Part 10 (1/2)

”Oh, Pepe!” cried Pilar. ”When did you get back?”

All summer Pepe had been away on a journey. Now here he was home again to follow and annoy Pilar.

Pepe liked to make believe that he was a cavalier. He liked to imitate his older brothers. For in Spain a man courts his lady in a very romantic way. He stands outside her window at night, and sometimes he sings love songs to her.

This funny, stout little Pepe often met Pilar at school and walked home with her. Once he had even tried to sing under her window. But a neighbor thought it was a tomcat howling and threw a bucket of water on his head.

Today Pilar was in no mood to be followed about. Today was a bitter day in her life. For this time there was no more hope of keeping the castanets. She knew that at last she must really give them up to Juan.

She started to walk on ahead of Pepe. But he followed her.

He puffed as he jogged along behind her, calling out, ”Wait for me, Pilar. I have much to tell you. I have been to far-away places. Ho!

Listen, Pilar. I have been to Algeciras ([)a]l'j[+e]-s[=e]'r[.a]s) and to the Rock of Gibraltar.”

Pilar thought Pepe himself looked like the Rock of Gibraltar. She had seen pictures of the great, solid rock. It belongs to England, and just across Gibraltar Bay is the lazy little Spanish seaport town of Algeciras.

Pilar usually liked to listen to Pepe's tales of his travels. The boy's father often took him away to places where they saw interesting and curious sights.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GIBRALTAR]

But today it was impossible to pay attention. She tried to get away from Pepe and walked faster and faster.

He followed doggedly, breaking into a gallop and crying out in little gasps, ”Hi! But listen, Pilar.”

And so eager was he to reach her that he did not notice where he was going, and all of a sudden--pff! bang! He had crashed into a man wearing what looked like a ballet skirt of tin cans. They were milk cans.

They shot in all directions. The man began to scold Pepe and to wave his arms about. A crowd gathered, and in the noise and excitement, Pilar escaped from her stout little sweetheart.

Seville's great cathedral was just across the street--a ma.s.sive giant, squatting in the sun. Pilar went inside. It was cool and peaceful there.

Works of art filled the vast church--paintings, fine carvings, and the stately tomb of Christopher Columbus.

Pilar knelt before the altar, where a curious ceremony takes place every year. This ceremony is called ”The Dance of the Six Boys.”

Pilar prayed, her eyes closed, her lips moving. And clasped to her heart were the castanets--the magic castanets, about which another legend was woven--a legend around this very Dance of the Six.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ALHAMBRA]

CHAPTER XI

DANCE OF THE SIX

(A LEGEND OF THE CASTANETS)

The chorus had been sung, and now they were dancing to the steady, clicking rhythm of their castanets. It was a dignified dance, done by young boys wearing silken pages' costumes and wide, plumed hats.

Everybody felt the solemn beauty of the ceremony, and a hushed reverence had fallen over the cathedral. Two old people, a woman with a black shawl thrown over her head and an old man with a tanned, leathery face, sat silently weeping.

Fernando, their son, moved among those graceful figures beneath the altar. He was a part of the royal Dance of the Six, called the Sevillana.