In Sunny Spain with Pilarica and Rafael. Katharine Lee Bates

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СКАЧАТЬ Rafael!” exclaimed Pilarica, shocked by such unmannerly frankness.

      “Very nobly,” answered Don Carlos, stroking his little daughter’s hair. “By love and by service. When her father, the bell-ringer, died, and a stranger took his rooms in the Giralda, Marta came down into the city and entered the home of your grandfather and sainted grandmother – ”

      “May God rejoice her soul with the light of Paradise!” murmured Grandfather devoutly.

      “There Marta was nurse-maid for your mother, then a little witch two or three years old,” continued Don Carlos. “And she grew so fond of her charge that she never left her, not even when your mother had the infinite goodness to marry me, and we moved to Cadiz, my naval station then. And now Tia Marta, for your mother’s blessed sake, spends all her strength and devotion upon you. We must never forget what we owe her, and we must always treat her with respect and affection.”

      Rodrigo, who was pacing the tiled walks near by, trying to puzzle out a mathematical problem, turned to say:

      “I’ll bring her a cherry ribbon from Granada to-morrow.”

      “And she may wash my ears as hard as she likes,” magnanimously declared Rafael.

      But Pilarica slipped from within the circle of her father’s arm and ran into the house to surprise Tia Marta with a sudden squeeze and shower of kisses.

      By the time the little girl came out again, Grandfather had a riddle for her:

      “When she wears her silvery bonnet,

      My lady is passing fair;

      But she’s always turning her head about,

      Gazing here and there.”

      As the child hesitated, Rodrigo pointed to the luminous horizon, and she promptly said: “The Moon.”

      “But that’s not playing fair,” protested Rafael.

      “Oh, we don’t expect girls to play fair,” laughed his brother.

      “But I want to play fair,” urged Pilarica. “And I want to be punished, like Rafael, when I do wrong. Why wasn’t it just as bad in me to disobey Tia Marta and run off with the Alhambra children as it was in Rafael to leave me alone?”

      “It’s hard to explain, Sugarplum,” said her father, “but the world expects certain things of a man, courage and faithfulness and honor, and a boy is in training for manhood.”

      “And what is a girl in training for?” asked Pilarica.

      “To be amiable and charming,” answered Rodrigo promptly.

      “But I want to be faithful and hon’able, too,” persisted Pilarica.

      “A man must do his duty,” declared Don Carlos, slowly and earnestly. “That is what manliness means. He must satisfy his conscience. But it is enough for a little girl if she content her father’s heart, as my darling contents mine. And when the years shall bring you a husband, then he will be your conscience.”

      “But I want a conscience of my own,” pouted Pilarica. “And I do not want a husband at all. If I must grow up, I will be a nun and make sweetmeats.”

      “Time enough to change your mind,” scoffed Rodrigo. “What is my riddle, Grandfather?”

      “Wait till my father has had his turn,” jealously interposed Rafael.

      Grandfather was all ready:

      “Here comes a lady driving into town;

      Softly the horses go;

      Her mantle’s purple, and black her gown;

      Gems on her forehead glow.”

      “But this is difficult,” groaned Don Carlos, thinking so hard that the hammock creaked.

      “I know,” cooed Pilarica. “Grandfather told it to me once before.”

      “Don’t give my father a hint,” warned Rafael.

      “But Rodrigo gave me a hint,” returned Pilarica.

      “Oh, that’s different,” declared Rodrigo, almost impatiently. “Men must play fair.”

      But it was some time before Don Carlos found the right answer, “Night”; and Rodrigo had almost as much trouble in guessing his.

      “I’m a very tiny gentleman,

      But I am seen from far.

      Out walking in the evening

      And lighting my cigar.”

      He called out “Firefly” only just in time to escape a forfeit, but Rafael, to whom fell the puzzle:

      “A plate of nuts upset at night,

      But all picked up by morning light,”

      quickly guessed “Stars.”

      He could hardly help it, with such a shining company of them shedding their gracious looks down upon the garden.

      “How many stars are there, Grandfather?” he asked.

      “One thousand and seven,” replied Grandfather, “except on Holy Night, the blessed Christmas Eve, when there flashes out one more, brightest of all, the Star of Bethlehem.”

      “That is your Andalusian arithmetic,” laughed Don Carlos, shaking his head. “They say in Galicia that a man should not try to count the stars, lest he come to have as many wrinkles as the number of stars he has counted.”

      “Where’s Galicia?” asked Pilarica.

      “Far from here, in the northwest corner of Spain,” answered Don Carlos, more gravely than seemed necessary. “My sister – your Aunt Barbara – lives there, and one of these days I am going to tell you more of her, and of her husband, your Uncle Manuel, and of your Cousin Dolores, who is a year or two younger than Rodrigo. They are the only kindred we have in the world.”

      Even Rodrigo wondered at the sudden seriousness in Don Carlos’ tone, but Grandfather, at that moment, chanted another riddle, which, as it turned out, nobody could guess, not even Tia Marta, who had come to the doorway again.

      “Tell me, what is the thing I mean,

      That the greater it grows the less is seen.”

      Grandfather finally had to tell them the answer, “Darkness,” and then Rafael assigned to everybody a forfeit. Tia Marta was sent into the house after a treat, which, for Rafael’s own forfeit, he was not to taste; Pilarica danced, Rodrigo vaulted over the cot, and Don Carlos was begged to “tell about the heroes of Spain.”

      “To-morrow,” said the father, taking Rafael’s wrist in his cool fingers and counting the pulse. “You have had quite enough talking for to-night, my son.”

      And then the English consul, whose home was on the Alhambra hill, dropped in, just as Tia Marta was passing around – but not to Rafael – the most delicious cinnamon paste whose secret she had learned from the nuns in Seville. The consul shook hands with Don Carlos and Rodrigo, patted Pilarica’s head, complimented Tia Marta on the paste, and then bent over Rafael’s cot.

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