
+would come back in your company.”
+
+“Oh, I see. It was the donkey in me which prevented my taking that in.”
+
+“Please don’t cast reflections on the dear burros. They are really very
+clever.”
+
+“And I am not?”
+
+Patty laughed. “I can’t say that when you are so quick to draw
+conclusions. I had a good reason for not wanting to come home with you.”
+
+“What was it?”
+
+“I can’t tell you now.”
+
+“Will you some day? On the day you tell me the wishes? By the way, when
+are we to look for our answers?”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know. I shall have to ask Tomás about it. He knows a queer
+witch woman who tells him all sorts of curious things.”
+
+“If I may inquire, how did you and the old don happen to be on the
+_carretera_ in company with a beggar?”
+
+“Oh, I was taking a walk. I met the beggar first. I was expostulating
+with him when Don Felipe came up. He is a mean old curmudgeon for he
+wouldn’t back me up about buying the donkey, and he hasn’t a drop of
+pity in his veins for he only laughed when I asked him to order the man
+not to beat his burro.” Her expressive face was very serious. “You were
+very good, Mr. Lisle. I haven’t thanked you for coming to the rescue.
+I might have known an American and a Kentuckian would do so. In fact,
+I was sure of it. Perhaps I have interrupted your morning’s excursion.
+Were you going far with Victor?”
+
+“I wasn’t going anywhere in particular. There was a vacant seat in the
+cart and I thought I would go on to Ribadesella, perhaps, and come back
+by train. This is much more of an adventure. Your praise is very sweet
+and mine is all the pleasure. One doesn’t have an opportunity every
+day, even in Spain, to come to the aid of a lady in distress. Do we
+turn off here?”
+
+“Yes, there is the chapel just ahead. I see someone there. Let us wait.”
+
+The tiny chapel boasted a portico under whose shelter wayfarers might
+pause for protection from sun or rain, and incidentally invoke the good
+offices of the Virgin who smiled from her little shrine beyond the iron
+grating. On the stone floor of the porch a girl was kneeling with arms
+widely outstretched and face upturned.
+
+“It is Perdita,” whispered Patty. “I wonder what she is asking for.
+Did you ever see such an earnestly beautiful face? I hope, oh, I do
+hope, she will get what she wants. She looks as if she wanted it so
+dreadfully. Now, she is going. Don’t let her see that we have noticed
+her.”
+
+But Perdita did not turn her eyes as she arose from her knees, and,
+after making her reverence and devoutly crossing herself, she went in
+an opposite direction down a leafy road and was presently lost to
+sight.
+
+“Now,” said Patty, “you can stay here and I will go and ask the Virgin
+to bless the donkey.”
+
+“Are you a Roman Catholic?”
+
+“No, but Guido is.”
+
+“Guido?”
+
+“Yes, that is the donkey’s name, I have decided. It is the Spanish for
+Guy and he does look such a guy, poor dear.”
+
+She went to the chapel and knelt for a few minutes upon the stone
+floor, then she returned to her companion. “It is so lovely here that
+I always want to stay awhile,” she told him. “I like the way they
+have shelter and seats for the weary on these porches. Fasten Guido
+somewhere and come up on the porch. You can see the Virgin inside
+there. She is a very plain little person, for she is very ancient, and
+you can see she wears the Asturian dress. She seems such a nice, simple
+sort of body that I don’t wonder the peasants love her. You see,” she
+went on, after Robert had made his survey of the interior, “I have
+a great respect for the Roman Catholics, for I have lived with the
+sisters so long and they have told me many things. I know the stories
+of the saints by heart. Sometimes they used to bore me dreadfully,
+but after all I am glad to become acquainted with the legends of the
+church for they explain a great many things to you when you travel. I
+never dared to say how much I believed and how much I didn’t, but the
+dear sisters had faith enough for both. While I was at the convent I
+went always to chapel and am as much at home with the Roman Catholic
+services as with my own. Of course, here in Spain, one must be a Roman
+Catholic to be thoroughly respectable, but so far I have never had to
+discuss the question. Isn’t this a peaceful spot?”
+
+There was no disputing the peacefulness. Far removed from the highway
+as the little chapel was, a stranger would come upon it quite unawares
+in its sheltering green. A small stream went singing upon its way near
+by; the birds called to one another from the grove; wild flowers nodded
+in the breeze. The far off creak of a cow-cart droned out once in a
+while from a distance.
+
+“And you like it?” Robert turned to his companion. “You don’t find it
+wearisome, with no gayeties, no city sights? You don’t miss social
+entertainments?”
+
+“Do you?”
+
+“No, but I should think you would, glad lady.”
+
+“That is where you are mistaken. Of course I like good times, and young
+companions. I like pretty gowns and all the whirl of entertaining and
+being entertained, but it isn’t everything. I’d far rather live the
+life we used to have with those I loved in the dear old home, with the
+neighbors we cared for and who cared for us, a visit to town once in a
+while, part of a winter, maybe, and the rest of the year the freedom,
+the peace, the joy of the country among green growing things, flying
+along down the country roads on horseback, sitting in the garden to
+watch the sunset, grubbing among the flowers. Oh!” She drew a long
+breath. “It is all over, what is the use of thinking and longing for
+what you cannot have back again? I shall try to be content wherever
+I am. There is too much misery in the world for one to whine who has
+enough.”
+
+“That is a brave saying,” returned Robert, gravely. “The don and his
+palace do not loom up so largely then?”
+
+“Dear me, no.” She gave a little laugh. Robert looked at her
+inquiringly.
+
+“I am just thinking,” she said, “of what a good time Polly must be
+having with me away. I badger her to death, and his donship, too. I
+think he is disgusted with me for this morning’s actions.”
+
+“He has poor taste, then. Do you think that Miss Paulette would like to
+be Mrs. Don?”
+
+“I don’t know. A girl like that doesn’t wish to be left behind in a
+race. It may be she simply wants to prove her powers, yet, Polly is
+rather a canny person, I am beginning to think. I am fond of her but
+her French thrift does crop up once in a while and a practical marriage
+would have no fears for her. What a nice comfortable time they are all
+having, to be sure, Tina and all of them. The opinion that sister has
+of me is appalling.”
+
+“I imagine it perhaps, a case of John Smith’s opinion of himself, his
+friends’ opinion, and the real John Smith. I fancy your real self is
+pretty well hidden under an assumption of character which belies you.”
+
+“Is that flattery or not?”
+
+“You just said your sister had an appalling opinion of you.”
+
+“Then I begin to see the compliment glimmering through the obscurity of
+the setting. From certain signs which may be diagnosed as the pangs of
+hunger I think it is time to go back. Moreover, I am sure Guido ought
+to have a good and sufficient meal and be given a thorough cleaning. I
+wonder why the Lord bestowed anything so ludicrous and at the same time
+so heart-rending as a donkey’s bray upon the poor creatures, and is it
+because of that they are always objects of derision?”
+
+“That is a puzzling question, and one for which I doubt if any answer
+can be found.”
+
+“It will be hot on the _carretera_, but I have an umbrella and we can
+keep in the shade wherever there is any. That is one of the advantages
+of this delightful climate, no matter how hot the sun is one can always
+be comfortable in the shade.”
+
+They trudged back over the dusty _carretera_. Few people were
+encountered, though the women were working in the fields and by the
+singing stream a company of laundresses were still at work rubbing
+their wash upon the stones.
+
+Don Felipe had recounted the story of the donkey, so that Master
+Guido’s appearance was not unexpected, but at Patty’s recital of the
+tale her sister entirely sympathized with her and pledged herself to
+petition her husband that Guido be allowed to become Patty’s property.
+
+“He will not grudge the poor little creature food and shelter,” Doña
+Martina said, “but whether he will think it proper for you to accept
+him from Robert Lisle is another thing.” However, Robert made much of
+the relationship, and upon these grounds Patty was allowed to accept
+the gift. But that was not till the following day. Don Juan was busy
+with guests when Guido arrived, so that Patty handed her charge over to
+the gardener, who promised to give him proper care.
+
+
+
+
+                                CHAPTER X
+
+                           SANTA MARIA MARINA
+
+
+The guests from Ribadesella were a stately old gentleman and his
+widowed daughter, a handsome young woman picturesquely wrapped in the
+mourning veil it is the custom in Spain for women to wear. It combined
+shawl and head covering, being an immense square of soft veiling which
+was draped around head and figure with graceful effect. Don Tomás was
+not at home, Doña Martina was busy with household matters, Paulette
+was giving her attention to the young widow, Señora Campos, while Don
+Juan was entertaining her father, Don Amable, being assisted in the
+performance by Don Felipe.
+
+“Bother!” exclaimed Patty, after a brief colloquy with her sister.
+“Strangers are here. Will you stay and see them, Mr. Lisle?”
+
+“Shall I not be in the way? I think I would better go on unless I can
+be of some use,” responded her companion.
+
+“Do stay,” begged Doña Martina. “Tomás is off somewhere. The cook
+has a toothache and has her face tied up with a black rag. She is
+invoking all the saints to come to her aid, but will not resort to any
+reasonable means of relief. I shall have to send Anita into the kitchen
+to help, so Patty, if you will give an eye to the table, Mr. Lisle
+can go up and help Juan talk to the men. A new arrival will make them
+forget to wonder why our meal is late.” She bustled off, leaving Patty
+and the young man alone.
+
+“We have our orders,” said Patty. “Mind you talk nicely to Don Amable.
+He speaks a little English, I believe, and then there is the handsome
+widow whom you can try your Spanish on. What you can’t say in words you
+can make up in telling glances.”
+
+“The prospect positively scares me,” rejoined Robert, pulling out his
+handkerchief to fan himself in pretended agitation.
+
+“Is this yours?” Patty stooped to pick up a sealed letter, her quick
+eye taking in the superscription on which read: “Miss Beatrice Moffatt.”
+
+Robert took the letter mechanically, held it in his hand and looked at
+it gravely for a moment. “Yes, it is mine,” he answered. “I meant to
+post it this morning, but there is no hurry.” And he slipped it into
+his coat pocket, then went upstairs.
+
+“Now, who is Miss Beatrice Moffatt?” said Patty to herself. “I never
+heard of her before.”
+
+The visitors from Ribadesella had come to invite Don Juan and his
+friends to the coming _fiesta_ of Santa Maria Marina, it being the
+event of the season for the little seaport, and, having given their
+invitation, taken their meal, and made many high-flown and elaborate
+speeches, they took their departure.
+
+“Don Amable is a nice old chap,” Patty remarked, “but I don’t think his
+name suits him with that fierce moustache of his. Are we all going to
+the _fiesta_, and when is it to be, Juan? Where is Tomás? I want him to
+tell me about Santa Maria Marina.”
+
+“Tomás has been gone since morning,” Doña Martina told her. “I believe
+he said he was going up the mountain.”
+
+“May I not be your informant on the subject of Santa Maria Marina?”
+asked Don Felipe.
+
+“Oh, I am not so curious but I can wait for Tomás,” replied Patty,
+lightly. “I couldn’t think of troubling you about so slight a matter. I
+hope he was properly snubbed,” she said afterward to Robert. “After the
+way he behaved about the donkey he can keep his old palace and all that
+is in it, for all me. Stingy old wretch, very likely he’d beat his wife
+as well as his donkey, if he had a wife.”
+
+Robert beamed. “Then there’s only Tomás,” he remarked.
+
+“Only Tomás? What on earth are you talking about?”
+
+The young man made no reply except to draw from his pocket a letter
+which he deliberately tore into small pieces, then he stooped down,
+picked up a stick with which he dug a hole in the ground, and buried
+the bits therein, covering them up and stamping the earth down hard.
+“Peace be to her memory,” he said with a smile as he brushed the earth
+from his hands.
+
+“The quiet girl’s. Let’s talk about something else, the _fiesta_, for
+instance.”
+
+“I’d rather talk about ‘the quiet girl,’ as you call her. Who is she?
+Miss Beatrice Moffatt?”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“I saw the name on the letter.”
+
+“And remembered?”
+
+Patty flushed up. “Well, it wasn’t so long ago that I saw, just before
+lunch, and one doesn’t have to have an unusual memory to recollect that
+far back.”
+
+“But that it should have made an impression at all.” Robert beat the
+earth from the little stick he held and looked down thoughtfully.
+
+“Oh, well, you see--” Patty strove for a proper excuse, “one comes in
+contact with so many Spanish names, you know,” she went on rapidly,
+“that when an English one meets your eye it makes an impression.”
+
+“I see; a very good explanation. You wouldn’t be interested in Miss
+Moffatt. She is as unlike you as it is possible for anyone to be. She
+is like a neutral day, such as we had yesterday, while you resemble
+such a day as this, all sunshine and color and light. Miss Moffatt is a
+drab day, sky, earth, sea all one tint, no light and shade in it, not
+weepy, only quiet gray.”
+
+“Such days are very restful sometimes.”
+
+“Yes, but one wouldn’t care for them all the year round. Once in a
+while, perhaps. I enjoy Miss Moffatt sometimes; she is such a good
+listener.”
+
+Patty laughed. “You shall tell me more of her sometime. My curiosity is
+satisfied for the moment. I see Tomás coming and now we can learn all
+about the _fiesta_.”
+
+“We?”
+
+“Yes, why not?”
+
+“Oh, I shall be charmed to learn.”
+
+“Where have you been, Tomás?” queried Patty, as the young man came up.
+“Gone all day, no one knows where.”
+
+“I’ve been up on the mountain,” Tomás answered. “There is a little
+chapel up there. I know the _cura_ very well, and I like to visit him
+sometimes. He has been wanting me to come and look over some figures
+of the saints and one of Our Lady; they are very old and the paint is
+quite worn off. He wished me to see if perhaps I could restore them.”
+
+“And can you?”
+
+“I think so; he will send them down.”
+
+“Come into the garden and tell us about the _fiesta_ at Ribadesella. We
+are all going. Don Amable and Doña Elvira have been here, and we are
+invited to their house to lunch. The town’s people keep open house,
+we hear, so the more the merrier, they said, or words to that effect.
+Come over to the chestnut tree, it is lovely there now.” They passed on
+and as they turned into the garden path someone came along the little
+road beyond; it was a peasant girl who stopped, looked, and then went
+hurriedly on.
+
+At the same moment Tomás halted. “Perdita,” he said under his breath.
+“It is Perdita.”
+
+“Is that Perdita?” asked Patty, over her shoulder. “She is such a
+pretty girl. We saw her at the chapel of our Lady of Pity this morning,
+but she did not see us. Does she live near there?”
+
+“No, but she has a friend who does. Perdita lives in a village further
+up the mountain.”
+
+“Then she is going home now, I suppose. She seems such a nice, ladylike
+sort of girl, quite unlike a peasant.”
+
+Tomás made no reply, but presently launched forth into an account of
+the _fiesta_ to which they were going. “Don Roberto accompanies you?”
+he said questioningly, looking at Robert.
+
+“You are going, aren’t you?” Patty asked the young Englishman. “You are
+included in the invitation, you know.”
+
+“Then I will go with pleasure.”
+
+“And we shall have Don Felipe, I suppose. How about yourself, Tomás?”
+
+“I? If you will excuse me, I think I will not go. I have seen the
+_fiesta_ many times, and you will have an abundance of escorts without
+me.”
+
+Patty thought he looked a little troubled. She wondered why. Could it
+be on Robert Lisle’s account? “Oh, if you don’t want to go,” she said
+aloud.
+
+“This time I think I will not,” he answered without further excuse, and
+Patty made no protest. “If he wants to stay at home by himself, let
+him,” she said to herself.
+
+An early start had to be made in order to take the only train which
+would reach the small town in time for the ceremonies. It was found
+to be a quaint little place, full of picturesque corners, archways,
+windows and doors. Just now it was ablaze with the red and yellow
+Spanish colors. When all else in the way of decoration failed a yellow
+bed-quilt was pressed into service. A handsome bed-quilt is a necessity
+in the eye of the Spanish housewife, and a yellow one is not to be
+despised since it lends itself to decoration on such occasions. Strips
+of red and yellow cloth waved in the breezes, banners floated from the
+windows, over the window ledges were hung anything red or yellow which
+was available.
+
+“The church is scarcely worth seeing,” Don Juan told them, “but the
+town is and the little harbor.”
+
+It was market day, although Sunday, and the square was full of market
+people, in vociferous tones crying their wares. There was no sign of a
+procession as yet.
+
+“Shall we go to the church?” asked Don Juan, “or shall we go down by
+the quay and see what is going on there?”
+
+“Oh, by all means the quay,” the girls decided. “There will be a second
+mass after a while and we can hear that.”
+
+Down by the water’s edge the crowd was collecting, some leaning over
+the parapet to watch the flower-decked barges, some walking up and
+down, some standing in groups talking, rich and poor alike together.
+The little port was well situated and commanded a view of green hills,
+of a stretch of sandy beach and a bridge. Large and small crafts rocked
+on the waters of the bay; little rowboats plied back and forth.
+
+At last there was a distant sound of music, the drone of a bag pipe,
+the tap of a drum, the blare of trumpets. Everyone rushed to the corner
+of the square. It was not a very imposing procession, this upon land;
+a few priests, and acolytes with swinging censers, with but a handful
+of followers, made up the body of those who attended the rude little
+figure of the venerated Virgin. This was borne to the water’s edge
+under a canopy. A decorated barge was in waiting. In this embarked
+priests, musicians and acolytes, the Virgin occupying a place in the
+center, and soon the barge moved slowly out.
+
+“There is Don Amable,” cried Patty. And at the same moment her own
+party was recognized by the gentleman and his daughter.
+
+“You are going with us on our boat?” said Don Amable. “Certainly,
+certainly you are. There is plenty of room. We have been expecting
+you.” And with as much haste as the occasion admitted, they were urged
+on board the boat which, taking its turn, was now waiting. A number of
+other guests were already seated upon the garlanded boat and these were
+presented with due ceremony. Everything moves slowly in Spain and it
+was some time before the whole line of some two dozen boats and barges,
+was ready to move. The larger crafts followed close in the wake of that
+which carried the priests and the sacred wooden figure; next came the
+smaller boats, the little rowboats bringing up the rear. Slowly, very
+slowly, the procession moved around the bay under the bluest of skies
+and on the bluest of waters.
+
+“I wonder if the little plain old Virgin in her ancient costume enjoys
+all this,” said Patty to her neighbor, Robert Lisle.
+
+“She looked very contented, I thought.”
+
+“Yes, didn’t she? I should think she would look forward to being
+brought out of that dingy old church into the fresh air. Some of the
+boats are really very pretty. That one which is rose-wreathed is
+quite fetching, and there is another all green and white which I like.
+Imagine seeing anything like this on Sunday in our Puritan land. I have
+seen fêtes in France, of course, but somehow these appear even more
+festive.”
+
+“I think one’s own mood has something to do with it.”
+
+“That may be,” said Patty, thoughtfully.
+
+Arriving at the little beach, mass was said in the open air, then St.
+Mary of the Sea was borne again to her shrine, her presence being
+believed to bring a blessing to waves and tide.
+
+In spite of Don Amable’s urgent invitation, Don Juan’s party did not
+return with the others to the house, but took their dinner at one of
+the little _fondas_, promising to see their Spanish friends later. “I
+have almost forgotten where the place is,” Don Juan confessed. “Let
+Don Felipe take the lead.” And Don Felipe, bursting with importance,
+pompously strode on ahead with Paulette. After many turnings and
+twistings they paused before an old building, mounted two flights of
+stairs and found themselves in a plain little _fonda_ where lunch was
+served after some waiting. A big dog which had followed them from the
+street stood with wagging tail in the entry.
+
+Robert Lisle looked at Patty with a smile. “Shall we let him stay?”
+
+“Oh do,” she made reply. “Perhaps he belongs to someone who lives
+here; at any rate he is doing no harm.” So Master Dog was allowed to
+remain. Patty stroked his soft ears and spoke a few words to him after
+which he lay down, evidently quite encouraged by what she said. As they
+came out of the _comedor_ the dog was feasting on a plate of broken
+pieces which had been set for him by one of the maids.
+
+“You see,” said Patty, “he does belong in this house. Probably he came
+with someone who takes his meals here.” However, when at last they were
+ready to go, the dog having consumed a second plate of food started to
+follow them again. “Oh, we mustn’t let him, must we?” said Patty. “He
+might get lost. Dear doggie, although we feel quite flattered by your
+evident favor we cannot take you with us.” She turned to the mistress
+of the house who was passing through the entry: “Your dog wants to go
+with us. Perhaps you’d better keep him with you for awhile.”
+
+“My dog!” The woman’s face dropped. “Is he not yours?”
+
+“Not ours; no indeed.”
+
+“And I have ordered Maria to give him two plates of dinner,” she
+exclaimed. “The beast!”
+
+“Oh, never mind,” cried Patty, hurriedly taking out her purse and
+handing out a peseta; “that will pay for his dinner.”
+
+“We don’t grudge him a little food,” said the woman, softening before
+this generosity, “but to steal in that way and impose himself upon us.”
+
+“But it was so clever,” argued Patty, stroking the dog’s head as he
+stood looking from one to the other with wistful eyes. “He must belong
+to someone; he is far too nice a dog to be a stray, and I think he
+showed great cleverness to come in here with us.” All this was said in
+rather halting Spanish, but the woman understood and having been well
+paid, quite agreed with the señorita that it was a very clever dog.
+
+“If I didn’t believe he would find his master,” said Patty to her
+companion, “I’d ask Juan to let us take him home.”
+
+“And you already have Guido.”
+
+“Yes, but you needn’t be jealous for Guido; he is in clover. Juan is
+negotiating for a donkey cart, and then his work will begin.”
+
+“I can imagine what desperate burdens you will impose upon him. I can
+fancy your always walking up hill.”
+
+“Just you wait and see. Now I know how strong the _burros_ are I am
+going to make the most of Master Guido, though of course, I shall not
+want him overworked.”
+
+They had promised Doña Elvira to take _merienda_ with her, and
+therefore all turned in the direction of Don Amable’s house after
+some sauntering about the town. The place was gay enough now;
+merry-go-rounds were in lively competitions, vendors of sweets and
+balloons drove a good trade, and every house appeared to have emptied
+itself upon the streets. The principal houses were preparing for
+illumination and were thronged with guests. At Don Amable’s quite
+a company had gathered, and at four o’clock _merienda_ was served,
+chocolate and cakes, wines and fruit, nuts and various sweets. Did the
+_Inglesas_ prefer tea or coffee it could be offered, but the _Inglesas_
+preferred the excellent chocolate to the probably poor tea, declined
+cigarettes and partook of the appetizing little cakes.
+
+Soon it was train time. Don Amable would see them to the station. The
+other guests with many a “_Vaya V. con Dios_,” “_A los pies de V._” and
+“_Beso á V. la mano_,” bowed them out and they took their way through
+the quaint streets and under gray archways to the station, leaving the
+little wooden Virgin to the quiet of the dim church, but Don Felipe in
+the society of the handsome widow.
+
+Tomás was not at home when they arrived, but Guido’s muzzle was thrust
+over the opening in the stable door and he gave a welcoming bray as he
+saw them approaching. The little village, however, seemed very quiet
+and more than ever afar from the haunts of men, with its sheltering
+mountains to keep off rough winds and its winding stream to feed its
+gardens.
+
+“It is not like old Kentucky,” Patty observed to her sister, “but,
+after all, it isn’t a bad place to stay in and one could give the home
+touch to the house in time.”
+
+Doña Martina gave a little sigh. “Yes, so one can, and I hope to, but
+when I think of living here a lifetime and perhaps losing you, Patty,
+it seems rather a desolate outlook.”
+
+“Losing me?”
+
+“Yes. I know I must in time, though if it should happen to be Tomás,
+we could be together as neighbors and as then it would not be so hard.
+There are only two of us left, and it would be hard to part.”
+
+“But there is Juan.”
+
+“Yes, but dear as he is, one does like one’s very own with whom one has
+been brought up, whose ways are the same, who understands something
+else than a Spanish point of view.”
+
+“I see,” said Patty thoughtfully.
+
+“Juan felt the same, no doubt,” Doña Martina went on. “I know he pined
+for these mountains, this very little village. I didn’t understand then
+why it was that I couldn’t make up for it all; now I do.”
+
+Patty went up and put her arms around her sister. “Dear old Tina,” she
+said, “we mustn’t live apart; it wouldn’t do for either of us. I may be
+a wretched nuisance and an awful tease, but you are my all, Tina dear,
+and though I seem to conceal the fact sometimes, you are the most
+precious sister in the world.”
+
+Perhaps it was because of this talk that Robert Lisle saw no more of
+Patty that evening, and that she elected to go off with Don Juan for a
+walk, leaving Robert to Paulette’s tender mercies. It is at least quite
+sure that the young man, when smoking his final pipe that evening,
+contemplated writing another letter to the quiet girl, and told himself
+that memories were the easiest things in the world to disinter,
+provided there were given sufficient cause for so doing. He did not
+finish his pipe, and it was not to Miss Moffatt that he gave his last
+waking thought.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XI
+
+                                 GIPSIES
+
+
+As if by common consent, Patty and Robert Lisle saw little of one
+another during the next few days. It was the season of the year when
+one _fiesta_ was followed closely by another with a _feria_ or two
+interspersed. The haying was over and this harvest was one which called
+men, women, and children into the field. Those too poor to possess
+a cow and cart, carried home their bundles of hay upon their heads,
+even the little children bearing as much as their powers would permit.
+It was not an infrequent sight to see grandmother, mother, and two
+or three children bowed under loads which nearly hid them from view.
+It was, therefore, not remarkable that a _fiesta_ at the close of
+the haying harvest should be held in honor of the Madonna, who, for
+purposes best suited to her worshipers, was called _Nuestra Señora del
+Henar_, Our Lady of the Hay. As each little pueblo favored some special
+saint or Madonna, the country-side swarmed with gipsies, mendicants,
+halt or maimed, blind musicians and strolling players, all of whom were
+much in evidence whenever a fête or a fair was in progress.
+
+Many were the tales told the _Inglesas_ of miracles performed by the
+saints, tales which Patty declared were not more wonderful than those
+the nuns in France had related to her, and she in return would recount
+to Manuela or Anita or Consuelo the legends which she knew. In these
+they delighted, and she was looked upon as less of a heretic than had
+been supposed.
+
+Especially did Patty enjoy Perdita’s stories, which had been told the
+young peasant girl by her old grandmother, whom Don Juan had treated so
+successfully, and there was scarce a day that Perdita did not appear,
+it might be with no better present than a bunch of wild flowers or a
+couple of new-laid eggs, but she always brought something. Don Juan,
+it may be said in passing, was acquiring such a reputation among the
+peasantry that he was obliged to set aside a certain hour in the day
+when he would receive his charity patients.
+
+“I don’t see why he doesn’t hang out his sign and practise regularly,”
+said Patty to her sister.
+
+“Oh, my dear, it wouldn’t be wise. A certificate legalizing him to do
+so would cost several hundred dollars and these poor people could never
+pay the fees he ought to ask. He would get nothing from most and those
+who could pay at all would think a peseta or two quite enough for a
+visit. Now, as it is, you see, they help out the larder with many a
+present, and in many ways make it easy for us. While Juan is here doing
+this special writing he’d better not practise regularly, for his book
+will be more profitable. When he gets quite strong again we shall see
+what is to be done.”
+
+It was one morning just before the feast of the Hay that Perdita
+appeared with a small cheese for the Señor Doctor. Patty stopped on the
+way out. “Perdita,” she said, “I want to ask you about the gipsies. Are
+you in a hurry to-day?”
+
+“No, señorita. But the gipsies have the evil eye and one must be
+careful, very careful. My grandmother tells me to avoid them.”
+
+“Oh, but I want to see them. Did you never have your fortune told?”
+
+Perdita hung her head. “No, señorita, but I should like to. One must
+have silver for them, you see, and silver is not so plentiful.”
+
+“Tell me about your home. I should like to see where you live. Is it
+far?”
+
+“It is perhaps two miles. We are not so badly off. We have our little
+house, some land, a cow, a pig, chickens. It is hard work for us to
+attend to all, but now the hay is in it will be easier.”
+
+“Do you do all the work?”
+
+“Most of it. The grandmother is getting old, yet she always is telling
+me I needn’t work so hard.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“I do not know. She is mysterious sometimes.”
+
+“Has she a hoard, do you think? Money saved?”
+
+Perdita shook her head. “Of that I cannot be sure, but when a thing
+is needed there is always money for it. I have my Asturian dress, as
+handsome as any; it is of good stuff, and my ornaments, too, are not
+bad, my chain and brooch. Some day I hope I may have earrings of the
+old sort.”
+
+“I noticed how fine you were the first time I saw you, and I said then
+you seemed superior to the rest. Your mother is not living?”
+
+“No, señorita, she died when I was born.”
+
+“And your father?”
+
+“I do not know where he is. I have often asked my grandmother, but she
+does not like to talk of him. She tells me I have seen him, that my
+mother died a year after she was married and then my father took me in
+his arms and swore I should never come to want, and so I never have.”
+
+“But how strange, if he be living, that he does not come to you.”
+
+“I will tell you what I think, señorita. I think he has gone to
+America, to Cuba or Mexico, maybe, and that some day he will come back.”
+
+“Yes, that might be very possible, so many do that.”
+
+“It is what the señor doctor thinks, too, and so I look forward to the
+return.”
+
+“How nice it would be to have him come back. He would, perhaps, give
+you fine clothes and build a nice house like other Americanos do who
+return to their villages. No doubt he is waiting to make a fortune for
+you. Of course you know his name.”
+
+“Yes, it is Pedro. I was named Perdita because my father lost his wife
+when I came into the world. Perdita Gonzalez I am called.”
+
+“Gonzalez is your father’s name?”
+
+“No; I take my mother’s name. You know it is so done in Spain, at least
+the mother’s name is written last.”
+
+“I remember that now. Then your father’s name is Pedro--what?”
+
+“Pedro Ramon, my grandmother says.”
+
+“You never write to him?”
+
+“No; yet I can write, señorita, and read. I can embroider, too. That
+I do in the long winter evenings. I will bring you a piece of my
+embroidery.”
+
+“You are too generous, Perdita, but I should like to see it. I notice
+that most of the Spanish girls embroider. I see them sitting in front
+of their doorways with their embroidery frames, and I like to watch
+them. Are you fond of reading? Perhaps we could lend you some books.”
+
+Perdita’s brown cheek took on a slight tinge of color. “I have a friend
+who lends me books sometimes,” she said hesitatingly. “The _cura_ will
+not always let me read them. He is very particular and there are but
+few books he approves. He says a woman does not need to read any more
+romantic and beautiful tales than the lives of the saints, but my
+friend says our good old _padre_ is narrow minded and that while it
+used to be the fashion for women in Spain to be content with knowing
+little, to-day they are striving for knowledge, and many of them are
+so highly educated as to put to shame the women of other countries. I
+should like to be educated, señorita, but a peasant girl like me--” She
+stopped with an expressive gesture.
+
+“You don’t seem in the least like a peasant girl, Perdita. Perhaps
+when your father comes home he will allow you to have a governess and
+to learn languages. If one knows languages and the literature of the
+various countries one is really well educated. Suppose I begin to teach
+you French or English. French would be more useful, perhaps. Would you
+like that?”
+
+“Yes, señorita, I should like it very much, but--”
+
+“You have not the time? An hour or even half an hour a day would do
+wonders.”
+
+“It is not that, señorita, but I should not like to take your time.”
+
+“Oh, my time is of no value, though if you feel that way about it, you
+can exchange with me and I will take Spanish conversation from you. Don
+Tomás is very good about helping us, but neither Mlle. Delambre nor
+myself like to call upon him too often. My brother-in-law says you
+speak very good Spanish.”
+
+“Yes, señorita, my grandmother is particular that I should. She belongs
+to a good family; they have their coat-of-arms, but they became
+impoverished and, like many others, had to work in the fields. There
+is an old, a very old house which belongs to my grandfather’s family
+and one can see the old escutcheon in stone upon the walls, though the
+family are very poor now.”
+
+“I can understand that. It is so in my own part of the country. There
+are many who before our civil war had wealth and have had to sell their
+fine old houses and who have to toil for their daily bread. How we
+have run off the track. I began to talk of the gipsies, and here I am
+forgetting all about them. Perdita, I want very much to have my fortune
+told, but I do not want anyone to know it. I think I could understand
+sufficiently well now, and if not you could explain afterward. Could
+you go with me to a gipsy camp? Is there one near by? Could we go
+without anyone’s knowing?”
+
+Perdita thought over this for a moment. “Yes, señorita, I think I can
+manage it,” she said presently. “To-morrow, if you will go home with
+me, we shall pass a gipsy camp. It is not far. I will show you my
+embroideries after we have seen the gipsies. We must not be too late,
+for my grandmother does not like me near the camp late in the day.”
+
+“That is a lovely plan, and you are very good to think of it. I will be
+ready by the time you come for me, and no one will be the wiser. Must
+you go now? Let me give you two or three French sentences to say over
+as you are walking home.”
+
+Perdita obediently repeated the words, and Patty watched her tall,
+supple figure mount the hill behind the house.
+
+But no one was told of the plan to visit Perdita until the next day
+when the peasant girl appeared, and then Patty put her head into the
+room where her sister was. “I am going home with Perdita to see her
+embroideries,” she announced.
+
+“With Perdita?” said Doña Martina.
+
+“Yes. She was here yesterday, and we had a long, interesting talk, in
+the course of which I improved my Spanish. In two months of steady
+study I have become fairly proficient, don’t you think?”
+
+“You have certainly not wasted your time. Juan was saying yesterday
+that your progress was surprising. Well, I suppose there is no
+objection to your going with Perdita. I’d like to go myself, but I
+can’t this morning. How about Paulette? Have you asked her?”
+
+“No, and she wouldn’t care to go. She isn’t interested in any
+embroideries but her own. Besides, I heard her say that Don Felipe
+would be here this morning, and had promised to bring a rare old missal
+to show her; she’d rather stay and see that, but I will ask her, though
+I know she won’t go.”
+
+Having smoothed the way for her expedition, Patty started off with
+Perdita. They soon left the village behind them, and by one of the
+winding roads climbed the mountain. Once in a while the buzzing,
+droning sound of an approaching cow-cart reached them on the narrow
+way, but the slow-stepping cows always gave them plenty of time to move
+aside. “I used to wonder why they never greased their carts,” said
+Patty, looking after one which had just passed, “but now I know; it is
+because the creak serves as a warning to get out of the way.”
+
+“It is not only that,” rejoined Perdita, “but the noise keeps the
+devils away.”
+
+“I should think it would be a most efficient means of doing that,”
+Patty replied, laughing.
+
+Near a little stream, leaping its course toward the valley, they came
+upon the gipsy camp. Their first knowledge of it was derived from the
+sudden appearance of three impish looking little creatures, who were
+dancing forward and poking out their fingers at a turkey gobbler, which
+they were challenging in some outlandish tongue. When he stretched out
+his neck and gobbled, making as if to run at them, they shrieked with
+glee and raced off, half in fear, half in bravado. The eldest was the
+ringleader, and was by far the most fascinating, Patty thought. Around
+her brown, naked, little body she had wound a strip of scarlet cloth;
+this she clutched with one hand, to prevent its dropping from her
+utterly. When she ran the scarlet ends trailed after her, discovering
+bare arms, legs, and thighs. Her black elfish locks hung around her
+face, and her burning dark eyes were full of mischief.
+
+“What an enticing little creature,” said Patty, standing still. At
+the appearance of the two strangers the children first fled away
+startled, but presently she of the scarlet cloth returned and whined
+out a petition for a penny. “You are certainly worth it,” said Patty,
+in English, as she deposited a _perrono_ in the dirty little hand.
+The child stared, showed her white teeth, dextrously tied the coin
+in a fold of her rags and ran off. The girls followed and presently
+a pretty woman came forward, walking with that peculiar movement of
+the hips practised by these gipsies and considered quite an elegant
+accomplishment. Dirty she was beyond words, but this did not disguise
+her beautiful face nor lessen the glory of her lustrous eyes.
+
+Could she tell the _señorita’s_ fortune? Cross her palm with silver and
+it should be done.
+
+“I suppose I’d better make it worth while to have a fair fortune,”
+said Patty, opening her purse and handing out a two _peseta_ piece, a
+larger sum than was expected, without doubt.
+
+“_Dame la mano, señorita_,” said the gipsy. Patty held out her hands
+and the woman gazed at the rosy palm earnestly. “You have crossed the
+water,” she said at last, “and will cross it again more than once. A
+fair-haired woman is your rival, but she is a stranger to you. There
+are two men who desire to marry you. Like yourself, one comes from
+across the water. The other does not. He is small, dark and has wealth.
+I do not see great money for you, however, yet you will never come to
+want. You will not rise to great estate, but you will have happiness.
+You are of a merry, joyous disposition, yet it is hard to discover your
+true heart. You will love deeply and sacrifice much for that love. I
+see death which will affect someone near you.”
+
+This talk of death scared Patty, who withdrew her hand. “That will do,
+thank you,” she said.
+
+“It is a good fortune? Enough?” asked the gipsy.
+
+“Quite enough. Now read my friend’s hand.” She produced another
+_peseta_, and before Perdita could expostulate had handed it over and
+Perdita was urged to extend her palm.
+
+The gipsy looked long and intently, frequently following the lines
+with her dirty finger or raising her eyes to look searchingly into
+Perdita’s face, muttering sometimes to herself. “It is strange, very
+strange,” she said at last. “You are born in a peasant’s home, yet
+you come of good station. You are not what you seem. Yes, yes, the
+lover must hesitate, he cannot do otherwise; he does not know. Here is
+a death--oh, yes, that will change all. You will then be a lady and
+possess great estates. I see them everywhere; in the mountains, in the
+valleys and your lover--”
+
+“Will he be true?” breathed Perdita through parted lips.
+
+“He will be true. There is the cross of marriage for you, but death
+will come first. One who is near you will die--an old person.”
+
+“My grandmother, maybe?”
+
+“No, a man it is. I see many strange things, but a good ending. You
+love above your station and this love is a sorrow to you, but all ends
+well.”
+
+The girls had heard enough and were ready to go, but their departure
+was delayed by swarming children begging for pennies, the inconsiderate
+display of wealth by the first little girl being too much for their
+cupidity. So it was with difficulty that Patty got away with a penny in
+her purse; indeed, she did give up all her pennies, reserving only the
+silver.
+
+“What did you think of it, Perdita?” she asked, when they were fairly
+free from the itching palms. “Did you ever know such filth, and wasn’t
+the fortune-teller a beauty? Shall you tell your grandmother about
+what she said?”
+
+“No, señorita; she would disapprove. Better say nothing. It is all
+foolishness of course.”
+
+“Yes, of course--but--”
+
+Perdita nodded. “I understand--but--”
+
+They were both silent for a moment, then Patty said, “Do you think any
+of it could be true?”
+
+“Some of it was true,” replied Perdita, crossing herself. “I shall have
+to confess it to the _cura_ and I will do penance, yet somehow I am not
+sorry to have heard what she said.”
+
+“Nor I. There was a great deal about deaths and things that I didn’t
+like; that seemed silly, I thought. By the time I have done with making
+wishes for _inxanos_ and hearing fortunes from gipsies I shall be as
+superstitious as any old woman; I must stop it.”
+
+They followed the road to the house of Perdita’s grandmother, a low
+white dwelling in the style of most, though better than many. It had
+balconies above, the patio below, the hay-loft at the side, the _orrio_
+a little beyond the house. This small grain house, peculiar to this
+part of Spain, stood upon four piles of stones, four or five feet high;
+on these were placed stone slabs to keep out the rats and mice. It was
+covered with a thatch of straw and added to the picturesque aspect of
+the little farmstead. The house was neat and clean and fairly well
+furnished. Old Catalina, with her black handkerchief tied over her
+head, was the very type of the ordinary peasant, and Patty decided that
+it was not from her grandmother that Perdita inherited her beauty.
+The old woman did not talk much, but Patty felt that she was closely
+scrutinized. Perdita displayed her beautiful embroidery and pressed one
+piece after another upon her guest, till Patty felt that she did not
+dare to admire, lest she be called upon to accept it all. She suddenly
+realized, however, that this was the Spanish form of politeness, and
+was as profuse in her gracious refusals as Perdita in her offers, so
+the matter was adjusted.
+
+They walked back together to the edge of town, where Perdita left her
+visitor, promising to come the next day for a lesson in French. She had
+already learned perfectly the few sentences Patty had taught her and
+was eager for more.
+
+Don Felipe was on hand when Patty came in and she felt that she was
+expected to listen to his little set speeches and flowery compliments
+for the rest of the evening. But that night, as she was leaning over
+the balcony looking at the starlight on the mountains, her sister came
+to her side. “What are you thinking about, Patty?” she said. “You
+haven’t answered, though I called you twice. Where is the letter you
+wanted to show me, the one from Uncle Henry?”
+
+“I was wondering what was the color of Miss Moffatt’s hair,” was the
+answer.
+
+“Miss Moffatt? Who in the world is she?”
+
+“Oh, I forgot; you don’t know her. Never mind. Uncle Henry’s letter is
+on the table in my book of Spanish verbs.” She did not offer to get
+it, but stood leaning on the ledge, thinking, thinking long after the
+lights were out.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XII
+
+                               TOMÁS TELLS
+
+
+The gipsy was not far wrong in her estimate of the Glad Lady, “La
+Señorita Alegra,” as Perdita called her. She was more thoughtful than
+the casual observer gave her credit for being, and in spite of her gay
+sallies and pretended whimsies, there was, deep down in her heart,
+a steadfastness and loyalty which circumstance and experience would
+more fully develop. She had not the slightest idea of flirting with
+Tomás, and indeed their acquaintance was of the most sensible kind, in
+spite of the fact that the girl did her best to convey to her sister
+the impression that it was otherwise. Though Doña Martina had long
+held the position of mentor, she had not always exerted her authority
+with discretion, so that now, when Patty had left school, she rather
+resented the elder’s attitude and took the bit between her teeth with
+an intention of going her own gait. Even as a child she had rebelled
+against her sister’s attempts at coercion, once saying plaintively:
+“It isn’t that I don’t want to mind Tina, but it is the way she tries
+to force me that makes me disobey.” And in this case it was the way
+the law was enforced rather than the law itself which aroused Patty’s
+opposition. She would not have made Tomás unhappy for the world, and
+had long since discovered that she could not if she would, for she
+suspected that his heart beat fast at the approach of some other than
+herself. It was not Paulette, of that she was convinced, nor was it
+the handsome widowed daughter of Don Amable who brought a flush to his
+cheek and fire to his eye. In these last days Patty had discovered more
+than she was disposed to tell anyone, and the gipsy’s fortune-telling
+had but corroborated her suspicions. It was Perdita in whom Tomás was
+interested, and it was Tomás whom Perdita loved. She was so beautiful,
+it was not surprising, Patty reflected, that she should have attracted
+Tomás, and in those long months after his mother’s death, and before
+the arrival of his brother, he must have been lonely and it was no
+wonder he turned to someone and that the someone should be Perdita.
+The little village afforded few companions of the better class, the
+_padre_, the schoolmaster and his wife, and in summer one or two
+families who came up from Oviedo for a change of air, so unless he
+went to the larger towns near by, Tomás must seek such society as
+opportunity afforded.
+
+As for Perdita, she was closely watched by her grandmother, and had
+no intimates among the girls of the pueblo. Living as she did some
+distance away, she had few chances of meeting, as the other girls did,
+her friends at the _fuente_ or on the _plaza_. While all liked her,
+there was a little air of aloofness about her which prevented a too
+great familiarity, and she was called very proud.
+
+Patty was not only tender-hearted, but romantic. Moreover, she
+appreciated less than one born under a monarchy, the differences in
+station, and she determined that so far as in her lay she would further
+the affair of Tomás and Perdita. She laughed a little to herself as she
+made certain plans. It would be great fun to mislead Tina by making
+her suppose it was entirely for her own ends that she lured Tomás off
+to take walks with her in order that they might meet Perdita somewhere
+along the way, or that she should urge him to join herself and Perdita
+in the little summer house where the daily lesson was had. Perhaps
+she realized, and perhaps she did not, that these daily meetings were
+golden opportunities for the pair, who had rarely seen each other of
+late, or at least had seldom met to have any word with one another.
+
+It would be lovely, Patty thought, if it should turn out that she
+would eventually inherit something from that Americano father of hers.
+“I am sure no one could then object,” she told herself. “As it is,
+the Estradas are so proud that Juan would be shooting mad if Tomás
+suggested such a thing, and what a pity that the two brothers should
+quarrel just as they have been reunited. For my part,” her thoughts
+ran on, “I don’t see why Tomás hasn’t just as much right to marry out
+of his class as Juan did to marry out of his country.”
+
+With these thoughts in her mind, the girl went singing down the steps
+the morning after her visit to the gipsies, pausing at the foot to give
+a gay “_Buenas dias_,” to Tomás standing in the doorway.
+
+“Goodth morning, gladth ladthy,” responded Tomás. “You are look happy
+as a roses. You have been sleeping well, yes?”
+
+“Very well.” Patty looked at him with a quizzical expression in her
+eyes and then laughed outright. It was so funny to be possessed of his
+secret and to have him in ignorance of her knowing.
+
+“You are very gladth?” Tomás said inquiringly. “Something agreeable has
+happen-ed?”
+
+“Yes, something agreeable is always happening, every day. Tomás, don’t
+you think Perdita is an uncommonly pretty girl?” She went nearer to him
+and looked up in his face.
+
+He started, but immediately became composed and began slowly to
+roll another cigarette before he answered, “She is very pretty says
+everyone. It is not a new discovery, is it?”
+
+“Oh, no, not at all, but she is really beautiful with those glorious
+eyes and that wonderful hair; then she has such a graceful svelt
+figure, so erect and splendid in a way. I never saw a girl I admired
+more. They say that in Andalusia one finds the most beautiful Spanish
+women, but surely none could exceed Perdita in looks. She is very
+intelligent, too, I find. Someone has been lending her books; I wonder
+who.”
+
+Tomás did not reply at once. “The schoolmaster, Don Miguel, perhaps,”
+he said after a moment.
+
+Patty smiled. She had her own suspicions, but it was evident Tomás was
+on his guard. She put another question. “Did you know she is studying
+French with me?”
+
+Tomás was not to be caught. “Yes; so Martina said.”
+
+Patty watched him run his tongue along the paper to seal his cigarette.
+There was a smile on her lips and laughter in her eyes as she said,
+“Oh, Tomás, Tomás, I am afraid that it is you Tina should bring to task
+for flirting. Aren’t you ashamed to play with poor Perdita’s heart?”
+
+The hand which held the cigarette trembled so that the match went out.
+“_Caracoles!_” exclaimed Tomás under his breath.
+
+“Snails!” cried Patty. “I always think that is such a lovely swear; it
+sounds so dreadful and means so little. I am wondering, however, if
+you intended it for me or the match.” She laughed teasingly. “I was
+thinking,” she went on, “that maybe you would like to join my French
+class. It would be useful to know French, you see, when you go to
+France to marry Paulette.”
+
+“Paulette!” Tomás was taken off his guard, and felt himself in a mesh.
+He couldn’t be rude and run away; there was no one about and there was
+no excuse. “You don’t mind my cigarette?” He made the query lamely, for
+he knew she did not in the least mind.
+
+“Oh, no,” was the answer. “Why should I suddenly conceive a dislike
+to tobacco smoke when I have been used to it all my life? You haven’t
+answered my question, Tomás. Should you like to join our class,
+Perdita’s and mine? Although I must say it seems rather tragic to ask
+you to study with Perdita in order that you may be proficient when you
+go to France to live.”
+
+“I to live in France? Never.”
+
+“Oh, but Tomás, Polly is a nice girl, not high-born, maybe, but her
+money would make you so comfortable.”
+
+“_Diablo!_” cried Tomás. “I wish not be more comfortable. I am
+comfortable enough.”
+
+“I shouldn’t gather so from your expression. You are so violent this
+morning,” Patty continued mildly. “I wonder what is the matter. You are
+usually so sweet-tempered, Tomás. Juan is the peppery one. Then you
+don’t want to study French?”
+
+Tomás puffed at his cigarette and made no reply for a moment, then in
+an altered tone, he said, “Pattee, what is it you try do? Are you but
+torment me, or have you a reason for do this?”
+
+“Nice sensible child,” said Patty, “you have at last arrived at a sane
+condition of mind. Come out into the summer-house and I will tell you.”
+
+The little summer-house, clothed in vines, was a sure and safe retreat.
+No one would be liable to interrupt them here unless they were
+specially sought out, yet it was near enough to the house to observe
+any comings or goings. There was a long bench on one side, two stools
+on the other and a rude table in the middle, where _merienda_ could be
+served. “You see,” began Patty, seating herself on one of the stools
+and resting her elbows on the table, “I know you can not visit Perdita
+openly on Juan’s account and for other reasons, and I am willing to
+help you two, but first I must be satisfied that you are not trifling.
+Perdita is too fine, too good for you to treat shabbily, to make
+unhappy, and I won’t have it. If you are just playing with her I shall
+make all the mischief I can, if by so doing I can put a stop to your
+philandering.” She was waxing very indignant as she considered that
+this might be the state of affairs. “You shall not make her unhappy,”
+she repeated.
+
+Tomás gave a long sigh and gazed off with melancholy eyes at the blue
+mountains. “My dear Pattee, what can I do? My brother has just return
+to me in poor health, in nerves, in weakness. Shall I arouse the anger,
+destroy the health, make him unhappiness, and drive him from the home
+of youth by what I would do? I know too well his opinions, and so--we
+wait--that is all to do, to wait.”
+
+“I understand all that,” returned Patty, “and I wish to help you, but
+only if you mean well, if you mean not to trifle with Perdita.”
+
+“I mean well, the best. She is, as you say, so beautiful, so fine, so
+good, so worthy. I give her all the heart.” He spoke with emotion,
+stretching out his open palms upon the table.
+
+“Then I will do all I can for you, Tomás, and it seems to me that as no
+one suspects the truth, it will be better if you two meet when I am a
+third, so that the surmise will be that it is I who am the attraction.
+I have an idea that Paulette has suspicions. She is very clever about
+such things, that Polly, and she may tell my sister. I am not sure that
+she has not already, for Tina was asking me some searching questions
+yesterday. I would rather she should think that you and I are having a
+desperate affair than that she should tell Juan and have him angry with
+you and Perdita. You understand?”
+
+“Oh, yes, I undtherstandth.”
+
+“Perdita must understand, too. I wonder--” Patty paused. She wondered
+if Perdita had been made to suffer in those early days when Tomás had
+been pressed into service every day and hour, and when there could have
+been no chance for the lovers to meet. She did not forget the little
+chapel with the figure of the girl kneeling before the shrine, the
+beautiful, unhappy, upturned face. Her intuitions told her that Perdita
+had been made unhappy because she believed that Tomás had transferred
+his affections to herself. She must know better now, or she would not
+be so friendly. “Unless,” Patty spoke out, “she is a saint, and I don’t
+believe she is quite that.”
+
+“What are you to say?” asked Tomás.
+
+“Oh, nothing. I was thinking aloud. Tomás, do you know anything of
+Perdita’s father?”
+
+“No,” he shook his head.
+
+“What do the people about here say?”
+
+“They say he has gone to America to make a fortune for his daughter.
+They say he broke the heart when the mother of her is to die, and that
+he will not return till he have the richness to give this child of his.”
+
+“If he should return with money, do you think that would make any
+difference in Juan’s feeling?”
+
+“It is not the money; it is the family. The Estradas do not marry
+peasants, he has said so once very meaningly.”
+
+“Yes, I supposed he would say that. Then, as you say, there is nothing
+to do but to wait. Perdita could not leave her grandmother now,
+anyhow, but later on, when Juan is quite well, you might go to America
+and take Perdita with you. Perhaps you could find out where her father
+is and go there. Why not? _Mañana, mañana_, yes, Tomás, this is a time
+when _mañana_ is a wise thought. Meantime, I will keep your secret, for
+I like you and I am very fond of Perdita.” She held out her hand across
+the table. Tomás bent his head and kissed it. At the same moment Doña
+Martina paused in the doorway.
+
+“So this is where you two are,” she said. “We have been wondering what
+had become of you. There is a _feria_ going on near Ribadesella and you
+should see the people coming in with their droves of wild ponies from
+the mountains, and, oh, the cheeses! the odor of them fills the air. I
+am surprised you haven’t noticed the noise and clatter outside.”
+
+“We have been busy talking.” Patty looked conscious as she made the
+excuse.
+
+“Well, heaven knows, you have opportunities enough for talking, but
+you, Patty, can’t see wild ponies every day. Come up on the balcony
+with me. I have no doubt Tomás has seen _ferias_ by the score.”
+
+Patty followed meekly. Her sister looked at her sharply once or twice.
+After a while she put an arm around her. “Well, Patty?” she said.
+
+“Well?”
+
+“That was a pretty scene from the doorway of the summer-house.”
+
+“Yes, I always did think that such a very pretty scene from that
+point,” returned Patty with a great show of enthusiasm.
+
+Her sister withdrew her arm and led the way to the house without
+another word.
+
+“Now she’s mad,” thought Patty. “But what could I do or say other than
+I did?”
+
+There was no French lesson that afternoon, for the ladies were whirled
+away in Don Felipe’s coach to the _feria_, which, after all, was not
+much of a sight. A great many very dirty gipsies were much in evidence,
+this being the occasion for a great trading of horses, mules and
+donkeys; there were numerous booths for eating and drinking, strolling
+musicians trolled out their ditties, and dancing went on beyond the
+cattle pens.
+
+Since the affair of the donkey, Patty had not shown much favor to
+the old don, who now turned his attentions to Paulette and received
+sufficient encouragement for Patty to wonder if her friend really would
+marry him if the opportunity afforded. Once during the afternoon, Patty
+caught sight of the yellow kerchief and silver ornaments of the pretty
+fortune-teller, but made haste to turn in another direction, desiring
+no recognition. She did not enjoy the afternoon very much, feeling
+something lacking, whether the presence of Tomás or someone else she
+would not question.
+
+Paulette, on the contrary, was in high feather. She had taken pleasure
+in walking about with Don Felipe strutting by her side, and in seeing
+that they were remarked by so many. “They remind me of a little buff
+hen and a tiny Bantam rooster,” Patty remarked to her sister when they
+were following in the wake of the pair.
+
+“You are always so severe on the poor little don,” said Doña Martina.
+“I am sure he can’t help being so small.”
+
+“He can help being so deadly important. He always reminds me of that
+line in the Psalter, where it speaks of those with ‘a proud look and a
+high stomach.’ I never appreciated it quite so much as since I met Don
+Felipe.”
+
+“But you enjoyed riding in his coach.”
+
+“Oh, not so very much. I think Paulette enjoyed it more. I’d much
+rather have come with Tomás in the little cart and have driven my dear
+_asnillo_.”
+
+“Oh, I suppose so. Anywhere so you are alone with Tomás.”
+
+“Yes; aren’t you glad we should have become such good friends?”
+returned Patty heartily. At this juncture, Don Felipe paused before
+a booth, where he ordered refreshments, and Doña Martina had no
+opportunity of answering.
+
+A couple of saucy Gallegos paused before the party to improvise
+ditties in praise of the strangers, a proceeding which always amused
+bystanders and one to which the _Inglesas_ had become accustomed, so
+they were in nowise abashed in being relegated to high places or in
+being complimented as highly as flowery phrases would admit. They knew
+they would be expected to pay for the flattery and meantime it was
+rather amusing to discover how ingenious the singers could be.
+
+When they reached home Tomás was absent, but he came in later and a
+significant glance passed between him and Patty, which was followed up
+later by the whispered question, “Have you seen her?”
+
+“Yes,” came the answer.
+
+“She understands?”
+
+“Yes, and will come to-morrow.”
+
+“It seems to me that you and Tomás have a great many secrets,” said
+Paulette that evening, when she and Patty were preparing for bed.
+
+“Yes, it is nice, isn’t it, to have confidences with one’s sister’s new
+brother. I quite enjoy it, never having had a brother of my own. And
+have you no secrets, Polly?”
+
+Paulette considered before she answered, “Not yet.”
+
+Patty came over and sat on the arm of Paulette’s chair. “Would you
+really marry Don Felipe, if he asked you?” she inquired.
+
+“Why not? He is a great match. My guardian would be greatly pleased.”
+
+“Oh, dear, but do you love him?”
+
+“Why should I? He is rich and no doubt would make an excellent husband.
+What more could I ask?”
+
+“I suppose,” said Patty running her fingers through Paulette’s bright
+hair, “that it is enough for you, but it wouldn’t be for me. I should
+die, die, die.” She emphasized the words with a tap of her finger on
+Paulette’s head.
+
+“I would not do that. I would live and very happily in that great
+_palacio_.”
+
+“Which you pretended I was welcome to when I suggested Tomás and love
+in a cottage.”
+
+“Ah, yes, but--Tomás--”
+
+“What of him?”
+
+“Has his mind set elsewhere. He has become _distrait_, that young man,
+and when he has not whispers for you he has eyes for someone else.”
+
+Patty was silent for a moment, then with a sort of bravado she said:
+“Oh well, you will see. It is only a question of time. Meanwhile dream
+of your _palacio_ and I will dream, too.”
+
+“Of what?”
+
+Patty would not tell, but before she went to sleep her thoughts
+wandered back to a box-hedged garden, the one of which she and Robert
+Lisle had talked. Where was he? Not a word of him since he bade them
+farewell and departed for Santander. “That chapter is closed,” sighed
+Patty, as she turned on her pillow. “I have presented a palace to
+Polly, a heart to Perdita, and there is nothing left for me.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIII
+
+                           THE LONG WHITE ROAD
+
+
+Doña Martina and Paulette were going to Llanes with Don Juan to do some
+shopping, but Patty declined to accompany them, having spent all her
+money on blind beggars she said. The truth was she had become a little
+tired of Paulette. It was all very well when she was one of a number
+at the convent, but, as she told her sister, “a daily diet of Paulette
+palls on me. I didn’t mean that for a pun, Tina. It isn’t that I don’t
+like her, for I do, but I weary of her little screams and affectations,
+her material way of looking at things. She isn’t exactly heartless,
+but she is calculating like her shop-keeping ancestors, and she has
+small frugalities which drive me mad. Moreover I am not quite sure
+how sincere she is. I can’t talk to her with half the freedom I do to
+Perdita, who is so open-hearted and natural.”
+
+“Then you are sorry you brought Paulette with you? I was wondering at
+the time if it might not prove a mistake, but you were so sure you
+wanted her and I knew there would be but few young companions here for
+you.”
+
+“I’m not sorry she came, at the same time I shall not be sorry to see
+her go. Paulette for breakfast, dinner and supper during three solid
+months wears on one. If Cary Logan hadn’t gone home I’d much rather
+have had her, but Paulette was the only one available and so--. Please
+take her off my hands for a day, Tina, and I will freshen up my jaded
+sensibilities while you are gone.”
+
+So it was that Paulette and Doña Martina went off together while Patty
+was left to the comfort of a quiet day alone. She spent her first
+hour very idly. It was such a satisfaction to be lazy, not to hear
+Paulette’s little heels clicking along the floor, and to know her
+solitude would not be broken in upon by “_Ma foi_, Patty, what are you
+doing? Shall we walk? Shall we ride to-day? Shall we study the Spanish?
+Are you not going to do somesing?” “And now I am going to do exactly as
+I please, just as the spirit moves me,” she told herself as she leaned
+on the railing of the galleria, and looked up and down the long white
+road: “When I get tired of staying here I’ll do the next thing that
+occurs to me.” Yet being naturally an energetic person, she could but
+plan what she would do. That morning she would loaf. In the afternoon
+she would take Guido and have a drive. Perhaps she would drive home
+with Perdita after the French lesson, and would come around by an old
+house she knew where she had seen an ancient knocker on the gate. She
+would like to have the knocker because Don Felipe wanted it. They said
+he always got what he wanted, but this time she would have the thing
+he desired, because Pepe, who lived in the old house, had promised it
+to her if to anyone. She knew of another thing which Don Felipe had
+not secured, but about this she kept her own counsel. Along the long
+white road a constant procession passed, wagons of the _viajantes_,
+droves of cattle for the market, a woman with a _macona_ balanced upon
+her head, others with tubs coming from the washing place, a child with
+a bucket so heavy as to make it hard for her to walk steadily, burros
+with loaded panniers, gipsies, gallegos, blind musicians, peddlers.
+Patty watched them all, her thoughts following them on, or taking a
+leap to the rough country road down which she had so often galloped on
+her little pony. She had traveled so far, and was so absorbed in her
+thoughts that she was startled when a voice below her spoke softly,
+“Señorita,” and looking down she saw Perdita smiling up at her.
+
+“I have brought you some _brevas_,” said the girl.
+
+“_Brevas!_ How fine. You know how I like them. I’ll come down,” and she
+descended the stairs to receive this gift of early figs. “It was good
+of you to bring them, Perdita.”
+
+“Oh, but señorita, how good you are. Tomás has told me.”
+
+“That is nothing. We must have a long talk, Perdita. Can you not stay
+with me to-day? I am all alone, for they have everyone gone to Llanes,
+even Tomás, and I believe I should have been a little lonely after a
+while.”
+
+“I can stay if you wish it, yes, señorita.”
+
+“Then come in. Bring the _brevas_ upstairs and we will eat them there.
+It is fortunate you came this morning, for now there will be no one to
+interrupt our talk. This afternoon we can have the French early and
+then go for a ride.” She set the basket of figs on the table in her
+own room and settled Perdita in one chair while she took one opposite.
+“Now,” she said in a satisfied tone, “we shall enjoy ourselves. So
+Tomás told you that I had made a discovery. I only guessed it, Perdita.”
+
+“Yes, señorita.” Perdita cast down her eyes.
+
+Patty sat peeling the green skin from a _breva_ while she watched
+the girl’s face. “Do you know, Perdita,” she began, “that at first I
+thought he might be flirting--how shall I say that in Spanish?--that he
+was making a _coqueteria_ with you--and I was angry.”
+
+“You are so good, señorita.”
+
+“Oh, but I am not, for there was a time when I tried to make sister
+think I was flirting with Tomás myself. She thinks now that we are
+in earnest. Perdita were you jealous?” She leaned over and took the
+girl’s toil-worn fingers in hers. “Were you _zeloso_?”
+
+“Of you, señorita?”
+
+“Yes, of me.”
+
+“I am afraid I was, señorita. There were many days after you came that
+I did not see Tomás at all, and I was very unhappy.”
+
+“Of course you were, poor dear, but he couldn’t help himself; we all
+kept him so busy, and I must admit that I was the one who demanded the
+most from him. You see, Perdita, I didn’t know then about you, and I
+liked Tomás very much, not in the way you do, but as a friend, and I
+like him still, and shall do all I can for him and you.”
+
+“_Gracias, señorita_, you are so very good, but--.” The lovely face
+took on an expression of sadness.
+
+“What is it?”
+
+“I know at last we must part. I try not to think of that _mañana_, for
+when Tomás is near me he assures me it will not be so, and I think only
+of the happiness I have. But it would be very wrong to marry below
+one’s station as he would do. I asked the _padre_ if one would do right
+to marry beneath him, and he said no, though sometimes if there was no
+one to offend it might not be out of place. You see there is someone to
+offend. Don Juan it is, and how could I do him a wrong who has been so
+good to us, who has restored to my grandmother her sight? No, señorita,
+it cannot be, unless Don Juan were to say so. When you came I knew it
+would be a proper thing if he married the sister of his brother’s wife,
+so that there would be one happy family. I told him this and said I
+could never marry him; that was after I had asked the _padre_.”
+
+“And poor Tomás believed you, I verily think, for I am certain that he
+tried for a time to do as you had suggested, that is to grow very fond
+of me.”
+
+“Yes, he tried,” replied Perdita, with perfect honesty, “but he came
+back to me one day and said he, too, was very unhappy, and that the
+sight of me had put to flight all other thoughts. What could I do?
+What could I do then? I was so miserable, I could have died with
+misery before that, and when he said he could not love any other, ah,
+señorita, it was such happiness.”
+
+“I think I remember the time,” said Patty slowly. “Well then, Perdita?”
+
+“Then he said he would wait; it was all we could do. I have prayed Our
+Lady to have pity on us and perhaps she will, though if it is wrong, as
+the _padre_ says, of course she would not. She could not allow us to do
+wrong, you see.”
+
+“I cannot see why it would be wrong,” Patty declared. “You tell me you
+come of good family.”
+
+“My mother did, yes, but of my father what do I know?”
+
+“True, yet I am convinced it will all be well some day. You are young,
+both of you, and can wait. How old are you, Perdita?”
+
+“I am twenty, señorita.”
+
+“Just my age, and goodness knows I haven’t the slightest idea of
+marrying anyone. Even supposing you two could marry now, I am sure you
+would appear well. Dressed like a lady you would seem far more like one
+than many I could mention.”
+
+“I resemble my mother they say, señorita. I do not look at all like
+my father, and I am told my grandmother was very proud of my mother’s
+appearance.”
+
+“Perdita!” Patty suddenly had an inspiration. “Wouldn’t you like to see
+how you would look dressed like a lady?”
+
+“Oh, señorita!”
+
+“It would be great fun.” Patty sprang to her feet and opened the door
+of a clothes-press. “You are only a little taller than I, though I am
+more slender. Let me see.” She took down one garment after another and
+flung them on the bed. “There,” she said. “I think those will suit you.
+But first I must do your hair.”
+
+“Oh, but señorita, I cannot allow you to serve me.”
+
+“I’m not serving; I am only amusing myself.” She let down the wavy,
+rich, brown hair which fell in thick masses over the girl’s shoulders.
+Deftly she piled it up, giving it a tuck-in here, a pat there, then
+she stood off to view the effect. “That is fine,” she pronounced. “Now,
+on with these. I’ll hook you into them.” She slipped a soft trailing
+silk over Perdita’s head, pulled it snugly together, touched it off
+with a necklace and a pair of long gloves, which latter were a little
+too large for herself, then after another dive into a box brought forth
+a wide-brimmed Paris hat which she set upon the girl’s head. “Now
+you’ll do,” she announced. “You look perfectly stunning. Come into
+the other room and see. There is a long mirror there.” She ran ahead,
+Perdita following as best she could with the long skirt to which she
+was unaccustomed.
+
+“There,” cried Patty, as they stopped before the mirror, “look at
+yourself and say that you are not as fine a lady as the best.”
+
+Perdita half ashamed, half pleased, could but realize that the vision
+reflected in the glass was a charming one. The hat with graceful
+drooping plumes was becoming as the gown and the whole effect was
+beyond what she had ever dared to hope she could present.
+
+Their fun was suddenly broken in upon by Anita’s voice announcing,
+“The señor Don Felipe, señorita.” A hot flush mounted to Perdita’s
+cheek. There was no way of escape, for Don Felipe was already upon the
+threshold. To Patty, however, the occasion presented only a further
+incident in the little comedy. With dancing eyes she led the shrinking
+Perdita forward. “_Buenas dias, señor_,” she said, “allow me to present
+you to my friend the señorita Gonzalez.”
+
+Don Felipe made one step forward, “_Dios mio!_” he exclaimed as he took
+in the charming figure from head to foot, then, bowing low, he said,
+“at your feet, ladies.” But he did not tarry long, to Patty’s relief.
+He had but stopped to leave a book for Don Juan, he explained. He must
+go on. Yet all the time he remained, Patty caught him casting stealthy
+glances at Perdita who, with eyes downcast, sat without saying a word.
+
+When the sound of horses’ hoofs was heard on the stones below, Patty
+looked Perdita up and down smiling the while. “I believe you have made
+a conquest, _cara mia_,” she said. “My faith, how fast he is galloping
+off. I should think he would go slowly and would look back often. How
+should you like to live in a _palacio_, Perdita, and eat from silver
+dishes?”
+
+“Oh, señorita!” Perdita looked troubled.
+
+“It would be fine if he were to select you after all. He would dress
+you up so grandly, and I should see you driving around in that great
+coach.”
+
+“Oh, but señorita, Tomás--”
+
+[Illustration: “‘AT YOUR FEET, LADIES.’”]
+
+“To be sure, I am forgetting Tomás. Well he is an old man, is Don
+Felipe, and perhaps he would not live long and then you would be a rich
+widow who could marry whom you pleased.”
+
+Perdita looked shocked. Her simple mind could not grasp the wild
+imaginings of the fly-away Patty. “_Ave Maria_,” she said, crossing
+herself, “so proud a man as Don Felipe would never think of a peasant
+like me. There is none so proud as Don Felipe, and they say it is
+because of his pride that he has never married, that nothing but a
+_marquesa_ or a _condessa_ at least would satisfy him.”
+
+“Oh, when men become as old as he, youth and beauty are far greater
+attractions than position and wealth or family,” said Patty sagely.
+“That might all have been true when he was young. He can buy all the
+antiques he wants, but it isn’t every day so lovely a creature comes
+his way.”
+
+“You mock me, señorita,” said Perdita, a little offended.
+
+“Indeed I do not, my dear; it is quite true. I could see how much he
+was struck by your appearance. Why, he scarcely took his eyes off you,
+and had none for me. Have you ever spoken to him before?”
+
+“No, señorita. Everyone knows Don Felipe, of course. So great a man as
+he is always pointed out, but ah, it is fine feathers make fine birds,
+and I am sure he did not recognize me in the peasant girl he has passed
+many times on the road and to whom he has never given a glance. It
+is known that he is so proud he will scarce turn his head when he is
+riding along.”
+
+“Well he certainly should know you again, if looking can familiarize
+one with a face, and unless I am mistaken, he will be asking me
+questions about my beautiful friend, the señorita Gonzalez. No, don’t
+take off the gown; I want you to wear it to _almuerzo_ with me. I
+will dress up, too, and we will pretend that you are the señora Doña
+Perdita Velasco de Gonzalez, while I am--let me see--nothing short of a
+_condessa_ could breakfast with anyone so magnificent as you will be.”
+
+By this time Perdita had begun to see through Patty’s make-believes,
+and entered into the spirit of the thing, and it must be confessed,
+sometimes aping Patty’s airs and graces. At breakfast, however, she was
+ill at ease, though taking to heart the object lessons Patty’s table
+manners offered. One must not eat with a knife, she discovered, nor
+wipe her mouth upon the back of her hand, and one must eat mincingly,
+taking small pieces of bread instead of biting off large mouthfuls.
+There was much to learn, Perdita perceived humbly, but she was grateful
+for the opportunity of learning, whether the lesson was intended or not.
+
+“I wish Tomás could see you,” Patty remarked, as Perdita at last
+declared she must again assume her own dress. “No, I don’t either, for
+he would be crazier than ever and would spoil all your chances of
+becoming Don Felipe’s bride.”
+
+“You always make the joke, señorita, yet I know now it is but a joke
+which you mean, for you have promised to be the friend of Tomás and me.”
+
+“But I would be your friend just the same, for who knows how long you
+may have to wait? You might have to wait less time to be a widow.”
+
+“Señorita!”
+
+“Never mind, Perdita. I suppose I do shock you. It is true I am only
+joking. I will not play that way any more, for I really do not mean it.
+My imagination flies away with me sometimes. I mean to be perfectly
+loyal to you and Tomás in spite of Don Felipe or anyone else, so don’t
+mind my nonsense. If you feel uncomfortable we will take off these fine
+feathers, as you call them, I have no doubt you would rather wear what
+you are accustomed to. Then we will have the French lesson.”
+
+The French lesson over, Perdita departed leaving Patty in the little
+summer-house. Now and then an iris-necked pigeon would patter in, look
+around inquiringly and patter out again, or a bird would twitter in the
+branches over the door. “I am having a lovely, peaceful time,” sighed
+Patty. “When Polly goes I suppose there will be plenty of such hours,
+and I shall get deadly lonely. There will always be Perdita though,
+when Tina hasn’t time to spare me. Perdita has much charm, and I do
+not think it would be hard to fit her to be my sister’s sister-in-law.
+Ah, here comes Tomás, the first to arrive. I shall have much to tell
+him.”
+
+An hour later when the rest of the party returned, Patty and Tomás were
+still sitting in the summer-house, and there Doña Martina found them,
+but she did not frown, she only said, “Have you had a good day, Patty?”
+
+“A lovely day,” was the answer. “Don Felipe was here and you know that
+made sunshine for all the hours.”
+
+“Absurd child,” said her sister, giving her a soft tap and looking at
+Tomás as if to say, we understand.
+
+That night as Patty was ready for sleep her sister came in; Paulette in
+the next room was already bound in slumbers, being tired out with the
+day’s shopping. “Patty,” said her sister, sitting down on the bed by
+her side, “we have had a long talk, Juan and I, about you and Tomás,
+and dear, we do not want you to think we are so unsympathetic as will
+make you withhold your confidence. We will do all we can. Of course
+ever since that day in the summer-house when I saw him kiss you--”
+
+“Only my hand, Tina; that was nothing.” Patty lifted herself from the
+pillows in protest.
+
+“Oh well, never mind, it was enough to show what you both felt, and
+Juan says we can give up this house to you if you would rather live
+here, though he thinks Tomás should do more, that he should not settle
+down to this hum-drum existence, this village life. He is going to
+see about sending him to South America or Mexico where he will have
+opportunities. If he succeeds, why, then--But, oh my dear--” she leaned
+over and took Patty in her arms, “it will be hard to give you up, to
+send you off there, and I am selfish enough to wish for us all to stay
+right here and live together. Yet if it will be for your happiness, I
+shall be satisfied either way.”
+
+Then Patty burst into tears and wept on her sister’s shoulder.
+
+“I’m a horrid girl,” she wailed. “You don’t know how horrid. Please
+don’t talk about anything now. I want only you.” And she clung to her
+sister till the tears ceased, and with gentle good-nights they parted.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XIV
+
+                           THE SILVER MERCHANT
+
+
+Don Juan, like his neighbor Don Felipe, was fond of collecting
+antiques, a fact which had become known to the silver merchants who,
+traveling through the country, collected old jewelry and silver for
+which they gave the peasants in exchange less valuable but more modern
+ornaments. In most cases the silver was melted up to be turned into
+articles more in the mode, but many a pair of long earrings, many a
+silver chain or reliquary found its way into Don Juan’s possession. For
+these things there was always a sharp bargaining which the ladies of
+the house enjoyed hugely, and they never failed to appear in Don Juan’s
+study when the Gallegos, as the men usually were, were shown up.
+
+The day after the expedition to Llanes one of these silver merchants
+arrived. At sight of the three ladies he began to display the contents
+of his pack, the gewgaws for which he found a ready sale among the
+peasants. “None of those,” said Don Juan with a contemptuous wave of
+his hand. “The old pieces. Have you anything good at all?”
+
+The man with alacrity produced a medal which was passed around, Don
+Juan making such depreciating remarks as, “Worth nothing at all. Badly
+worn. You see there is a piece chipped out.” At last he handed it back.
+
+“But señor, it is very old,” the man spread out his hands.
+
+“I doubt it.”
+
+“Oh, but señor, that it is worn but shows the age. It is surely worth
+something.”
+
+“A _peseta_, no more. You see for yourself the nick in it.”
+
+“Very well, if you buy something else I will let you have it.”
+
+“Lay it aside then; we will see.”
+
+A pair of earrings were next produced; they were of a fine filigree
+pattern which is now rare.
+
+“Beautiful,” whispered Patty.
+
+Her sister threw her a warning glance.
+
+Don Juan turned the earrings over with a contemptuous “Humph!” He had
+heard the whisper. “I don’t suppose anyone cares for these, but perhaps
+the ladies would like to look at them as a matter of curiosity,” and
+he handed them over to Patty to examine while the Gallego rummaged
+his odds and ends for an old cross which he presently brought out.
+Meanwhile Patty had set her heart on the earrings to give to Perdita,
+remembering that she had expressed a wish for such a pair to wear with
+her Asturian dress, so she scribbled on a piece of paper, “If these are
+not too much I would like to buy them.” This she handed back with the
+ornaments.
+
+Don Juan nodded understandingly and began to examine the earrings with
+an indifferent expression. “They have been mended,” he remarked after a
+moment. “They are not in good condition and could not be worn as they
+are.”
+
+“Oh, but señor,” came the protest, “they are much more beautiful than a
+pair I sold to Don Felipe the last time I came through, and for which
+he paid me more than I am asking for these.”
+
+“That may be, but probably the others were in better condition.
+However, I will give you,” he named a sum which the man finally
+accepted after some parley, and Patty became the possessor of the
+prize. The bartering went on for an hour or more and when the Gallego
+at last packed up his load Don Juan had added several valuable articles
+to his collection. They had cost the silver merchant next to nothing
+and he had made a profit in the transaction.
+
+When the man went below, at Doña Martina’s request Patty ordered the
+maids to give him a glass of wine before he left. Don Juan drew a long
+sigh as the merchant disappeared. He enjoyed these bouts but they kept
+him so keyed up that he was tired after they were over.
+
+“It is as good as a play,” said Patty when she returned to the room. “I
+could never in the world be so keen as Juan is. Won’t Perdita look fine
+in these at the next _fiesta_? She has long wanted such a pair.”
+
+“Perdita? Did you get them for her?” asked Doña Martina.
+
+“Yes, she is continually bringing me flowers and fruit, and I want to
+give her something in return.”
+
+“You give her French lessons.”
+
+“And she gives me Spanish. We are quits there. I do like Perdita. She
+was with me for a long time yesterday.”
+
+“So Manuela told me. I don’t know that it was wise, Patty, for you to
+invite her to sit at table like an equal.”
+
+“She is an equal. I wish I were half as good and beautiful. I dressed
+her up in some of my clothes and I wish you could have seen what a
+dream of beauty she was.”
+
+“What a child you are, Patty. I wonder what the maids thought. I am
+afraid it will put notions into their heads. They will be expecting the
+same treatment next.”
+
+“Oh, but imagine comparing Manuela to Perdita. One is a dray horse, the
+other a racer.”
+
+Doña Martina smiled. “There spoke your Kentucky influences. Of course
+we all know Perdita is a very superior girl and a very pretty one, but
+you must not treat her so that she will become discontented with her
+station. She is a peasant, a worker in the fields, and must always be
+so. This is not democratic America, Patty.”
+
+“Oh, but Perdita does come of good family some generations back; she
+has told me so. Have you ever noticed what pretty hands and feet she
+has? Her hands are hard and rough, but so well-shaped and not much
+larger than mine. Oh, no, Perdita is not made of common clay. To tell
+you the truth,” she looked after Paulette who was leaving the room.
+“I’ve no doubt but she comes of much better stock than Polly, yet
+because Polly has money and dresses well, we accept her.”
+
+“That may all be true, but the fact remains that you must not unsettle
+Perdita and make her unhappy. There is no way to alter her lot and why
+try to breed discontent?”
+
+“Maybe that is the proper way to look at it, but suppose Perdita did
+have money, suppose in some way she inherited it, must she always be
+kept a peasant?”
+
+“Perhaps not. She might marry someone of these Americanos, and return
+to America with him where she would probably rise to a different walk
+of life. There have even been nobles who have married peasants, but
+as our old mammy used to say, ‘dey has money but dey hasn’t anything
+else,’ and everyone knows it. So, pray be careful, Patty. I haven’t
+the least objection to Perdita’s coming here every day, but don’t
+dress her up and ask her to breakfast with you. I see no harm in the
+earrings, for they are a part of the dress she wears to _fiestas_ and
+are perfectly proper.”
+
+Patty bore the earrings away and laid them on a table in her room.
+She would give them to Perdita when she next came. She was not a very
+happy Patty this day. Her sister’s sweetness of the night before had
+quite disarmed her and she had avoided Tomás all morning. What seemed
+at first an innocent deception was assuming the proportions of an
+intrigue. In the romantic consideration of the love affair she had lost
+sight of her sister’s interest in herself and of what was due to a
+guardian care. “Dear me,” she sighed, “it was much easier getting along
+at the convent. There were no complications there. We did as we were
+told and that was the end of it. I suppose I had no business meddling
+and I am now receiving the fate of all busybodies. Yet, how was I to
+know? and--oh dear, I am half inclined to run away from it all and go
+back to the sisters. There are never any love affairs there to tie one
+up into hard knots, but here I have put myself in a hole, and as the
+Spaniards say, _no hay remedia_.”
+
+She left the garden where she had been walking and went up in to the
+great room which was at once _sala_ and living-room. Here the family
+gathered for all sorts of tasks. If one wished to sew or read, the
+light was good by the far windows from which one could watch the cloud
+shadows creep over the mountains, and could see the red-tiled roofs of
+little white houses in the valley. If one wanted to look out on the
+_carretera_ the front windows were best for they afforded not only a
+view of the road, but of the village. The south side overlooked the
+garden and the north was turned toward the chapel. At the north window
+Patty saw Tomás standing, a huge apron covering him from head to heels
+and on a large table before him several wooden figures of saints. Just
+now Tomás was engaged in painting a blue robe on a Madonna. He had
+already given her yellow hair and a red mantle so that she was a most
+brilliant figure. The young man stood off to observe the effect of his
+work as Patty came forward. “What _are_ you doing, Tomás?” asked she.
+
+“Giving these saints some new clothing. You see how faded and battered
+they are.” He pointed with his brush to the dingy group collected on
+one end of the table.
+
+“But where did they come from? Not from our little chapel? I should
+hate to see the dingy little saints in there done up in this florid
+style.”
+
+“Oh, no, Juan would never permit that. These came from the mountains.
+You remember I told you I had promised Father Ignacio to make them
+fresh and bright, and now he is anxious that they should be ready for
+the _fiesta_ which occurs very soon. He sent them down yesterday.”
+
+“That is Perdita’s _cura_, is it not?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And who are these?” Patty went over and touched one of the queer
+figures.
+
+“That is San Pablo, the next is San Pedro and the third San Jose.”
+
+“If you make them all as gloriously brilliant as this Madonna they
+certainly will brighten up the _fiesta_.”
+
+“The peasants like them that way. They will be delighted and will think
+me a great artist, but for myself I prefer the old dim colors.”
+
+“And I.” She stood watching the process of restoring the Madonna’s
+faded raiment until Doña Martina came in with a letter in her hand.
+“Maybe you would like to see this, Patty,” she said. “It is from Robert
+Lisle. I was wondering why we hadn’t heard from him. It is only a
+polite little note, but explains his failure to write.”
+
+Patty took the letter mechanically. It was, as her sister had said,
+only a polite little note saying that he had been to an isolated mining
+district from which he had found it difficult to send anything by post.
+He had returned to Santander and hoped to see them all again before he
+left the country. Patty refolded the letter and handed it back without
+comment. “I wonder,” she said to herself, “if he found a chance
+to send a letter to Miss Moffatt. I haven’t a doubt but that was a
+different matter.” She went over to the front window which looked down
+on the _patio_. Her sister seated herself by her work table and took up
+some sewing. “There were some letters for Paulette, too,” she remarked.
+
+“And none for me?” inquired Patty.
+
+“None. Juan’s budget was the largest.”
+
+“Where is Polly?”
+
+“I fancy she is attending to her correspondence. She seemed quite
+excited over it.”
+
+Patty looked out upon the _carretera_. The pigeons had taken shelter
+under the eaves; the stones of the _patio_ were quite wet. “It is
+raining,” she remarked. “I see the people going along on their
+_madreños_. What funny things they are. Would one say they had two
+heels when one is under the ball of the foot? Wooden shoes with high
+heels wouldn’t describe them exactly. They make a noise like sabots,
+but they are better for rainy weather for they keep the feet more out
+of the wet. Heigho! It is rather dismal when it rains, isn’t it?”
+
+“I quite enjoy a rainy day once in a while,” responded Doña Martina.
+“It gives one such a good chance to do up odds and ends. Where are you
+going?” for Patty crossed the room and opened a door at the other end.
+
+“I am going to the chapel to compare our saints with those Tomás
+is renovating. I want to see if I can discover their identity by a
+similarity of expression.”
+
+She passed out and along the narrow covered way which led to the
+chapel, then down a flight of steps into the silent, chill little
+place. It was rarely used now except in the event of a funeral, or when
+one of the maids stole in to drop on her knees before the pallid Virgin
+who stood in her tarnished shrine, faintly smiling into the empty
+somber spaces before her. Patty stood for a moment, then walked slowly
+around looking at the figures each side the altar. That must be San
+Roque; he could be recognized by the little dog with him; and that was
+St. Anthony next. On the other side she identified St. Joseph and St.
+John. Then she went back into the chapel and sat down. How many dead
+and gone Estradas had worshiped here, and how curious it seemed that
+foreigners should now make their home under the roof of those who once
+held sway. She remembered the blackened portraits in the house, men
+with pointed beards and ruffs, women with huge petticoats and strange
+coiffures. And to think that Spain was in its glory when America was
+yet a wilderness, when the Kentucky forests were full of savages.
+Now,--oh the smiling garden, the little mother in the white shawl,
+the bees among the blossoms! There was a sound in the house of a door
+closing. On the roof the rain pattered. Afar off a bell was ringing.
+The sounds saddened her. She sank on her knees, resting her head on her
+clasped hands. For a long time she knelt there, not praying, but filled
+with an uncertain longing for which there seemed no cure. Something
+had made her unhappy. It was not altogether the affair of Tomás and
+Perdita. What was it? “I suppose I am homesick and want my mother,” she
+said, with a sad little smile as she arose. “I am afraid Perdita will
+not come to-day,” she told herself as she passed along the corridor
+and back into the room where Tomás was still painting. The Virgin, now
+gorgeously arrayed, her blue robe bedecked with golden stars, was set
+aside and St. Paul was undergoing a cleansing process.
+
+Patty paused for a moment. “I found St. Anthony, San Roque, San Jose,
+and San Juan,” she said, “but I must say that San Jose must have had a
+very changeable countenance; he doesn’t look a bit like this one.”
+
+“Patty,” her sister called, “I’ve something for you. Our shopping from
+Llanes has just arrived. See how you like this,” and she flung a lace
+mantilla over the girl’s head.
+
+“Just what I wanted,” declared Patty. “You are a dear thing to get it
+for me. Thank you so much. I did want a real Spanish one, and this is a
+beauty. I must go show it to Polly.”
+
+Paulette had just finished her letters and was trying on a new shawl
+she had bought. “Show me how to wear it,” she said as Patty came in;
+“the way we did at the _fiesta_.”
+
+Patty draped it around the little figure. “I, too, have something
+Spanish,” she said, displaying her mantilla.
+
+“Ah, I have seen that before,” Paulette told her. “I have some news for
+you, somesing which will surprise you.”
+
+“Wait till I have laid this away,” said Patty, darting from the
+room. She ran into her own chamber, laid the mantilla on the table
+and returned. “I have such a habit of leaving my things in here,”
+she explained, “that I wanted to be sure this time I would not be
+disturbing your orderliness by my forgetfulness. Did you have good
+letters, Polly? Was there anything from the sisters?”
+
+“No, but from my guardian a most important letter. What will you say,
+Patty, when I tell you he wishes to make for me an excellent marriage
+to the son of a friend of his?”
+
+“Oh! But what about Don Felipe?” Patty asked after a moment’s silence.
+
+“I have come to the conclusion that he is not to be depended upon. You
+will recall that he has not been here for days.”
+
+“He was here yesterday.”
+
+“You say it was but to make a short call, to bring somesing to Don
+Juan.”
+
+“He might have stayed longer if you had been here.”
+
+Paulette gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “Might have stayed. I
+want no might haves. Why waste one’s time on an uncertain old man, a
+foreigner at that, when here is a young man ready?”
+
+“But have you seen him? Can you tell whether you would like him?”
+
+“My uncle describes him. I do not think I shall be disappointed. But,
+my dear, you see the importance of my appearing soon, so I must leave
+you to go to Poitiers at once.”
+
+“I like Poitiers,” said Patty reminiscently. “The people there look
+good and honest, so I hope your _parti_ will be as desirable as he
+ought. We shall be sorry to part from you. When must you go?”
+
+“This week. My uncle meets me at Bordeaux, from thence we go to
+Poitiers where he lives.”
+
+This affair of Paulette’s was such a new matter of interest, that the
+two sat together discussing it till Perdita was announced.
+
+“Take her to my room, Anita,” Patty ordered. “I will be there
+directly. It is too wet to sit out in the summer-house, tell Perdita.”
+
+Anita obeyed and Patty found Perdita standing by the window when she
+went in. Paulette’s affairs were more absorbing than the French lesson
+that day, and it must be confessed it was cut short. The earrings, too,
+were forgotten and when Patty did remember them they were not to be
+found. She called the maid, “Anita, did you see anything of a pair of
+earrings when you made up my room?” she asked.
+
+“No, señorita.”
+
+“I laid them just here,” she indicated a corner of the table. “We must
+find them.” A search was made, but no earrings were discovered, to
+Anita’s distress.
+
+“Who else has been in the room?” inquired Patty.
+
+“Only Perdita, señorita.”
+
+“Perdita? Oh, yes, I remember. Very well, we shall see. Perhaps I am
+mistaken, Anita, and have put them somewhere else, after all.” But all
+searching was of no avail and Patty was sorely troubled. To suspect
+Perdita was impossible; to suspect Anita was almost as bad. But in the
+flurry of Paulette’s departure the incident was forgotten and it was
+days before the question came up again.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XV
+
+                             THE LONELY HILL
+
+
+With Paulette gone, Don Felipe only a casual caller, and Tomás
+engrossed in his own love affair, Patty felt lonelier than she had
+believed she could. Doña Martina was often busy and just now a
+little anxious about her husband who had rather overstepped the mark
+in working too constantly on the book he was preparing for print,
+therefore Patty was left a great deal to herself. For the past two or
+three days she had seen nothing of Perdita. Tomás was absent, as well,
+having gone to Oviedo on a business trip for his brother, and the girl
+resorted to long rides in the little donkey-cart as her best means of
+amusement.
+
+One afternoon she started forth, her mind set upon a certain point from
+which there was a fine view of sea and mountains. That morning had
+brought a letter from Paulette, a complacent sort of epistle which had
+somehow irritated Patty. Mlle. Delambre had met Mons. Adolph Busson.
+They were mutually pleased. The betrothal had taken place and the
+marriage would be a little later. She hoped her dear friend, Patty,
+would be present at the wedding, unless superior attractions detained
+her in Spain. She wished so good an arrangement as hers might be made
+for her friend, yet it was only in France that these matters could be
+properly managed. She hoped American methods would not lead to her
+Patty’s remaining an old maid; that would be so unfortunate. How was
+the sly Tomás? and what of that other one, the Englishman, who had
+seemed so attentive for the moment? As for the old don, he was far too
+antiquated even for Patty.
+
+“I’d like to know what the ‘even for Patty’ means,” meditated the
+girl, her thoughts on the letter as she took her place in the little
+cart. She remembered the day when Paulette had announced this possible
+arrangement of affairs and the train of thought carried her to the
+earrings which she had not remembered. Where had they gone? She could
+accuse Perdita, but perhaps she had seen them that day and could
+tell her, if they were really where Patty believed she had put them.
+Perhaps, after all, it would be better to hunt up Perdita and see if
+anything were wrong with her since she had not been to the house for
+several days. She might be ill, or her grandmother.
+
+Guido’s head was therefore turned in the direction of the little farm,
+and before the low white house Patty halted. There was no sign of life
+except from the chickens picking around, and to the girl’s knock
+there was no reply. There was then nothing to do but to turn the cart
+around again and go in the direction she had first decided upon. This
+led toward the sea, though not along the road she generally used, but
+rather one further from the village with the mountains on the left. It
+was a tortuous way and a rough one. So steep at last did it become that
+Patty decided to leave the cart and try the rest of the ascent on foot.
+“If it were not for the cart, Guido,” she said, “I would let you go,
+too, for you can climb these hills and pick your way better than I. You
+are a good little _burro_, Guido, and I have not been disappointed in
+you. After all, you are much less disappointing than some human beings
+who profess a great deal and then--I wonder if he thought that by the
+gift of you he was simply making a graceful return for hospitality--not
+that you can be called graceful, Guido; far from it--At all events I’d
+like to know if it were that, or if he did it merely because he felt
+sorry for you, or whether it were another reason. Oh, me, there is no
+use wondering. This is a very lonely hill and I don’t know why I came
+to it, except that I am rather hugging my loneliness these days. I
+suppose Juan and Tina would be horrified to know I came here by myself,
+and I must confess, it was rather a venturesome thing to do. Guido, I
+will tie you so you can get at the grass and things, for now that I
+have come this far I may as well go on.”
+
+She left the little gray beast safely tethered and started off up the
+steep path. It was seldom used and at times almost lost itself in
+thickets of brakes and briars. There was a low stone wall to climb
+then at last the height was reached, and Patty, panting a little,
+looked around her. A blue crescent of sea lay in front of her; behind
+her the circle of the horizon was completed by the mountains. “What a
+view!” the girl exclaimed. “It was worth the climb.” Her eye roved over
+distant objects, clusters of houses forming small pueblos, half a dozen
+groups or more, nearer houses isolated from the rest, and nearer still
+the masses of grass and brambles with here and there a blossom dotting
+the green.
+
+Suddenly her eye lighted on a figure lying face down in the high grass,
+a girl in peasant dress. Was she asleep? and what was she doing here
+so far from house or road? Perhaps she was ill or hurt. Moving nearer
+Patty stopped as she noticed a slight movement of the figure. The
+crackling of the bushes as Patty made her way through caused the girl
+to raise her head, showing a face tear-stained and wet-eyed.
+
+“Perdita!” cried Patty. “It is you? What is the matter?”
+
+“Oh, señorita,” Perdita sat up, “I have a sad heart.”
+
+“And why?” Patty made a place by Perdita’s side. “Tell me all about
+it. You are not grieving because Tomás has gone away, are you? He will
+be back in a few days. Did you think he was going to stay?”
+
+“Oh, no, señorita, it is not that. It is I who am going away to stay.”
+
+“You? Why, where are you going?”
+
+“Into a convent, señorita.”
+
+“Not to stay?” Patty was aghast. It seemed a tragedy to her to shut up
+this young creature behind convent walls. “You are not going to become
+a nun?”
+
+“No, señorita, but I am to be gone two years and it seems forever.”
+
+“Oh, but it will soon pass. I was two years in a convent and as I look
+back it does not seem long. But, Perdita, why are you going? Is it your
+grandmother who sends you?”
+
+“It was my grandmother who told me I was to go. I am to go to get an
+education, to become more of a lady.”
+
+“Oh, now that is not to be wept over. Why, the other day you were
+longing for such advantages.”
+
+Perdita made no answer except to draw a long sigh.
+
+“Is it because of Tomás? Does your grandmother know?” Patty still plied
+her with questions.
+
+“No, I do not think it is that. If my grandmother knows she has not
+said so. She said, ‘some one wishes you to go to a convent for two
+years; at the end of that time we shall see what we shall see.’”
+
+“Oh, Perdita, it must be just as we hoped, and your father is coming
+back after having made a fortune. Are you not glad? Shall you not be
+happy to see him?”
+
+“Maybe, though you know, señorita, he is but a stranger to me, and what
+if he should want to separate me from Tomás, or what if while I am
+away, some other should take his fancy and I should return to find no
+Tomás for me? It would break my heart, señorita. I should die.”
+
+“That is showing very little faith in Tomás. I do not believe he is
+the inconstant sort for there was Paulette and here was--” she stopped
+short.
+
+“Yourself. Yes. I know, and if he did not love anyone so dear and
+lovely as you I should have more faith, but I cannot help my fears.
+Can anyone who loves as I do? If you had a lover, señorita, would you
+not fear to leave him for two years, to know that in all that time you
+could not write to him nor hear from him?”
+
+“But can you not see him?”
+
+“No, my grandmother says I am not to leave the convent. She cannot even
+come to see me herself, and that is a great sacrifice for her to make,
+she says.”
+
+“But what will she do without you?”
+
+“Someone is to come to take charge of the farm and to look after my
+grandmother. I do not like that, either, señorita. I do not like
+to think of others attending to my animals, to count my sheep, my
+chickens. I do not want to go away from my own _pueblo_. I want to be
+as free as I am to-day.” She stretched her arms wide and raised her
+face to the skies. “That is why I came here,” she went on, “because it
+is so large and free up here and one can see the whole world.”
+
+“Yes, I understand that feeling,” murmured Patty.
+
+“Then, too, there is another thing,” Perdita continued. “Tomás was
+telling me that his brother has spoken of sending him to America. What
+if he goes and never comes back?”
+
+“Yes, I know there has been some talk of it,” said Patty, thoughtfully.
+She remembered that it was to further Tomás’s success and enable him
+to marry that his brother had proposed the going to America. Alas, she
+was the cause of much trouble. “How soon do you go to the convent,
+Perdita?” she asked presently.
+
+“Next month, señorita. I am to go to Llanes first and there I am to
+lay aside my peasant dress and be clothed as others are at the convent
+school.”
+
+“And when you come away I have no doubt you will have pretty frocks
+like that you put on the other day and you will be very fine, Perdita,
+so that my sister and brother can have no objection to your becoming
+one of the family. It will really do much to make the future clear for
+you and Tomás.”
+
+Perdita shook her head sadly. The two years seemed a lifetime in her
+young eyes and this parting from her lover the end of all things.
+
+“I shall miss you,” said Patty, after a moment. “Everyone is leaving,
+it seems, and I shall be very lonely. I had a little present for you,
+Perdita, but it has been lost.” Then she told of what had happened,
+Perdita assuring her that she had not noticed the earrings upon the
+table.
+
+“Oh, señorita, I will pray San Antonio for you,” she said, “and if you
+would take a figure of the saint and hang it down the well I am sure he
+would send back the earrings.”
+
+Patty laughed outright, starting up some birds from the underbrush.
+
+Perdita crossed herself. “Oh, but señorita, it is so, I have known it
+to happen.”
+
+“Then I will get St. Anthony from the chapel and try it,” said Patty,
+the amusement still in her eyes. “Come, Perdita, don’t be so downcast.
+Why, I think your prospects are fine. So long as I am here I will keep
+a sharp eye on Tomás and if I see him casting sheep’s eyes--how do you
+call it?--_mirada al soslayo_, is that it? Oh, yes; very well, I will
+go at him with a vengeance. I don’t know how to say that exactly--_con
+venganza_, you understand?”
+
+Perdita did and smiled faintly. It was something to leave behind her
+such a champion of her rights.
+
+“Now,” said Patty, getting up. “I will take you as far as your turning
+off. Don’t be unhappy, Perdita. I will attend to St. Anthony and if
+there is any other one I can tackle who will make Master Tomás keep to
+his colors, I’ll attend to him, too.” She said this last in English,
+but the name of Tomás sounded encouraging and Perdita felt more
+comfortable.
+
+“Was it because of all this you have been staying away?” Patty
+inquired, when they had started Guido on his homeward way.
+
+“Yes, señorita. I was so troubled that I did not want anyone to see,
+and I knew I could not remember my lesson or think of anything as I
+should.”
+
+“But you must not give up coming now that the time is so short, for
+even if we have no French we can converse in Spanish. I have learned
+much Spanish, have I not?”
+
+“Yes, señorita; it is wonderful how in three months you have learned to
+speak so well.”
+
+“I have worked very hard and have taken advantage of speaking whenever
+I could. One learns very fast in doing that. Is it three months?”
+
+“Very nearly, señorita. It was at the feast of San Juan you saw me
+first and soon it will be the feast of San Matea, so that I know.”
+
+They passed out of the lonely by-road to the _carretera_, and jogged
+along to where Perdita must take the path home. Just as they reached
+this point Don Felipe came riding by in the opposite direction. He
+stopped a moment, doffed his hat, gave the two girls a sharp scrutiny
+and rode on. A little later he overtook Patty. She was alone and was
+driving Guido leisurely toward home. Don Felipe slackened his pace.
+“Good evening, señorita,” he said, “so your companion has left you.”
+
+“Yes, señor, she has gone to her home. She is a beautiful girl, is she
+not?”
+
+“Very beautiful.”
+
+“Did you recognize her that day when I presented her as the Señorita
+Gonzalez?”
+
+“Not at once, for I do not notice peasants as a rule, then I
+recollected having seen her, or someone like her.”
+
+“I don’t think Perdita should exactly be classed among the peasants.”
+
+“Why so?”
+
+“She is so gentle and good, so like a lady and with a very bright mind.”
+
+“So I have been told.”
+
+“She would grace any position in life with the proper education. She is
+very quick to learn.”
+
+“Do you say so? Rather surprising in one of her class, isn’t it?”
+
+“Perhaps, but you know she comes of good stock, of an old family which
+has deteriorated. I have been giving her French lessons and I have
+had an opportunity to observe her quickness. It seems she is to have
+a chance now, for she is going into a convent school. Her father, I
+believe, is sending her.”
+
+“Her father? So she has one.”
+
+“Yes, it seems she has, and she thinks he is in America and will return
+after a while.”
+
+“Ah, she is fortunate in having someone who is not a mere tiller of the
+soil. So you think she will do him credit?”
+
+“She would do anyone credit. I am much interested in her, and hope I
+may always keep her as a friend.”
+
+“She certainly is most beautiful,” said the old don, musingly. “Here is
+your gate, señorita. I will come in, if you will permit. I should like
+a word with your good sister.”
+
+He entered the house as Patty, driving around to the side, saw Guido
+was handed over to the men at the stables. Don Felipe was in earnest
+conversation with her sister when she returned. “Come over, Patty,”
+Doña Martina invited her, “and give us your opinion on a most important
+subject.”
+
+“Yes, señorita, I beg of you.” Don Felipe arose and handed her a
+chair. “There is no one whose opinion is of more importance to me. I
+am thinking of making a few alterations and repairs to my old house
+which you have honored with your presence. I am also thinking of
+refurnishing and decorating some of the rooms. This will come later,
+for I shall make haste slowly, yet I should like your ideas on the
+subject. Which rooms, in your estimation, would a lady prefer for her
+apartments?”
+
+“Oh, I should think those looking over toward the garden and the
+mountains.”
+
+Don Felipe nodded. “And not those on the front?”
+
+“No, one gets tired of droves of oxen and cow-carts passing on the
+_carretera_, whereas the mountains are ever changing and the birds come
+and go among the flowers in the garden so that one has always something
+pleasant to look at.”
+
+“Then those rooms without question.”
+
+“Unless the lady cares for none of those things.”
+
+“I think her taste would be much like yours. Later on I shall ask your
+valuable suggestions in the matter of furnishing. I have a lot of old
+stuff, but--”
+
+“Oh, do use all you can of it, for it is so much better suited to that
+fine old place than any modern things could be, or, if you must get
+new, let it be as little as possible.”
+
+“Your taste is excellent, señorita, but do not young ladies generally
+prefer something brighter and lighter, more in keeping with their
+charming selves?”
+
+“Those qualities can be considered in the frescoes and the draperies.”
+
+“Oh, I see. When it comes to that point I shall, if I may, ask your
+invaluable aid in selecting the proper stuffs. Your sister tells me
+that Mlle. Delambre, is fiancée to a young Frenchman.”
+
+“Yes, and quite happy.”
+
+“She is rather an attractive girl, but there are others far more so. I
+prefer a dark type of beauty myself.”
+
+Patty glanced at her sister whose face was a study. Then Don Juan
+entered and the talk fell upon the respective values of certain
+antiques, and the two ladies left the men in the heart of an animated
+discussion.
+
+“What do you suppose he is going to do?” Patty asked her sister when
+they were safe outside.
+
+“You goose, he is thinking of marrying, of course.”
+
+“But whom is he going to marry?”
+
+Her sister laughed. “I should think it pretty evident whom he had in
+mind.”
+
+Patty looked puzzled and ran over the conversation. “You surely don’t
+mean me?” she said, after a pause.
+
+“Who else?”
+
+“I am sure I don’t know, but oh, dear, after the way I have snubbed
+him, he must be an idiot to think I can be picked out and carried home
+like a door-knocker or an antique plate.”
+
+“It is his conceit, my dear, which makes him think he can do just that
+thing. When he is all ready he imagines all he will have to do will
+be to call upon your proper guardians, present his request in proper
+form and forthwith it will be granted with an appropriate degree of
+gratitude for the honor. You must remember that he is a blue-blood
+hidalgo, and that a simple little American girl like yourself could not
+think of refusing him.”
+
+“Then just let him go ahead and find out, the old silly thing. I hope
+you will encourage him to spend all he will upon the house; it needs
+it, heaven knows. I shall do my best to egg him on, and then see how
+beautifully he will get fooled.”
+
+“You are really in a temper about it.”
+
+“Of course I am.”
+
+“But fancy what a triumph to write to Paulette and announce that you
+are to marry him. She was ready enough to become mistress of that old
+_palacio_, for all she pretended the master was too old. I saw things,
+my dear, and I know.”
+
+Patty laughed. “You are actually scheming, yourself, but no Auld Robin
+Grey for me, if you please.”
+
+“You know I didn’t mean it, Patty. Of course, I couldn’t when there
+is--Tomás.”
+
+“Oh, yes,” Patty’s face clouded, “there is Tomás.”
+
+“What has happened, Patty, child? I have noticed that you avoid him of
+late. Have you quarreled?”
+
+“No, but--”
+
+“You feel conscious, dear child. Of course since you are aware that
+we know how matters stand, I can appreciate how you might feel. Never
+mind, Juan is doing his best to settle Tomás’s future and when all is
+arranged you can be regularly engaged, Don Felipe or no Don Felipe.”
+
+Patty put her arms around her sister. “Tina, you are a perfect darling,
+and I am an ungrateful wretch. There is time enough to think about my
+affairs, for I am ‘ower young to marry.’ I shall want my freedom for
+years to come.”
+
+“You are likely to have it,” returned her sister, gravely, “if Tomás
+goes to seek his fortune in Mexico.”
+
+Patty made no reply but her thoughts flew back to the lonely hill and
+the girl lying prone on her face in the long grass.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+
+                       BY REASON OF SAINT ANTHONY
+
+
+Remembering the next morning her laughing promise to Perdita that she
+would make use of St. Anthony’s powers in trying to find the lost
+earrings, Patty went to the dim little chapel in order to abstract the
+figure of the saint. She was still child enough to enjoy the prospect
+of dangling the image down the well, with no feeling of irreverence
+in doing so. “If these people think it all right, why shouldn’t I?”
+she asked herself. As she opened the door leading into the chapel she
+observed two faintly gleaming candles at the side of the altar and
+going forward she perceived that they were burning before the figure of
+St. Anthony himself.
+
+“Now, who has put those up there?” she exclaimed. “I suppose whoever
+it is, he or she will be distressed if I take the old fellow away.
+Besides, he looks so comfortable and complacent standing there I’d
+better not disturb him. The candles have done at least this much good;
+they have saved him from a dousing.”
+
+She went out the smaller door, up the long flight of steps and into the
+upper room where her sister was sitting knitting her brows over her
+weekly accounts.
+
+“There is something wrong here,” said Doña Martina, looking up. “Patty,
+just run over these figures and see if you can find any mistake in it.
+I am sure with no one at home but Juan and ourselves there should be
+less spent than when the family was larger, yet it is just the same
+amount.”
+
+Patty took the book and added up the column. “I make it exactly the
+same as you do,” she announced the result.
+
+“Then I am sure I have made no mistake. I wish you would go down and
+ask Manuela to come here to me.”
+
+Patty did as she was requested and stayed below to watch her favorite
+pair of pigeons, Alphonso and Victoria, and to stick red geraniums over
+the ears of Ba-Ba the pet lamb which had been Perdita’s gift on the
+day of San Juan. Ba-Ba, tethered out of reach of the choicest flowers,
+was nibbling at such delectable morsels as he could find, but upon
+seeing Patty set up a plaintive bleat, knowing he might be set free if
+Patty were at hand. His hopes were not without foundation, for the girl
+unfastened the rope which held him and he capered off with a fling up
+of his heels that showed his joy.
+
+“Now behave yourself, or I will tie you up again,” Patty warned him.
+“Doña Martina doesn’t allow any liberties taken with her flowers,
+remember. I suppose I shall have to watch you.” She sat down on an old
+stone bench from which she could watch the lamb’s movements. Presently
+Anita came out with something hidden under her apron. She started at
+sight of Patty, and went back.
+
+“Now what did she do that for,” said Patty to herself. “She looked
+scared at sight of me. I must go in and find out. Come here, Ba-Ba.”
+But there was no “come here” comprehended by Ba-Ba. He had his freedom
+and meant to make the most of it. So he led Patty a chase around the
+garden, dodging under bushes, squeezing through shrubbery, kicking up
+his heels and prancing off with tail straight out, and a shake of his
+head which said, “Catch me if you can.” But at last Patty managed to
+outwit him and dragged him back to his corner, where he was again made
+fast and allowed but a small area for pasture.
+
+As Patty entered the kitchen, flushed from her exercise, Anita did not
+stir from her work of preparing vegetables, but kept her eyes cast
+down. Manuela was still upstairs. “What is the matter, Anita?” Patty
+asked, after watching the girl for a moment or two.
+
+“Nothing, señorita.”
+
+“Oh, but there is. What did you have under your apron when you came
+into the garden just now, and why did you run back in such haste?”
+
+The color came into Anita’s face. “Why, señorita, I--I was just going
+to the chapel for a moment.”
+
+“Is the outer door unlocked then? I thought one could get in only by
+the upper door.”
+
+“It is unlocked, yes, señorita.”
+
+“Then, perhaps--” she stopped to think, “perhaps it was you who set the
+candles before St. Anthony.”
+
+Anita dropped into the pan of vegetables the knife she was holding and
+began to cry. “Oh, señorita,” she complained.
+
+“Have you lost something?”
+
+“Oh, señorita, you know.”
+
+“I am sure I don’t know, and if you wanted to set the candles there I
+don’t see why you should not.”
+
+“Yes, señorita, I know, but the earrings--those which you lost.”
+
+“I see. And you thought we might believe you took them, so you are
+burning candles to St. Anthony that they may be restored?”
+
+“Yes, señorita.”
+
+At this juncture Manuela came in. “Anita, the señora wants you. What
+are you crying for?”
+
+Anita did not reply, but set down the pan and prepared to go upstairs.
+
+“She may well weep,” said Manuela, severely. “One cannot buy candles
+without money.”
+
+“What do you mean, Manuela?” inquired Patty. “I know Anita has been
+burning candles to St. Anthony because she thinks we suspect her of
+taking the earrings. Of course I know they have not been found, and we
+cannot see how they could be spirited away, but we have not charged
+anyone.”
+
+“The _huestas_, señorita, or the gipsies. An evil eye have the gipsies
+and who knows? Who knows? If they bewitch a thing, _no hay remedia_,
+yet I do not say they may not be found, those earrings. Once I lost
+a brooch which my mother had given me. I searched for a month in
+great trouble, and one day when I was going to church, as I took up
+my mantilla, behold the brooch had caught in the lace and had been
+there all the time. I told the _padre_ and he said it was a righteous
+punishment. If I had gone at once to church to pray to St. Anthony I
+would have probably taken out my mantilla and so have discovered the
+brooch. I deserved to worry,” he said.
+
+This gave Patty an idea and she hurried to her room, took her mantilla
+from the drawer where she had placed it the day her sister gave it to
+her, and shook it out. Sure enough from it dropped one of the earrings.
+The other was found clinging to the lace threads by reason of the open
+filigree. Gathering all up Patty ran into the living-room where Anita,
+bowed before Doña Martina, was sobbing out a confession.
+
+“And so, when you went to market each time you took a little of my
+money to buy candles to burn to St. Anthony,” Doña Martina was saying.
+
+“Yes, señora. I had to give all my wages to my family, and I had no
+money. The candles had to be bought. What could I do?”
+
+“But, girl, don’t you see that it was stealing, and that it was worse
+to take a thing than to be suspected when you were innocent?”
+
+“I had to get the candles and there was no other way,” repeated Anita,
+through her tears.
+
+“The earrings are found,” announced Patty, holding them up. “They
+had caught in the lace of my mantilla, and when I put that away the
+earrings went, too. They were lying on the same table, you remember.”
+
+“Oh, señora! Señorita!” Anita sprang to her feet and smiled through her
+tears. “So you see St. Anthony did find them, and it must have been
+because of the candles. Oh, I am so glad.”
+
+“But Anita, that doesn’t lessen the fact that you took my money,”
+expostulated Doña Martina.
+
+“But it was only for the candles, señora, and you see for yourself that
+St. Anthony--”
+
+Doña Martina stopped her with a wave of the hand and turned to her
+sister. “It is impossible to make her understand,” she said. “You may
+go down, Anita, but if ever again you are guilty of taking even so much
+as a penny of what is not yours, I shall dismiss you at once, St.
+Anthony or Saint anybody else.”
+
+“But he did find them,” murmured Anita, as she cheerfully went back to
+her work.
+
+“There is no use trying to teach them a proper standard in matters of
+this kind,” said Doña Martina, “and I suppose the girl is honest enough
+in other directions. She was greatly distressed over the possibility
+of being suspected and Manuela told me of the candles and of herself
+wondering where Anita got the money for them. So long as the earrings
+are found I suppose even Manuela will see no wrong in what Anita did. I
+am glad they are not lost, Patty, and that you discovered them in this
+special way; it makes us all more comfortable.”
+
+“I shall not allow them to be neighbors to any more lacey things,”
+declared Patty. “I will put them in a box and give them to Perdita as
+soon as I can. Still working over the accounts, Tina?”
+
+Her sister sighed. “Yes, I must keep down expenses, for small as they
+really are, I must try to save all I can for emergencies.”
+
+“Poor darling.” Patty laid her cheek against her sister’s hair. “And
+if I should accept the renovated _palacio_ you would be free of me at
+least.”
+
+“Don’t talk so,” returned her sister, sharply. “As if I could be happy
+for a moment knowing you had sacrificed yourself. It isn’t as bad as
+that, Patty. There is quite enough for us all, and we should keep up
+this house just the same whether you were here or not. Surely when you
+make no demands upon anyone in other directions you should not feel
+under any obligation.”
+
+“I suppose I should not, only I hate to see you worried. If we sell the
+old home, Tina, will there be more?”
+
+“Very likely not, unless we could invest it so that the interest would
+bring in more than the rent does now. You need not think of that, dear.
+We are really living on much less than we could anywhere else, only I
+am ambitious to do better that we may put by for a rainy day. In Juan’s
+state of health that seems important, and moreover, I take a sort of
+pride in seeing how well I can do on the least amount.”
+
+“Can I help you?”
+
+“No, I must do it myself. Run along and don’t worry.”
+
+Patty went slowly downstairs. What a dear Tina it was and how
+abominably she was treating her by allowing her to believe things which
+were not so. “I’ll have to ’fess some day, I suppose,” she said, “but
+if Perdita goes to the convent and Tomás to America there is no hurry.
+I wonder when Tomás will be back, by the way.”
+
+She stopped to have a word with Manuela who was eager to hear more
+of the discovery of the lost earrings, and then she went out to the
+garden. She wandered through its paths unheeding Ba-Ba’s plaintive
+bleating. When she came to the door of the chapel she tried it and
+found it opened. She entered to find the candles before St. Anthony
+were low in their sockets. One flickered and went out as she stood
+watching it. “I wonder,” said she addressing the figure before her, “if
+you can also restore friends. I think candles seem more efficacious
+than the dousing; suppose I try candles.” She stood watching the
+expiring flame of the second candle when she heard the door behind
+her close, and a footstep on the stone floor, then someone gave an
+apologetic little cough.
+
+“Is that you, Tomás?” asked Patty. “There, I said I wouldn’t look
+around till it went out and it has almost. Well?”
+
+“It isn’t Tomás, Miss Patty; it is I.”
+
+“Oh!” Patty wheeled around, the flickering candle sending up a last
+dying gleam. “You? It is you?”
+
+“Yes, I am sorry if you are disappointed, but I can’t help being just
+Robert Lisle.”
+
+“And I can’t help being surprised when you have been away such a long,
+long while. How have you been?”
+
+“I have been quite well, though I, too, appreciate that it has been a
+long, long while, and I have come back because I couldn’t stay away any
+longer.”
+
+“Couldn’t you? Why?”
+
+“Because you and your sister are the only home folks I have in this
+land.”
+
+Patty stiffened ever so little. “I suppose you have come to say
+good-bye. Do you return to England soon?”
+
+“Not yet awhile. There is nothing special to take me there. My cousin,
+Walter Sterling, is with my grandfather and neither needs me.”
+
+“But what of Miss Moffatt?”
+
+“Her memory was buried, you know.”
+
+“And has not been resurrected?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Will you tell me about her; you said you would some day. Has she light
+hair? She is like a gray day, I remember, but I want to know not so
+much what she is as who she is.”
+
+“She has quite light hair, yes, and blue eyes. How did you guess? She
+is the girl my grandfather expects me to marry.”
+
+“Does she expect it?”
+
+“She has no reason to. We have been friends for a couple of years and
+I have paid her a few dutiful attentions. She is wealthy and of good
+family.”
+
+Patty’s chin went up. “So she has all that is desirable. When may we
+congratulate you?”
+
+“Oh, but aren’t you forging ahead rather fast? Have you forgotten the
+obsequies?”
+
+“No, I haven’t forgotten but--she seems so exactly the proper choice.”
+
+“So my grandfather says, but I do not say so. She is not my choice
+and I have written to say so. She will not want for suitors. They are
+liable to come forward in numbers.”
+
+“But what if--”
+
+“Go on, please.”
+
+“What if you are her choice? What if she believes herself to be the one
+you have chosen?”
+
+“I do not see how she could think that.”
+
+“You write to her?”
+
+“I wrote once, a friendly letter when I first came away. The second
+letter I destroyed without sending. I have told my grandfather that,
+while I appreciated all he had done for me, in matters of this kind I
+must use my own judgment and that Miss Moffatt was not the woman for
+me, this I had discovered since I came to Spain.”
+
+“I thought ‘absence made the heart grow fonder’?”
+
+“It does in some cases, as I can speak from my own experience.”
+
+Why did Patty suddenly lean forward to put an extinguishing finger on
+the smoking wick, since there was not light enough to discover the red
+which flamed up into her cheek. She said not a word but stood looking
+at St. Anthony.
+
+“I am thinking of going to America, to the States,” the young man went
+on. “If my father left me no fortune, at least he left me friends and
+relatives over there who are warm-hearted and sincere.”
+
+“Tomás is going to America, perhaps, and Perdita to a convent. Polly is
+going to be married and--oh, dear--”
+
+“But there is still Don Felipe.”
+
+“Yes, but what of him?”
+
+“Exactly. What of him?”
+
+“He is getting very frivolous in his old age and is talking of making
+all sorts of changes at the _palacio_.”
+
+“What for?”
+
+“We think he is preparing for a young wife.”
+
+“And who might she be?”
+
+“She might be most anyone, but there are reasons why we suspect he
+believes she will be your humble servant.”
+
+“Oh!” The exclamation came sharply.
+
+It hurt him, of that Patty was sure and her tender heart could not
+bear to see anyone hurt. “I didn’t say,” she broke the silence, “I was
+the one, I only said we thought he rather counted on it, just as your
+grandfather counted on Miss Moffatt, and with just as much result.”
+
+“I am very glad of that.” The words came simply. Then after a pause:
+“And Tomás?”
+
+“I could tell you tales of Tomás, but I must not. He is a dear lad and
+I am very fond of him, but he is going to America, as I said, and may
+be gone two or three years.”
+
+Robert drew a sigh as of one rid of a load, and again silence fell.
+
+“How did you know I was in here?” Patty asked presently.
+
+“When I came I asked for the ladies. Doña Martina was upstairs I was
+told and the señorita Patty had gone into the chapel, Anita had just
+observed. Would I join her there? So I came and found you.”
+
+“Are you going soon to the States?”
+
+“I don’t know. My business here is about over. It has not been
+disappointing, and may lead to other things of the same sort. There is
+some talk of an English syndicate, composed of the same men, who may
+conclude to work some mines in our West. I am talked of in connection
+with that if it materializes, but it will not be for some months; those
+things take time. Aside from that I have no special prospects, and
+shall go to Kentucky or elsewhere as circumstances direct.”
+
+This time it was Patty who gave a long sigh as of content. “Will you
+go in and see Tina?” she asked. There were hours, days, perhaps weeks
+ahead, and one need be in no haste when time was not an object.
+
+They left St. Anthony in darkness and took the upper way to the house
+to find Doña Martina had finished her accounts and was wondering where
+Robert was, Anita having told her of his arrival.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVII
+
+                            PATTY IS PUZZLED
+
+
+Fearing a second accident to the earrings Patty resolved the next day
+to take them to Perdita whom she had not seen since the meeting on
+the lonely hill. There was no fear of missing a visit from Robert,
+since Patty in a tremor lest he should believe her too eager to see
+him, had said she would not be at home till later. It was a fine calm
+morning when she started out. Over the mountains was a blue haze, the
+sky toward the west was golden clear, but along the mountain tops soft
+mists drifted, once in a while lifting to show the outline of the range
+which continued on and on to the sea. The summer was nearly over but
+the air was still warm and balmy, and there was no prospect of chill in
+it.
+
+Leaving Ba-Ba bleating after her and Guido looking out from his stable
+window the girl went on foot past the garden and up the long crooked
+path leading to the mountain. The gipsies had long since departed,
+only the blackened embers of their camp fire giving evidence of their
+ever having been there. As she walked along, Patty pondered on the
+gipsy’s prophecy. The fair-haired woman must be Miss Moffatt of whom
+she no longer felt jealous. Why should she, since all that affair was
+closed? Though perhaps, after all, the grandfather would be so angry
+that Robert would not be able to stand out against him. Yet, it was a
+comfort to know that so far there had been no sentimental passages in
+the direction of “the drab girl,” as Patty had come to call her. As
+for the rest, would all end as she wished? She was singularly light
+of heart as she walked along. The world seemed suddenly brighter, her
+troubles of less account. “I know now why I was unhappy,” she told
+herself, “but I didn’t know till I saw him. I really didn’t, and that
+is why I was afraid to see him this morning too early. I was afraid he
+would find out too soon what I have only just learned myself. I can
+appreciate now how Perdita felt. Poor Perdita, I wonder what will be
+her future?”
+
+She climbed on up the height till just ahead she saw the little
+farmstead, then she suddenly stopped. Surely that was Don Felipe’s
+horse! And, yes, it was Don Felipe himself standing there in earnest
+conversation with old Catalina. Surely he was counting out money. Patty
+crept behind the hedge and waited. She would not intrude. She would
+stay where she was till the transaction was over. What did it mean? Was
+he buying some curio? It must be very valuable, for that was the gleam
+of gold and those were banknotes which Catalina was stowing away. Why
+was Don Felipe so lavish all at once? Suddenly it came over her like a
+flash that perhaps it was he who was educating Perdita, and that it was
+Perdita whom he wanted to marry.
+
+Her face dimpled. “What a joke on us if it is so,” she murmured. Then
+she became very grave. Poor Perdita! poor Tomás! Was this why Perdita
+had not appeared at the house for several days? Had she kept back a
+part of her trouble, and was this why she had seemed so despairing?
+Patty was puzzled.
+
+She kept in hiding till Don Felipe had mounted his horse and had gone
+trotting by, then she waited till a turn in the road hid him from view
+before she crept out and went up to the house. Her knock at the door
+was answered by Catalina. No, Perdita was not in; she had gone to the
+village perhaps, or to the _cura_. Catalina did not know which. Would
+the señorita come in and wait? She must be tired from the climb. How
+was the good doctor and his señora? Praise the saints, she, Catalina
+was well, and had nothing to complain of now that she had her eyes
+again.
+
+But Patty would not stay. She made her adieu and went off without
+referring to the plans for Perdita’s future, and without mentioning
+that she had been witness to Don Felipe’s visit. On the way home
+conjectures were rife. She knew Catalina was avaricious and that for
+money she would readily bargain with Don Felipe. Moreover, what a
+triumph for her ambition if he were to marry her granddaughter. That he
+was much impressed by the girl, Patty had every reason to know. “And it
+is probably all my doing,” she said, ruefully. “If I had not dressed
+her up that day he would never have noticed her one way or the other,
+but what old man, or young one either, could resist anything so lovely
+as she was. I never saw anyone so beautiful. No wonder he completely
+lost his head. Poor Tomás! Poor Perdita! For of course she will have
+to marry him, if he has the grandmother and the _cura_ on his side.
+Fancy Perdita’s being at the head of that old _palacio_ and fancy the
+surprise of Tomás.”
+
+Arriving at home she found her sister at the door looking after a
+figure which was fast disappearing down the road. “Robert has been
+here; he has just gone.”
+
+“Oh!” Patty felt bitter disappointment. Why couldn’t he have waited
+five minutes longer, when she had told him she would not be back till
+later in the morning? If he were so impatient to see her could he not
+have remained till she returned? Yet none of this would she betray to
+her sister, so she said with seeming indifference, “He seems to be in
+a hurry. Heigho! it isn’t as cool as one would suppose. I have been
+walking too fast. Has Tomás come back yet?”
+
+“Yes, I believe so, though he has not arrived at the house. Come in,
+Patty; or, no, let us go into the summer-house. I want to talk to you.”
+
+Patty glanced at her sister. There was unusual gravity in her tones and
+the girl’s heart beat fast. Had the moment arrived for revelations?
+And was she ready to face them? She showed none of her perturbation,
+however, but said lightly, “I went to carry Perdita her earrings, but
+there seems to be a fatality about them, for I had to bring them back
+again, as she was not there. I didn’t want to leave them, for I don’t
+exactly trust that old grandmother. She said Perdita was not at home.”
+
+“Yes, I know she was not.”
+
+“Why, has she been here?”
+
+“No. Sit down, Patty, and let us talk things over. If I am not
+mistaken, there has been some deception going on.”
+
+Patty seated herself on the stool opposite her sister, in the same spot
+she had occupied when Doña Martina looked in upon herself and Tomás
+that fatal day. “What do you mean?” she asked faintly.
+
+“I mean that either you and Tomás have been pulling the wool over my
+eyes or that you and I both are greatly deceived. That sly, designing
+girl!”
+
+“Now, Tina, please--”
+
+“I forget, you may not know, poor child. I must tell you, then, for
+your own good, that this morning I started out to see one of Juan’s
+patients and carry her some broth. I took a short cut through the woods
+and suddenly saw ahead of me Tomás and Perdita. They were so absorbed
+that they did not see me, and I turned back at once, so I suppose I
+was not seen at all, though I made no mistake in recognizing them,
+and then, Patty, dear, you were right in the very beginning. He is a
+wolf in sheep’s clothing.” She stretched out her hand and clasped her
+sister’s, “But it is better you should know before it is too late. He
+had his arm around Perdita, her head was on his shoulder and she was
+evidently crying while he tried to comfort her.” Doña Martina’s voice
+shook as she spoke.
+
+Patty nervously withdrew her hand. “I think I can explain it,” she
+said. “I believe I know why Perdita was crying.” Then she told of what
+she had seen that morning, and of the conclusion she had drawn. “So,
+you see,” she said with a little half smile, “it will settle any affair
+between Tomás and Perdita, and I suppose they were taking a last sad
+farewell.”
+
+Her sister regarded her with surprised eyes. “But, Patty,” she cried,
+“you take it so calmly. Don’t you really care that Tomás has been
+trifling with both of you?”
+
+“He hasn’t been, Tina, dear. Oh, I know I am a sad sinner, but really
+Tomás and I have never had the little tender meetings you imagine.
+The whole world might have heard what we had to say, so far as we
+personally are concerned. That day when you came upon us in here, I had
+just promised to stand by him and Perdita, who have been in love with
+each other for two years, and he was only expressing his gratitude.
+Now, wait a minute before you say anything. They felt that they could
+not grieve Juan, who has been so good to them both, and so they have
+kept the affair a secret. Neither one would have been willing to marry
+without Juan’s consent, and would even have given up one another, but
+I advised them to wait and see what time would develop. You see what
+has happened and you ought to feel terribly sorry for them instead of
+blaming them. It is not in the least surprising that a young man left
+entirely alone, as Tomás was, should find consolation in the loveliest
+girl in the vicinity, or that she should give her love to him, and I
+think they are to be pitied.”
+
+“I do feel sorry for them. But, Patty, were you never the least in love
+with Tomás?”
+
+“Never, never. We are excellent friends, and all of that getting off
+by ourselves and the whisperings were because we wanted to discuss
+all this which I have been telling you. Perdita is a darling and I am
+perfectly disgusted that she is to marry that old mummy.”
+
+“But you only surmise that.”
+
+“To be sure. Yet I think all points that way, don’t you?”
+
+“I must confess I do.” Doña Martina sat silent with hands folded across
+the table, a look of sadness upon her fine face. Presently she sighed
+deeply. “Patty,” she said, “I didn’t think you could so deceive your
+sister. I think that part grieves me more than all the rest.”
+
+“Oh, I know I am a perfect wretch, but I didn’t realize till I was in
+the thick of it, and then I didn’t like to go back on my word. At first
+I did it only to tease you. I thought it was such fun to pretend that
+Tomás and I were smitten with one another, but after a while I got
+deeper and deeper into the affair. I felt so conscience-smitten and you
+were such a darling. I realize that I am a perfect ingrate, and I feel
+as grieved about myself as you do.” The tears came to her eyes. “It has
+taught me a lesson and I shall never again put my finger into another
+such a pie. Please say you forgive me, Tina, and that you are sorry for
+Tomás and Perdita.”
+
+“I forgive you, Patty, of course, though I am dreadfully hurt that you
+should have acted so, yet on the whole I think I am relieved that it is
+not Tomás. I tried to make the best of it and would have accepted the
+situation gracefully, I hope, but now that it seems probable that Juan
+will cut loose from here after a little, and that Tomás will probably
+go to Mexico, we should have been separated after all, and I am glad to
+keep my sister near me for a while, naughty as she is.”
+
+“And are you sorry it is not for her that the grand _palacio_ is to be
+fitted up?”
+
+“Not in the least. I know your mind on that subject.” She was silent
+for a moment, then she said, “There is another thing, Patty, although I
+see now that I was wrong in thinking you might be trifling with Tomás;
+what about Robert Lisle? I am afraid he thinks a great deal of you.”
+
+Patty’s head drooped and she played nervously with her handkerchief,
+folding and unfolding it on the table. “What makes you think that?” she
+at last found voice to say.
+
+“He has just been here, you know, and from what he said, I gathered
+that he--cared--but, as he said, he has his way to make and he has
+no right to speak. He said that in time he hoped to be sufficiently
+established to be able to offer a home to the woman he wished to marry.
+In the meantime, it was not honorable, he thought, for him to stand in
+the way of a worthier man or of a more prosperous marriage, should one
+offer. So he must keep silence.”
+
+“And then?”
+
+“And then,” her sister gave a searching look at the still downcast
+face, “oh, Patty, I told him that it was Tomás, and oh, dear, he
+looked like one smitten and I was afraid you have been playing with him
+instead of Tomás. I was so possessed with the idea that it was Tomás,
+you see, and I thought it would be kinder to let him go without seeing
+you, and so--he has gone.”
+
+“Not gone altogether? He is coming back to say good-bye to me? You
+don’t mean gone away from here?” Patty stretched out her hands
+imploringly.
+
+“I am afraid so. It did seem better. He left his good-byes and best
+wishes for your happiness.” There was real distress in Doña Martina’s
+tones.
+
+“And he will go to England, and she has light hair!” cried Patty
+wildly. “Oh, Tina, what have you done? What have you done?”
+
+“I didn’t know, dear. I didn’t know. Oh, if you had only confided in
+me.”
+
+“I didn’t confide in myself, and I didn’t know either, not till this
+time when he came back. I had been unhappy sometimes, but I didn’t know
+why, and when he came into the chapel yesterday I was never so glad
+to see anyone in all my life and then--I knew--but I thought he was
+going to stay on and on and on, and it was like a beautiful dream that
+I didn’t want to waken from. I thought--I almost knew he cared--but I
+wanted the secret all to myself until--until he really said so. Oh,
+Tina, don’t say he has actually gone. He couldn’t have. Why, it is
+only a few minutes ago I saw him walking down the road.”
+
+“I know dear child, but I think he meant to put the matter to a test
+to-day, for he told me he should be able to make the train, and I have
+heard it whistle since we sat here. I fancy he was prepared for what he
+might hear from me.”
+
+Patty still held out shaking hands. “Why didn’t you tell me at once--at
+once?” She felt that she could have rushed after him, have gone on
+wings of mad longing and have intercepted him before he should get away.
+
+“Because, dear, as I have told you, I didn’t dream but that it was
+Tomás, and I was so full of that as the prime matter of importance that
+I let the other go till I should have discussed the thing that was
+uppermost in my mind. However,” she added comfortingly, “I will send a
+note to the _fonda_ at once, in case he is still there. I will go now
+and write so that Anita can take it.”
+
+“Did he say where he was going from here?” inquired Patty, lifting her
+head, which she had dropped on her arms.
+
+“No. He said he would write me when he felt equal to it, poor boy.”
+
+“Don’t, don’t,” wailed Patty. “It isn’t your fault, Tina; it is all
+mine, all, all. I’ve been an idiot all the way through. I’ve been a
+silly, stupid, ungrateful wretch and I haven’t been true to anyone.”
+
+“Except Tomás and Perdita, dear girl, and you have been too true to
+them. After all, as I think of it, I am the only one with whom you have
+not been quite sincere, for now I know about Tomás, I don’t see that
+you have been untrue to any other than your cross old sister.”
+
+“You’re not cross; you are a darling; the best sister in the world. It
+is I who have been all in the wrong and I am being punished for it.”
+She dropped her head again.
+
+Her sister leaned over and passed her hand caressingly over the dark
+hair. “I will go and send the note now, dear, and if he has not gone we
+can soon set the matter right. Do you care so much you would be willing
+to wait, perhaps for years, Patty, darling?”
+
+“I’d wait for him years, yes, a lifetime. I am young and I have
+you, Tina. Oh, keep me close beside you. I am so miserable! I am so
+miserable! How can anyone be so unhappy all of a sudden?”
+
+“It isn’t irretrievable, dearest.” Her sister knelt down beside her. “I
+can write to England; we know where his grandfather lives, and I will
+send a letter there telling of my mistake.”
+
+“Oh, but you mustn’t--you mustn’t say it makes any difference to me; I
+couldn’t stand that.”
+
+“Dear little sister, trust to me. I will manage so he will know that
+it is not Tomás, and that will be enough.”
+
+With this comfort and the hope that the young man really might not
+have gone, Patty was obliged to be satisfied, but she sat in the
+summer-house alone while her sister went to despatch the note. She
+heard Anita go forth and knew it would be nearly an hour before she
+could be expected to return, yet still she sat and waited. After a long
+time she heard her sister’s footsteps, though she did not dare to hope,
+but,--ah, if it should be!
+
+Doña Martina came softly in and laid a hand on the bowed head. “I am so
+grieved to tell you, dear little girl, but he had gone.”
+
+“I knew it, I knew it,” murmured Patty.
+
+“Tomás has come in and he looks as unhappy as you. Oh, you poor
+children, you poor children, all of you so miserable. I think, dear, if
+you will consider, the plight of Tomás and Perdita is far worse than
+yours, for theirs is hopeless while yours is not.”
+
+“We don’t know that,” returned Patty, whose thoughts had been very
+busy. “He may go straight off and marry Miss Moffatt.”
+
+“And who is she?”
+
+“The girl his grandfather wants him to marry.”
+
+“Oh, I didn’t know about her. I must not delay in writing to him,
+then. I will find an excuse this very night and I will make a point
+of putting my own name and address on the outside of the envelope.”
+This she did, and the days lagged heavily enough till a reply might be
+expected, but none came; instead the letter was returned with “Address
+unknown” written across it.
+
+Meanwhile Perdita had gone to Llanes to remain a couple of weeks
+while her wardrobe was being prepared. Only once had Patty seen her
+and that was when she came to say good-bye. With heavy eyes the two
+looked on one another, each so filled with her own sorrow that she had
+nothing but commonplaces in the way of speech. Patty gave the earrings
+as a parting gift; Perdita brought as a last token a piece of her
+embroidery. So they parted and who could tell what turn of fate would
+bring them together again?
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVIII
+
+                                 WAITING
+
+
+It was not long after Perdita’s departure that Tomás, too, left home
+to take a position in Mexico which had been secured for him by some
+friends of his brother’s, and with him gone Patty felt that she had
+lost her last young companion. The two had become fast friends and
+comrades, and with the utter disappearance of Robert Lisle, and with
+Perdita removed, Don Juan and his wife sometimes whispered to one
+another that perhaps, after all, the one’s brother and the other’s
+sister might find consolation in a mature affection in the years to
+come. “One so seldom marries one’s first love,” remarked Doña Martina,
+“and they are all so young, of course they will recover, especially as
+they are so entirely separated from the objects of their affection.”
+She had, nevertheless, written to her Uncle Henry Beckwith, had asked
+if any news had been had of Robert Lisle, and in time received the
+reply that at last reports he was about to go to South Africa with a
+party of Englishmen, and that nothing had been heard from him since.
+
+South Africa! To Patty this might as well have been out of the world.
+She could no longer be called the Glad Lady, though her natural
+exuberance would often come to the front, yet her face had become
+more thoughtful, the girlish roundness was departing from it, and the
+knowledge of womanhood’s reality showed in the expression of the lovely
+eyes. She spent much time in the little chapel where she and Robert had
+last met, and would sit there in front of St. Anthony lost in dreams.
+If only she had not gone that morning to Perdita’s with the earrings.
+Such a slight thing to change one’s whole life, “The little more and
+how much it is--” When her thoughts had traveled over and over the same
+ground till they maddened her, she would get up and go out to Guido,
+who, in these days, was more petted than ever before. He had grown
+so sleek and fat that his former master would never have recognized
+him. Indeed, with his pretty new harness and trappings, Patty had
+taken delight in showing him off to Don Felipe, who could scarcely
+believe this to be the forlorn, scrubby little beast which the beggar
+had ridden. “So, you see,” Patty had said, “after all, it was a great
+bargain,” a fact which Don Felipe was obliged to admit, if unwillingly.
+
+The old don came often, generally with a roll of drawings tucked
+under his arm. These would be spread out and much discussed, for they
+represented plans for alterations or decorations, and in them Patty
+took a lively interest, although she felt many pangs of sympathy for
+Perdita, lonely and homesick away off in Madrid, for thus far had she
+gone.
+
+“This room would be charming in rose pink,” said Patty one day, when
+she had been going over some plans with Don Felipe. “She would look
+lovely against such a background with her hair and eyes.”
+
+The old don gave a suspicious glance from his sharp eyes.
+
+“Oh, you needn’t think you are going to surprise us all so very much,”
+Patty went on, the old mischief returning to her face. “I have pretty
+good reasons for believing our friend Perdita will some day grace your
+_palacio_.”
+
+“And why?” The man looked down and nervously fumbled at the edge of the
+paper he was holding.
+
+“Well, in the first place, I saw you were much impressed the day I
+presented her as the Señorita Gonzalez, and in the second place, I
+happened to see you one day when you were having an interview with her
+grandmother, and then, when it became apparent that you were fitting up
+your house for the reception of a young wife, it was not difficult to
+draw conclusions, was it?”
+
+Don Felipe smiled. “Well, you will admit that I have shown good taste,”
+he remarked.
+
+“Excellent; I never saw a more beautiful girl, and she is as good as
+she is lovely.”
+
+“I believe that, otherwise--but now, since you have put this and that
+together so cleverly, you must let me thank you for showing such favor
+to her, and for permitting me to become acquainted with the beauty and
+virtues of the future mistress of my house. I have but one more request
+to make, and that is that you will respect my secret until such time as
+I may be ready to make it public. It is a little whim of mine to give a
+surprise to my friends at large.”
+
+“You do not mind my sister’s knowing, do you? She already suspects.”
+
+“No, for I am sure you are both honorable ladies, who can be discreet
+as well as silent when occasion requires.”
+
+“You can depend upon us, Don Felipe,” returned Patty quietly. Poor
+Perdita, so there was no longer any doubt, and poor Tomás!
+
+When Don Felipe had carried off his papers and his coach had borne him
+away, Patty sought her sister. “It is quite true, Tina,” she said; “Don
+Felipe has confessed that it is Perdita for whom he is getting the
+house ready, but he bound me over to secrecy, or, at least, he said you
+could know, too, but he trusted to us not to tell anyone. He was really
+very nice about it, and if it were not for Tomás, I should feel that
+Perdita need not be pitied after all, for from her point of view she
+will be making a great match.”
+
+“Yes, there is not a doubt of that, and of course we can understand
+that he doesn’t want the subject made the talk of the province, as
+it would be. I quite respect his desire to keep it a secret. I am
+surprised, however, that he should be spending all this on his house
+for a bride who is unused to any such splendor.”
+
+“That is just it, I think; he wants to dazzle her, and play up to his
+character of King Cophetua. Then, too, I think he will enjoy seeing her
+beauty in a proper setting; he has not an inartistic taste, that old
+don.”
+
+“I suppose he has made us the recipients of his confidences because he
+is aware that we know few people, and that, as two foreigners, we would
+be less likely to noise the matter abroad.”
+
+“Very likely that is it, yet I think he is really fond of us, in his
+way.”
+
+“I think he was very fond of you, and maybe still is, in a certain way.
+I am sure it was only Perdita who could have cut you out.”
+
+Patty laughed. “Well, it is too late now for any regrets, isn’t it? I
+wouldn’t look badly myself in that rose-colored room. Tina,” she went
+on after a pause, “suppose he should die, or Catalina should, before
+the two years are up, no one could force her to marry him, for Tomás
+told me she has sworn that she will never, never consent willingly,
+and that she will be true to him.”
+
+“She knows, then?”
+
+“She suspects, or at least only suspected at first. Don Felipe had been
+to the house two or three times, had talked to her quite as one on
+intimate terms, and he gave her a parting gift of a handsome jewel, so
+you see she had to believe it, though she has all along clung to the
+idea that it was her father in South America who was doing all this
+for her. Her grandmother insisted that she should accept whatever Don
+Felipe offered and became very angry one day and threatened to tell the
+_cura_ when Perdita protested. She still believes that her father may
+prove the one hope on which she can rely to escape, yet as she does not
+know where he is, and the grandmother would move heaven and earth in
+order to further this marriage, I don’t see that there is much chance.
+Tomás told me most of all this. Tina, if any one of these things did
+happen, would Juan be willing to accept Perdita?” the girl asked after
+a pause.
+
+“Oh, my dear, I don’t know. He was much cut up when he first heard
+of the affair, but since all has turned out this way he has scarcely
+referred to the matter again, for, indeed, there seemed no need to.”
+
+“Two years--they have been in love with each other for two years,” said
+Patty thoughtfully.
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“Oh, they have confided everything in me. It was after his mother’s
+death, and Tomás was lonely and for a time not well. Perdita used
+to come to his housekeeper with messages from her grandmother, and
+once when the old housekeeper was ill Perdita stayed to help her,
+and in that way the two became better acquainted, and so it began.
+Then he would sometimes, as if by accident, walk in her direction, or
+they would meet on the road when he had been to see Father Ignacio,
+and after a while they met more and more frequently, then one day a
+_vacquero_ coming along said something impertinent to Perdita and Tomás
+was furious; that was when they found out how much they cared, and
+after that they would meet secretly, for they did not want anyone to
+talk about them. Tomás felt that Perdita’s reputation must not suffer,
+though all the time Tomás declared they must marry as soon as they
+could. No doubt they would have done so, if we had not all appeared on
+the scene. Poor dears, how unhappy they must be.”
+
+“It is a pity, a great pity,” said Doña Martina slowly. “That is what
+comes of shutting oneself away from companions of one’s own class. If
+Tomás had met girls of the proper kind, he would have escaped this
+unfortunate attachment.”
+
+“But the poor lad; he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t leave his
+mother when she needed him, and was the only child left to her.”
+
+“I know, I know,” interrupted Doña Martina hastily. “I am not blaming
+him, Patty. I am only saying it was unfortunate.”
+
+“And I am sure,” Patty went on, “that if Perdita is good enough for Don
+Felipe to marry, she ought to be good enough for Tomás.”
+
+“We won’t discuss that,” said Doña Martina. “I am sorry Tomás is still
+so unhappy. I have no doubt the poor boy is homesick, yet there is
+nothing to be done, I am afraid.” She was too tactful to suggest that
+they would probably recover from their present state of unhappiness,
+that they were both too young to mourn long, for she knew that Patty,
+at least, was still sore at heart. She looked tenderly at the girl, who
+sat there with listless hands in her lap. “Poor darling,” she thought,
+“I wish we could help her, but there is no healer except Time.” “Shall
+you go to Paulette’s wedding?” she asked presently.
+
+Patty shook her head. “No, I shouldn’t enjoy it, and besides I want to
+be with you at Christmas. We haven’t had one together for two years.”
+
+“We must try to make as happy a time of it as possible, then. Don’t
+look so hopeless, dear. You know that it isn’t impossible that we hear
+any day from Uncle Henry of someone’s whereabouts. He must write to his
+friends at Christmas time, so don’t be so downhearted.”
+
+“South Africa seems out of the universe,” Patty made answer, “and
+then, too, there is Miss Moffatt; that is the worst part of it. If he
+turns to her there will be an end to it.”
+
+“Yes, but we came to the conclusion that he must have been very decided
+about his intentions in that direction or else his grandfather would
+not have quarreled with him. We know they couldn’t be on good terms,
+else my letter would not have been returned in the way it was.”
+
+“I have gone over all that times without number,” responded Patty
+wearily, “but just the same there is the chance of his making up with
+his grandfather on that very ground. That is the trouble and when we
+shall at last have heard it will be too late.”
+
+There was nothing to say to this except, “But it may not be so. Let us
+look on the bright side and wait to see.”
+
+“I am waiting. I have been waiting. It seems to me as if I must keep on
+waiting till I am old and worn out with it all,” returned Patty with a
+sudden burst of passion.
+
+“You are too much alone,” her sister averred. “I quite agree with Juan
+that it would be best to winter in Paris. It may be a little more
+expensive, but I think it will be better for both of you. He is getting
+restless, and as for you, these lonely walks and rides are not the
+thing at all.”
+
+“I’d really rather not go,” Patty rejoined. “I couldn’t take Guido nor
+the chapel, and they are such a comfort.”
+
+Her sister shook her head. The girl must indeed be in a morbid state
+when these two things were all her solace, and she was more than ever
+decided that it would be best to make a change.
+
+Therefore, to Paris they went, and if its gay scenes did not entirely
+satisfy Patty’s longings, they at least roused her to a more wholesome
+attitude of mind, so that the color came back to her cheeks and the
+shadows under her eyes lessened.
+
+They stopped on their way at Poitiers in order to have a glimpse of
+Paulette, who, voluble and important, was absorbed in her coming
+wedding and displayed her trousseau with much satisfaction. She begged
+Patty to remain, but her refusal did not make for much disappointment,
+since Paulette’s own affairs were the main issue, and no one but her
+fiancé possessed powers to interfere with her content. He seemed a
+pleasant, commonplace person, distinctly bourgeois, but adoring his
+chic little betrothed, in whom he saw all the beauties and virtues of
+womanhood combined.
+
+The finding of a proper apartment was at first a matter of interest,
+and Patty could but show some concern in this, then when it was finally
+decided upon, the getting settled and the becoming acquainted with the
+neighborhood served to take her thoughts from purely personal matters.
+
+Perhaps the most interesting experience of the winter was the meeting
+of an English girl who knew the quiet Miss Moffatt, and who had met
+Robert Lisle. That there was no announced engagement, Patty learned
+to her satisfaction, that there ever would be was a matter of mere
+conjecture, for, said Alice Brainerd: “Beatrice has several admirers
+and you know it is ‘out of sight out of mind,’ more than once.” If
+this latter remark contained also a grain of discomfort, the other
+information overbalanced it, so that Patty was not quite so unhappy as
+she had been.
+
+Once in a while came news from Kentucky, and sometimes there was a
+slight reference to Robert, but there was never any more said of his
+whereabouts, and Patty was as much in the dark as ever.
+
+The English girl, Alice Brainerd, was a student at the art school
+where Doña Martina sometimes went to practise water-color, which she
+did rather well and of which she was very fond. She often brought Miss
+Brainerd home for a cup of afternoon tea and it was in this way that
+they all became good friends. Alice Brainerd came in one day with her
+sketch book, in which she had been making a pencil drawing at the
+afternoon sketch class.
+
+Patty picked up the book and began looking it over. “Who is this?” she
+asked, pausing before the head of a meek looking girl with smooth hair
+and gentle eyes.
+
+“Oh, that is Beatrice Moffatt. Didn’t I ever show it to you? It is not
+so very good, however.”
+
+Patty studied the face long and earnestly. “She looks as if she were
+very good,” at last she said.
+
+“She is good; very pious, you know, very gentle, yet she can be as
+obstinate as anybody. That meek sort of person often is. I don’t
+believe Bee has an enemy, yet she can be the most exasperating person I
+ever saw.”
+
+“Yes?” Patty turned over the pages and suddenly the color rushed to
+her face. She closed the book hurriedly and went to the window. “Tea
+does make one so warm,” she presently remarked. Yet an irresistible
+force drew her back to the book. Now that she was forewarned she could
+continue her inspection, and she did so leisurely, beginning back of
+the page which had so stirred her emotions and inquiring who this or
+that one might be. “Who is this?” finally she asked after a seemingly
+indifferent glance at the drawing of a man in a Norfolk jacket with
+golf stick in hand.
+
+“Oh, don’t you recognize that? It doesn’t speak very well for my powers
+of portraiture. That is Rob Lisle,” came the answer. “I did that the
+only time I ever met him. He came down to the Moffatts’ for the week’s
+end, and I was there at the time.”
+
+“O, yes, I believe I do recognize it,” said Patty lightly, as she
+handed the book to her sister. “It isn’t bad, is it, Tina?”
+
+Doña Martina took the book and gazed at the figure. Miss Brainerd had
+caught a characteristic pose and an expression as well. “It is really
+quite like,” she declared, then looking up she read an appealing look
+in Patty’s eyes, a look she could not stand. “Do you care for it, Miss
+Brainerd? I mean would you spare it? I’d really like to have a drawing
+of yours and you know we agreed to exchange sometime.”
+
+“Fancy your liking it. I have later things that are much better,”
+returned Miss Brainerd.
+
+“Well, you see it has the double advantage of being your work and of
+being the portrait of a friend, one might really say a connection. You
+may choose from any of these in exchange;” and she opened a portfolio
+of her own water-colors.
+
+“I’m decidedly getting the best of the bargain,” maintained Miss
+Brainerd, turning over the sheets before her.
+
+“If you feel that way about it, I surely don’t,” return Doña Martina
+lightly. “Then I may cut this out? Patty, there is a penknife on my
+desk yonder.”
+
+Patty brought the knife, as she did so stooping to give her sister’s
+shoulder a loving pat. “Darling,” she whispered.
+
+Doña Martina smiled a response. She knew what it would mean to the girl
+to possess the little sketch, and at the same time she could but regret
+a little her own impetuosity in securing it. However, she did not
+hesitate to hand the drawing to Patty after Miss Brainerd had gone and
+she received such thanks as robbed her of all regrets in the matter.
+
+The little picture was a great comfort to its possessor. Somehow it
+seemed to bring Robert nearer to her; Africa did not appear such an
+unreal place with those eyes looking straight out at her below the
+level brows. Clear blue eyes they were, steadfast and honest. “I don’t
+believe it will be Miss Moffatt,” Patty soothed her fears by saying,
+“and if it is ever anyone else it will not be for some time.” So she
+took heart of grace and pinned the picture on her wall, where it
+performed the office of consoler during many days to come.
+
+Of Perdita they never heard. Behind convent walls she was kept strictly
+and, as was expected, was allowed no intercourse with her friends.
+Paulette came up for her wedding trip, serene and triumphant in new
+clothes, and very self-satisfied with her big stupid husband, who
+could stand, smile, and admire, if he could do nothing else. The
+wedding being over the next matter of interest was the home, and of
+this Paulette chattered continually, till all were rather relieved
+when the two departed. There were a few days given to the sisters
+in the convent where Patty had spent her two years and where she as
+visitor was made much of by Sister Cecile and the rest. The peace of
+it all went to Patty’s heart, and she came back to alarm her sister by
+saying that she would like to be a nun, though credit must be given
+to Miss Brainerd’s sketch for quickly shattering that dream and after
+twenty-four hours no more was said of it.
+
+So the winter days passed, not unpleasantly, and, at times, even gayly,
+while each day brought more buoyancy to the girl’s heart and newer
+hope to her future. Possibilities loomed up grandly at times, and
+imagination carried her across seas to a meeting which some day might
+take place.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XIX
+
+                          DON FELIPE’S SURPRISE
+
+
+Spring in Paris, flower-girls on the corners, trees bursting into leaf
+in the parks re-created that longing which comes to young hearts who
+suffer, and coming in one day with her hands full of spring blossoms,
+Patty said, “Aren’t we going back, Tina? Think how lovely it would be
+to see the apple-trees in bloom, to watch the spring green creeping
+over the mountains. If we can’t be in Kentucky, can’t we be in
+Asturias?”
+
+“Juan was saying the same thing to-day. Do you really want to go?
+Doesn’t Paris satisfy you?”
+
+“Oh, no, it never could. You know I came only under protest, although
+I have liked it, and I am sure it has been better for me to be here,
+but I want to see Guido and the pigeons and all the dear warm-hearted
+people, even Don Felipe I wouldn’t mind seeing, and I am sure there
+will be much to talk about when we have been taken to the _palacio_
+to see what has been going on in the way of alterations. I wish Tomás
+could be with us,” she added after a pause.
+
+“Poor boy, no doubt he wishes so, too. Have you heard from him to-day,
+Patty?”
+
+“Yes, and he says my Spanish is improving. It was a good suggestion of
+yours that we should correspond, for I am sure it has helped me with
+the language, besides giving me something to do. I shall be very glib
+this time. Tomás can write quite a respectable letter in English, and
+sometimes almost clever ones. I really look forward to getting them.”
+
+Her sister smiled. Spring was returning and should not joy come to
+life? When Tomás came back who knew what might happen? Maybe they would
+all go out to Mexico before the two years were over, and propinquity
+was such a factor in matters of the heart.
+
+“What are you looking so pleased about?” asked Patty.
+
+“Was I looking pleased? I was thinking about the letter, about Tomás
+and his English, and of the two or three words which were all he knew
+when we first met. Well, dearie, I am sure Juan will be only too glad
+to get back to his native heath. He can work better there, he says, and
+I am sure this book of his ought to be finished before fall. It has
+been hanging fire too long, and I know he will not object to the quiet
+of the country.”
+
+Patty went to her room and began cheerfully to gather up some of
+her belongings to take away with her. She even sang a little tune
+to herself, and was glad, glad to think of the long _carretera_, of
+the purple mountains and blue skies of Spain, even of the creaking
+cow-carts and the lusty calls of the _vacqueros_. It would be good to
+see little gray Guido and to hear his blatant braying, to see Manuela’s
+welcoming smile, and to receive Don Felipe’s stale compliments would
+not seem hard. She wondered if the drops of wax from the candle before
+St. Anthony still remained as they had fallen that day so long ago, and
+if the winter rains had found their way through the roof of the old
+chapel.
+
+All these things were discovered to be quite as she had left them when,
+a week later, she arrived with her sister and brother. “In Spain, at
+least, one is spared many changes,” she remarked to her sister, as she
+leaned over the balcony and dropped crumbs to the pigeons. “There are a
+few more pigeons, and the vines have climbed a little higher. I suppose
+Don Felipe will not have changed a tooth, nor have altered a hair. He
+will be coming as soon as he knows we are here.”
+
+But no Don Felipe ever came riding that way again, for the day after
+their arrival Don Juan appeared with a grave face. “I have heard sad
+reports of our friend, Don Felipe,” he informed his wife and sister.
+“He is seriously ill.”
+
+“Oh, dear, I am so sorry.” Patty spoke with genuine concern. “I really
+looked forward to his coming to-day.”
+
+“I fear he will never come again,” said Don Juan.
+
+“Is it as bad as that?” questioned his wife.
+
+“It is very serious. He is in a state of coma and has been for some
+hours.”
+
+The next day the great _palacio_ of Felipe Velasco had lost its owner.
+The work was left unfinished where the men had been busy restoring the
+old rooms. The stuffs of rose and gold and crimson lay untouched, for
+the flowers which had climbed to window and balcony peeped in to see a
+still form lying with candles at head and feet.
+
+“And Perdita?” said Patty, looking at her sister, when Don Juan, who
+had brought the news, left them alone. “What of Perdita and Tomás?”
+
+“We can’t face that yet, Patty, dear.” Her sister shook her head sadly.
+
+“But couldn’t I write to Tomás. It takes so long for a letter to reach
+him.”
+
+“Wait a little and we shall be able to decide. It is a hard problem,
+dear, and we cannot hurry with it. Juan is too troubled over this loss
+of his friend to discuss anything else at present.”
+
+So Patty was obliged to give in, though she yearned to tell the news.
+She felt really sorry that the old don had gone from them. She would
+miss seeing his coach driving up the road; she would miss, too, the
+sound of his cackling laugh over some joke of hers or her brother’s.
+She wondered who would live in the big house. She understood there were
+no very near relatives and she supposed the place would be shut up or
+occupied by strangers. “Poor old Don Felipe,” she sighed, “after all he
+didn’t get the thing he expected; who does in this world?”
+
+“Ave Maria,” said Manuela, who had come in, “but it will be a fine
+funeral.” She crossed herself devoutly. “God rest his soul, but he was
+a great man, little as he was in stature. Shall you go, señorita?”
+
+“My brother and sister will, of course, and perhaps I may, too.”
+
+“It will not pass here,” continued Manuela. “You have not heard,
+perhaps, who will take the _oblada_.”
+
+“And what is that?” asked Patty curiously.
+
+“Oh, surely you must know, señorita. It is the offering of meat and
+drink.”
+
+“And what is done with it?”
+
+“It is taken to the priest after the true funeral when the mass is
+said. Sometimes the branches are planted, but the corn never, for it
+would not grow.”
+
+Patty looked inquiringly.
+
+“You do not know what is in the _macona_, perhaps, señorita. Under the
+cloth are two bottles of wine and the corn; the branches are plain
+enough.”
+
+Then Patty remembered to have seen in the funeral processions a woman
+walking directly behind the bier and carrying a _macona_, or round
+basket, covered with a white cloth. Always a green branch stood out
+each side of the basket, and the two hornlike protuberances under the
+cloth were the bottles of wine.
+
+“There will be meat, too, no doubt, in the _macona_ on the day of Don
+Felipe’s funeral,” went on Manuela.
+
+“And the corn; you said it would not grow, Manuela. Why?”
+
+The woman shook her head. “No one knows, señorita, but it is well known
+that the corn of an _oblada_ never comes up if planted.”
+
+The next day Patty had a chance to observe the _oblada_ at the funeral
+of the old hidalgo, but it received little of her attention, for, to
+the surprise of all present, a young woman shrouded in black was the
+chief mourner. “It is Perdita,” whispered Patty to her sister. “I
+cannot be mistaken,” and her conjectures occupied more of her thoughts
+than the intoning of the priest. Had Don Felipe married the girl after
+all? He must have done so secretly and have then sent her back to the
+convent to complete her studies; there was no other explanation. It was
+well Patty had not written the letter to Tomás, as she had at first
+been eager to do, for she could not have given all the surprising
+news. Her thoughts ran on during all the rest of the service, and at
+last when she came away it was with a determination to hunt up Perdita
+the next day.
+
+This she attempted to do, but no Perdita was at the little farmstead,
+neither was old Catalina there, and those who were either could not or
+would not tell of their whereabouts.
+
+The following day, however, a servant came with a note, only a few
+lines for Patty. Could she come on a certain day and hour if she were
+sent for? The note was signed, “Perdita.” There was no hesitancy in
+Patty’s acceptance and she waited impatiently for the message. It came
+with the arrival from the _palacio_ of Don Felipe’s coach, which had
+been sent for the Señorita Patty.
+
+“Now we shall know all about it,” said Doña Martina with satisfaction,
+as she parted from her sister. “I shall be eager to hear what you have
+to tell, Patty, so don’t stay any longer than you can help.” Patty
+promised and drove away in state.
+
+As she was taken up the long avenue her thoughts flew back to a year
+prior to this, when she had first entered the place and had been
+greeted so ceremoniously by its owner. What changes in a year. Now it
+was Perdita who stood at the head of the steps. Not the peasant girl,
+Perdita, but a tall queenly lady in deep mourning, who greeted her
+warmly, but with the manner of one who receives an equal.
+
+Work on the various rooms had been arrested, but the restoration in
+most was carried so far as to give a different aspect to the place, a
+fact of which Patty was rather glad. Through a long suite of apartments
+Perdita led her friend. In one of the rooms was sitting old Catalina
+with still the peasant’s black handkerchief tied over her head.
+“Grandmother, this is the señorita Pattee, whom you will remember,”
+said Perdita.
+
+Patty stopped for a moment to greet the old woman and then was ushered
+into the next room, the door was closed and she was alone with--Doña
+Perdita Velasco de Gonzalez, was it?
+
+The room was one of the suite which Patty remembered Don Felipe had set
+aside for the use of “my young lady,” as he always said in referring to
+her, and was the one which Patty had suggested should be upholstered in
+rose-color. The walls and floors were finished, the former in French
+style with garlands of roses, the latter of polished wood was covered
+with Persian rugs in soft dull tints. The old furniture remained and
+the black rafters.
+
+Perdita drew Patty to a seat by the window which overlooked stretches
+of mountain pasture. “Are you surprised to see me here?” she asked.
+
+“Not altogether,” admitted Patty. “Not after seeing you at the
+funeral. Of course, Perdita, we were surprised then, for though we knew
+you would eventually be married we did not know that you were already
+Doña Perdita Velasco de Gonzalez.”
+
+A mysterious smile came to Perdita’s lips. “I am not married,” she
+said, “but I am the señorita Perdita Velasco de Gonzalez.”
+
+“What do you mean?” asked Patty, in bewilderment, differences of
+Spanish titles being as yet a little unfamiliar to her.
+
+“I mean,” said Perdita, “that Don Felipe was my father.”
+
+“Perdita!” Patty nearly jumped from her seat in surprise. “How long
+have you known this?”
+
+“Only for a very few days. I was hurriedly sent for to return home.
+The sisters hastened me off, one of them came with me. I went to my
+grandmother who was much agitated. ‘Your father is very ill,’ she said.
+‘You must remain here with me till we see what happens.’ The next day
+Don Felipe died. He was unconscious and I did not see him, for which I
+am very sorry. My grandmother then told me.”
+
+“But she had said your father’s name was Pedro Ramon.”
+
+“She was right; his name was Don Pedro Felipe Ramon Velasco. She was
+afraid he might not acknowledge me, but yesterday the lawyer opened
+the will and he has left nearly all he possessed to me, his daughter,
+Perdita. There are some bequests to the church and to one or two
+friends. I will tell you of these later; but I am his acknowledged
+daughter and heiress.” She threw up her head proudly, then her eyes
+softened and she stretched out her hands. “Tell me of Tomás, and will
+they object now?”
+
+“Oh, Perdita, how could they? Oh, my dear, I am so glad for you, so
+very glad. And after all, Don Felipe was laughing in his sleeve while
+he prepared his surprise. He admitted it was you for whom he was
+getting his house ready, and he asked us to keep it a secret which of
+course we did. I remember now that he never referred to you as anything
+but ‘_mia señorita_.’ How clever he was to fool us all, poor old Don
+Felipe.”
+
+Perdita sighed. “I am sorry he did not live long enough for me to give
+him a daughter’s affection, yet, my dear friend, I believe if it had
+not been for you I might never have come to this estate, for do you
+remember that time you dressed me up and he seemed so aghast at my
+appearance?”
+
+“Indeed, I remember well, and we thought it an old man’s admiration for
+a beautiful girl.”
+
+“It was more than that; it was because I appeared to him as a vision of
+my mother whom they say I am very like. He truly loved her and carried
+her miniature with him to the day of his death. I will show it to you
+and you can see my resemblance to her. Would you like to hear how he
+came to marry her?”
+
+“I would indeed.”
+
+“She was a peasant girl such as I was, and one day he came to my
+grandmother’s home, being belated by a storm and his horse having gone
+lame. They took him in and my mother served him with the best the
+house could afford. Don Felipe was even then an elderly man, fifty or
+more, but he was much overcome by my mother’s looks, her sweetness and
+modesty. He came again and again, always with some excuse. There was
+a young man who wished to marry my mother and when Don Felipe found
+this out he was wild with jealousy. No one had ever thwarted him and
+he was bound to possess a girl so lovely as my mother. He went to my
+grandmother and told her if she would consent to a secret marriage
+that he would take her and her daughter to Paris and marry my mother
+there; that he would always love her and be kind to her, but he could
+not bring himself to acknowledge her openly. If my grandmother swore
+never to disclose the secret while he lived he would see that she
+always had enough and to spare. It was not difficult to persuade my
+grandmother who saw comfort for the rest of her days and who could see
+only advantage in honorable marriage with so great a man, so she spoke
+to my mother, who it seems had no great fancy for anyone else, and who
+was really impressed by the favor of Don Felipe. So to Paris they went
+and were married. My grandmother went with them and after the ceremony
+was safely over she came back home telling her neighbors that my mother
+was married to one Pierre Raymond and was living in Paris, so no more
+was thought of it. My mother and father lived in Paris a year and my
+grandmother said it was Don Felipe’s pleasure to dress up his wife and
+admire her in her fine clothes, so that no wonder he was so overcome
+when he saw me. At the end of a year my mother died in giving birth to
+me. My father was wild with grief and refused to even look at me at
+first, and told my grandmother to take me away and never let him see me
+again, so she took me home with her and I was brought up as you know in
+the little _pueblo_ on the mountain.”
+
+“And he never saw you in all those years?”
+
+“Not to know me. My grandmother grew very fond of me, and was afraid
+when I grew older that he might change his mind and take me from her,
+so she never let him know I was the daughter on the rare occasions when
+she did see him, but led him to believe I was at a convent school, for
+the expense of which he paid. The money he gave her for this she kept
+for my dowry, she says, for she feared he would leave all his wealth to
+the church and she thought it but right that I should have whatever
+she could save from what he allowed for my support.”
+
+“What a romantic story,” Patty commented. “I never expected to meet a
+heroine who might have come out of a book. I do not see, however, why
+your father did not recognize you sooner.”
+
+“He was very strong in his opinions, as you may remember, and as my
+grandmother tells me. He never tried to see me and never came near
+me in all those twenty years. My grandmother thinks he was afraid to
+become fond of me lest I, too, should be taken from him and so he
+resolved it would be better not to permit me to enter his life. Yet,
+after he did see me dressed like a lady it seemed to him, so he told my
+grandmother, as if my mother had come back and as if it were she whom
+he was neglecting. Then he resolved to recognize me openly. He was very
+angry when he found out that I had not been sent to the convent school
+where he supposed me to be all that time, and he charged my grandmother
+with having grossly deceived him by pretending it was a child of my
+mother’s brother who was living with her. He said it was a disgrace
+that she should have allowed his daughter to work in the fields and my
+grandmother told him it was no more of a disgrace than that he should
+have neglected me for twenty years; so they had it. And at last it
+was agreed that I should be sent to school and learn to do as a lady
+should, so that when he took me home to him I need not make him ashamed
+of me. Have I improved, Patty? I have tried hard.”
+
+“Oh, Perdita, I think you were naturally a lady, for blood will tell,
+yet I can see that you are more at ease; you have more _savoir faire_,
+and you speak less like a child.”
+
+“My father said in his will that, in case of his death, he wished the
+improvements to be carried on as he had planned and therefore they are
+to be continued. I am glad, so glad that you have come back, for I
+should be lonely in this great house. My old neighbors will be shy of
+me, but you have always, always been good to me and have made a comrade
+of me, so I have at least one friend of my own station. And Tomás, you
+have not told me of Tomás? Ah, Patty, for his sake I rejoice in all
+this.”
+
+“He was well when we last heard, though poor lad, he has been very
+homesick. Have you never heard from him at all, Perdita?”
+
+“No, señorita,” the girl for a moment lapsed into the old phrase; “I
+was not allowed to receive letters at the convent, you remember.”
+
+“I do remember, for otherwise I should have written to you myself.”
+
+“Do you think he will come back, Patty? Do you think he will be the
+same? that he will not let all this come between us? He was willing to
+take me to his heart when he believed me poor and beneath him, will he
+be too proud, now I am his equal?”
+
+“Oh, Perdita, why should he when each has proved to the other the
+sincerity of the love you feel. Why do you not write to him yourself?”
+
+“Señorita, I am afraid. I cannot tell you why, but I am. He may have
+changed and then how pitiful to have offered myself to one who does not
+care.”
+
+“I don’t believe he has changed in the least and I shall write to him
+myself this very night.”
+
+“That is as the good friend you have always been,” returned Perdita,
+gratefully.
+
+“Have you ever thought of the gipsy’s prediction, Perdita?” Patty asked
+after a pause. “It has come true, or very nearly so, in your case. It
+is very strange, isn’t it? Quite uncanny, I think. How could she have
+known?”
+
+“I asked the _cura_ and he said it was not so strange or mysterious as
+many other things. She no doubt had noticed me in passing, and seeing
+me in your company, thought that either I was dressed below my station
+or was above it in reality. She, too, had probably seen me with Tomás
+at some time. They are very quick-witted, these gipsies, and she may
+have perceived that we were interested in one another, so it was easy
+to guess that I would rise above a peasant life. As to the death, that
+comes to all and it was no more than a chance hit. She looked so hard
+at me that I think she saw by my face when the prophecies came near the
+truth.”
+
+“No doubt that would explain much of it. As for mine, well, I do not
+think there was much mystery there, for it was easy to see I was not
+a Spaniard and an _Inglesa_ would have to cross water. As for the
+rest--well, life is not over.”
+
+There was much more to talk about and the two girls spent hours
+together, so that when Patty did at last return home her sister had
+grown so impatient at the long absence she could scarcely restrain her
+curiosity till Patty was safely indoors.
+
+However, when Patty had told her tale her sister exclaimed: “Well, I
+certainly don’t wonder that you didn’t come home sooner. With such a
+tale as that to gather up I can’t blame you. It is like a thunderbolt
+from a clear sky. What a surprise Don Felipe left us as a legacy. Juan
+will be dumb with amazement.”
+
+“And Tomás?”
+
+“Ah, and Tomás. There goes my beautiful castle for you two, my dear.
+Since he has done so well out there in Mexico, I did hope you might yet
+become fond of one another.”
+
+“We are fond of one another, and if I am not to have your castle in
+Spain, Tomás will have a _palacio_ which is quite as good to have in
+the family, for of course, now--”
+
+“Oh, of course, now--” responded her sister.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XX
+
+                            THE THREE WISHES
+
+
+Patty’s letter to Tomás might as well have not been written, for,
+several days before its arrival at its destination, the young man
+was on his way home. Don Felipe was too important an individual in
+his community not to have much made of his death and of the romantic
+and sensational appearance of a hitherto unsuspected daughter, and
+because Tomás received a weekly sheet printed in Llanes he learned the
+surprising events before he was personally notified. There was beyond
+this, another reason for his sudden return as he was selected to go
+on a business trip to his own country in the interests of the firm by
+which he was employed. Heretofore he had not seemed eager to respond to
+the suggestion, but with the news of Don Felipe’s removal from his path
+he felt he would move heaven and earth in order to reach Perdita and at
+once made application with so much enthusiasm in the undertaking, that
+he was allowed to go at once to conduct the business which would take
+him back to Spain.
+
+Meanwhile in the big _palacio_ Perdita sat and waited. Patty, who was
+fast recovering her old spirits, spent much time with her, and her
+gay laughter often enlivened the great rooms. Doña Martina, too, went
+frequently. There had been a call of state when Don Juan and his wife
+formally accepted Perdita as their brother’s betrothed, and now there
+was nothing to do but to have patience. Don Felipe had added another
+surprise, to his first, in a legacy to Don Juan of all his fine old
+reliquaries and medals, and to Patty he left a case of antique jewelry
+“in gratitude for her friendship to my daughter”; to this was added the
+sum of one hundred _pesetas_ for the purchase of a donkey, “when Guido
+shall no longer be of use.” So did Don Felipe have his little joke at
+the last and Patty could fancy the dry chuckle which might accompany
+the writing of this clause.
+
+The day of San Juan came and went, but there were no flowery boughs set
+by Patty’s window this year, nor was much made of the day except by
+Don Juan’s patients who brought their offerings as before; among these
+was a handsome gift of silver from Perdita in “grateful memory of Don
+Juan’s many kindnesses to herself and her family.” It was Perdita’s
+first act as _grand dame_, and that she enjoyed it no one doubted.
+There was no _fiesta_ this year, and the song of San Juan was not heard
+approaching nearer and nearer till it ended at the door.
+
+June days had nearly come to a close when Patty one afternoon started
+up the road alone. She had seen Perdita the day before when they had
+discussed frescoes and upholstery. The workmen had returned and Perdita
+was busy giving orders and seeing to the carrying out of her father’s
+plans. She had developed a great deal of ability in the management of
+affairs and seemed much older. The nuns had not wasted their time, for
+in place of the childish peasant girl was a self-poised, efficient
+woman.
+
+“I do miss the little peasant,” Patty said to herself, “yet I feel more
+as if I had a friend who stood on an equal footing. Tomás will find
+there is no condescension on his part.” She smiled. “I’d like to see
+the meeting.” She strolled slowly along the road. Here was the spot
+where she had seen the beggar beating his donkey. Poor old Don Felipe,
+how indignant she had been with him that day, and from the moment when
+Robert had come forward so generously she believed dated her warmer
+feeling for him. She drew a long sigh. “I suppose patience is an
+excellent virtue, but, oh dear, I wonder if it is doing any good to
+exercise it. Where is he? Where is he? Why doesn’t he come back? What
+should he come back for unless he knows, and how can he know? I suppose
+there are people who would defy fate and would do something to set the
+current moving. What could I do? Let me see. I could write to Alice
+Brainerd and tell her Perdita’s story, laying stress on the fact that
+she is to marry Tomás, and I could say that if she ever happened to
+meet Robert Lisle to tell him the tale because he would be interested,
+since he knew them both. I could do that without the least compromising
+myself. Then I could write to Aunt Mag, not to Uncle Henry, men never
+attach much importance to such things, but I could write to Aunt Mag
+and tell her the same thing. I think I will do it. He said he would
+some time go back to his old home and to his relatives in Kentucky. Oh,
+if we could only go, could only be there when he is. Maybe if I fixed
+my mind on it something will happen; it must, it must. I will make it
+happen, I will tell Tina I must go back to Kentucky, to Uncle Henry’s
+to stay till I can find out something. How can one care so much for a
+person whom one, after all, has known such a short time? But that is
+the way these things come; out of the sky, or they grow up over night.”
+
+She wandered on up the little road to the solitary place where the Lady
+of Pity looked out from behind her iron grating upon green boughs and
+rippling stream. Within the shelter of the little porch Patty found the
+old stone seat where they two had sat that day when they had brought
+Guido to be blessed. A year? was it less than a year ago? Here they had
+seen Perdita on her knees. Well, unless fate now cruelly intervened
+Perdita would have her prayer granted. And the three wishes. The
+_inxanos_ had kept fatally silent. “They evidently don’t understand
+English,” said Patty, with a sudden smile. “I believe I will go around
+by the sea caves,” she said, rising from the bench; “I told Tina I
+might. It will be lovely there to-day.”
+
+She followed the paths across to the wooded way which led to the
+_playa_. “I seem to be making a sort of pilgrimage or _romeria_ on my
+own account,” her thoughts followed the same subject. “Here is where I
+stumbled and he held my hand to steady me. Oh, ‘what fools we mortals
+be!’ Why didn’t I let him come home with me that night? Why was I so
+contrary? I think I was afraid of myself. I was scared at the thought
+of whither I was drifting. I was beginning to realize.” She crossed the
+wide stretch of pebbly shore and entered the cave where the wishes had
+been hidden. The place was well marked by a white seam in the rock. The
+surgings of many wintry seas had long since penetrated the crevices of
+the caves and she scarcely expected to find any vestige of the papers,
+but they had been carefully stowed away in a little hollow and upon
+lifting the rock under which they had been placed she found them, four
+bits of folded paper, damp from the brine, but still whole. The one on
+top she knew to be her own, for she remembered that she had laughingly
+said hers would be the first the _inxanos_ would find. She took it up
+carefully and opened it, standing there lost in pity for the girl who
+had so cheaply thrown away the gifts which the genii had brought. “That
+very night, if I had stopped to consider, it might have come true, at
+least part of it. I believe I will put it back with his; I shall like
+to think of their being in company.”
+
+She went toward the crevice, but just as she was about to tuck away her
+paper again there was a crunch of the pebbles, then a footstep suddenly
+arrested. She turned around.
+
+“Glad Lady!”
+
+The paper she held fluttered to the ground. The color went from the
+girl’s cheeks. She could not speak. The _inxanos_ had been at work.
+Here was the gift.
+
+The man took a step forward. “Glad Lady,” said Robert, a second time.
+
+Her lips trembled. She was very near to tears in the sudden rush of
+joy, but she gathered strength to go forward. “I am a very glad lady,”
+she said, “glad to see you. How did you find me?”
+
+“Your sister said you might be here.”
+
+“And where did you come from, South Africa? We heard you had gone
+there.”
+
+“No, I have come from South America. My plans were all made for South
+Africa, when they were suddenly changed and I went to South America
+instead. What were you doing here? Waiting for the _inxanos_?” There
+was an exultant vibrancy in his voice.
+
+[Illustration: “‘GLAD LADY!’”]
+
+“Not exactly. I wanted to see if the wish papers were still there.”
+
+“And were they?”
+
+“Yes, a little the worse for dampness. There is mine.” She pointed to
+the paper lying at her feet.
+
+He picked it up and unfolded it. “May I?” he asked with imploring eyes.
+
+Patty nodded and stood with drooping head while he read:
+
+“The three wishes of Patience Blake, surnamed Patty:
+
+“1--She wishes for a true and loyal lover whom she can love with all
+her heart and soul.
+
+“2--She wishes she could go back to her old Kentucky home to live.
+
+“3--She wishes that Perdita’s prayer may be granted.”
+
+Robert came nearer and laid the paper on a projecting ledge. “Glad
+Lady,” he said, “the first part of your first wish has come true; he is
+before you.”
+
+There should be no defying of fate, no wasted moments this time, Patty
+quickly determined. She held out her hands: “And the second part has
+come true, too,” she answered.
+
+He clasped her hands and held them close against his breast as if
+he would never let them go, and they stood there looking into one
+another’s eyes till they were brought back to a consciousness of where
+they were by a laughing voice saying: “Shocking! Awful badth form!” and
+looking up they beheld Tomás at the entrance of the cave.
+
+“Tomás! Tomás!” Patty sprang forward to meet him. “When did you come?
+What a surprise! and are you two together?” She looked at Robert. “Oh,
+how good this is.”
+
+“Yes, as chance would have it we crossed on the same steamer,” Robert
+told her, “and instead of going to England I came to Spain.”
+
+“And have you seen Perdita?” Patty turned to Tomás.
+
+A little cloud of disappointment came over the young man’s face. “Not
+yet,” he acknowledged. “She has gone to Llanes and will not return till
+evening, I discovered. Martina thought we might find you here so Don
+Roberto searched the caves while I climbed around outside.”
+
+“It does me good to see you again. Ah, Tomás, there will be no
+returning for you now, I think.”
+
+“I do not know; I am no match for the wealthy daughter of Don Felipe,”
+he answered modestly.
+
+“Oh, but wealth is nothing; it should never come in the way of
+happiness, and true love should not stand at so poor a thing as money.”
+
+Robert’s hand stole out and found hers to give it a tender clasp, and
+in the semi-darkness of the cave with no one but Tomás to see, she did
+not in the least mind. Good Tomás, however, appreciated the fact that
+this was a time when he might well be absent and making the excuse that
+he had not yet seen his brother, he left them to come home alone.
+
+“And were you really on your way to England?” Patty asked her lover.
+
+“Yes, beloved.”
+
+“And would you have made up with your grandfather and have married Miss
+Moffatt?”
+
+For an answer he caught her in his arms and kissed her lips, her eyes,
+her hair. “Don’t, don’t,” he cried. “When I think that it might have
+been so, that I might have lost you by so slight a chance I am nearly
+mad.”
+
+Patty gave a long sigh and nestled closer. “But you haven’t lost me and
+I haven’t lost you. Isn’t it wonderful? Were you unhappy? Tell me.”
+
+“Heaven knows there was never one more wretched than I who cursed the
+day I landed in Spain, and when I shook its dust from my feet I said I
+would never touch its shores again.”
+
+“And was it Tomás who urged you to come back?”
+
+“It was he who gave me hope. I told him I had heard he was open to
+congratulations and he thought I meant Perdita, so he told me the whole
+story, then I knew that neither he nor Don Felipe stood in my path and
+I thought maybe there would be a chance to win you if I came back.”
+
+Patty drew herself away. “And I flew right to you. I didn’t give you
+a chance to try. But I, too, have been so unhappy. Oh, why did you go
+right off that day? Oh, you don’t know how unhappy I was when I knew
+you had gone.”
+
+He gathered her to him again. “Darling girl, to think you should have
+been made unhappy is the worst part of it, but your dear sister in
+all innocence gave me to believe that all was settled between you and
+Tomás, and my own doubts and fears helped the conclusion. You were so
+ready to make excuses not to see me that morning, so chary of letting
+me believe that I had the least place in your regard that I could only
+determine to find out from your sister what I could, and if the fates
+were against me to go, and go quickly.”
+
+“And was it Tomás who told you how it was Tina thought as she did? I
+was a silly little goose to tease her so, and to behave like such a
+witch of contrariness. Yet,” she said, after a pause, “I think it has
+done me good; I don’t believe I am quite such a harum-scarum as I was.
+What did Tina say when she saw you?”
+
+“She welcomed me right royally, and as if to make amends for having so
+misled me she did insinuate that she thought you would be very glad to
+see me if I were to hunt you up. Were you glad?”
+
+“Did I look particularly annoyed? I was the gladdest of glad ladies
+ever was. But you are becoming entirely too inquisitive. We must go
+back and tell Tina that the first wish has come true. But first you
+must show me your wishes.”
+
+A second piece of paper was drawn from the hollow and handed over for
+Patty’s scrutiny. It read thus:
+
+“I, Robert Lisle, ask that the kind _inxanos_ grant me:
+
+“1--The love of Patience Blake;
+
+“2--A return to the land we both love;
+
+“3--Such success as may make me able to give ease, comfort, and
+happiness to said Patience Blake when she shall be my wife.”
+
+“Shall we put them back?” Patty asked, as with tender eyes she looked
+up from the reading.
+
+“I should like you to give me yours.”
+
+“And I am simply crazy to keep yours.”
+
+“Then why not?”
+
+“Why not indeed? Abracadabra! Appear, _inxanos_! Whether visible or
+invisible to us, accept our thanks, and we’ll keep the papers, please.
+Do you hear any underground murmurs or see a cloud of smoke?” She
+turned to Robert.
+
+“No, but no doubt they heard.”
+
+“Then we’ll go.”
+
+Back through the leafy road they walked, and if they stopped at certain
+well-remembered points who can blame them? At the gate they parted,
+Robert promising to return later when he had seen his luggage safely
+carried to the _fonda_.
+
+Patty with dancing step ran upstairs to her sister. “And what will you
+give me for my news?” she asked.
+
+Doña Martina smiled. “Your news is written on your face, my dear,”
+she replied. “There is no need to tell it. And are you happy, little
+sister?”
+
+Patty knelt down and put her arms around the other’s waist, looking
+up into her face with eyes all alight. “I am just as happy as I was
+miserable. I am so happy I am almost frightened.”
+
+“And what will you give for my news?” asked Doña Martina, looking down
+and smoothing away the dark locks with a gentle finger.
+
+“Have you news, too?”
+
+“Yes, and I think you will be happier still when you know it, or I am
+much mistaken.”
+
+“Then tell it to me quick, although I am not sure that I shall not fly
+out the window if more joy comes.”
+
+“What would you say if I were to tell you that Juan had accepted the
+offer to enter into partnership with a medical friend of his, an
+elderly man who will soon wish to retire and wants a younger man to
+help him now with his practice, and that the city where he lives is
+Cincinnati?”
+
+“Oh, Tina, so near our own Kentucky. Why, it is almost like being in
+the same state. You could really live in Kentucky if you wanted, I
+suppose.”
+
+“No, we must live in Cincinnati, for Dr. Vargas wishes us to take up
+our home in his house. He is a widower who has no family, and it seems
+as if it might be the best thing to do. He was a friend of Juan’s
+father and has always taken an interest in him.”
+
+“It sounds very promising. I am glad for Juan, and for you, too, dear.”
+
+“I hope we shall not be far apart, though I don’t know what your
+Robert’s plans are.”
+
+“My Robert! Oh, Tina, how wonderful that you can say that truly. I
+don’t know anything but that he is my Robert.”
+
+Her sister laughed. “You impractical children! And you have no idea
+whether he wishes to carry you off to the wilds of South Africa or to
+the frozen regions of Siberia, I suppose; it would be all the same to
+you.”
+
+“Weren’t you just that way yourself, once upon a time?”
+
+“Oh, yes, my dear, I admit it, and I acknowledge that even now that I
+am a prosy old married woman I would follow my leader to the ends of
+the earth.”
+
+“Then don’t say a word about my being impractical. You can go and ask
+Robert anything you choose and be perfectly sure that wherever he goes
+it will be home to me.”
+
+Her sister shook her head. “I never expected you to go to such lengths,
+yet I might have known. Well, my blessed child, I will satisfy my
+sisterly curiosity on the subject, hoping he will not take you utterly
+beyond my reach.”
+
+Tomás did not appear till the next day, though Patty heard him stealing
+up the stairs after she had gone to her own room, too happy to waste
+the blissful hours in sleep. It was a radiant face which met hers when
+she looked over her balcony after having taken her morning coffee.
+“Well, Tomás,” she said banteringly, “why do you look so woebegone? I
+never saw such a dismal countenance. I will come down and cheer you up,
+for I am sure you need it.”
+
+Tomás laughed. “You look a gladth ladthy yourself,” he said, waving his
+hand. “Come down, come down and let us dance and sing together.”
+
+She ran down to the garden and held out her hand to him. “Good morning,
+Tomás, it does seem like old times to see you here. I am so glad to
+have you back again, and how is Perdita?”
+
+“Well, so well, but not the leetle childth I left. Is she not
+wondtherful as a grand ladthy?”
+
+“She truly is. And are you disappointed to find her so?”
+
+“No, for the heart has not changed, the fine golden heart of her, it is
+the same.”
+
+“And you are not thinking of leaving her again, I hope. Let us go to
+the summer-house and have one of our old talks, but oh, what a happy
+talk it will be, Tomás, not like those last sorry ones.”
+
+The birds were twittering as of old in the branches above the arbor,
+and the pigeons still sought it in search of chance crumbs, when the
+two took their old places. “No, I shall not return,” said Tomás.
+“Perdita will need me, she says, to help her look after these estates
+of hers, and she say, why not I as well as a stranger? She tell me she
+need me more as before.”
+
+“I think she does, and I am very glad you are to stay.”
+
+“I am first to complete the business for which I am leaving Mexico,
+and when is complete I am say the gentlemans then, I resign myself
+the position you so kindly make to me, for I wish not again leave my
+country. I am remain here with my wife eternally. Then I am no longer
+torturated with the illness of home. I am happy with my Perdita, my
+mountains, my sea.”
+
+“And when will you marry?”
+
+“As soon as is respectable after the losings of the father of Perdita.
+She wish not I leave her to trouble of lawyer and paper.”
+
+“And so the _palacio_ will be ready for a bride after all, but how glad
+I am, Tomás, that it will be your bride and not Don Felipe’s.”
+
+“It is because of our friend Pattee that all is. We have say many time
+how we bless you as one who is angel.”
+
+“Glad Lady! Glad Lady,” a voice interrupted them. “Oh, here you are
+in the old place. Don’t leave us, Tomás. I will have a cigarette with
+you. Good morning, you two, and what are you plotting now? I suppose I
+may conjecture that the talk has been on the same old subject,” said
+Robert, sitting down by Patty’s side.
+
+“The subject is the same, but you should see Tomás’s fiancée now; she
+is more beautiful than ever,” Patty told him.
+
+“I shall see her soon I hope. Well, little girl, I have been under
+a fire of questions from Doña Martina. Must you go, Tomás, to the
+_palacio_? Ah, well, we will not keep you. _Vaya V. con Dios._” He laid
+his hand over Patty’s and looked down at her with a proud expression.
+“Beloved,” he said, “your sister tells me I should let you know my
+plans, that it is all very well to live in the clouds sometimes, but
+one must descend once in a while, and so I am sure you will be glad to
+know how I am going back to Kentucky with you all.”
+
+“Oh, Robert, to live always?”
+
+“Always, I hope. Those mines in the West will call me away for a time
+but I think I shall do well to settle in the States and there is no
+reason why we shouldn’t make Kentucky our home, even if we must go away
+from it sometimes.”
+
+“Ah, if it could be the dear home I left.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Could it be? Half is mine, of course.”
+
+“And the other half can be mine, I hope, for your sister and brother
+and I have been talking hard, straight business, and that is how we
+settled it, if the plan meets your approval.”
+
+“Bless the _inxanos_!” Patty cried. “They have granted all our wishes.”
+
+He drew her close to him. Before their eyes arose the vision of an old
+garden, green with box hedges and rose sweet, along its borders they
+two should walk till the setting of life’s sun.
+
+
+                                 THE END
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s Note:
+
+Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
+this_. Nine misspelled words were corrected. ‘I know’ was added
+to the phrase “... all I know is you won’t have to live...”
+Unprinted punctuation at ends of sentences and missing diacriticals
+were added. Two excess commas and one duplicated word were deleted.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76495 ***