The great caves which stood each side the little beach to which the girls often went were remarkable for more than one reason. They served as bath houses, they were unique in construction and they suggested tales of folk-lore in which Nan delighted. Through one of these caverns, as through an arched passage, one could go to get a better view of the stretch of sea beyond, while from the rocky hill above a still better view was to be had. The way to the sea was rather rough, and only the younger ones of the household cared to travel it often. Mr. Pinckney declared it was too great an effort for his portly person, and DoÑa Teresa said it was out of the question for her to attempt it, so often but the three girls, Nan, Mary Lee and Mercedes, would find their way there. They must first pass through one of the winding streets, or roads, of the little village, then over a stony way leading past the small chapel of Nuestra SeÑora del Henar, in the woods, and on through shady paths till the sea was at hand.

A daily dip in the salt water was desirable, however, for Miss Dolores who was not very strong, and therefore one morning the family was surprised by the arrival of a stout little donkey and cart which Mr. Pinckney explained he had bought for the use of the family. So in the jouncing, bouncing cart thereafter the four went, the little donkey not seeming to mind the load in the least. Often, nevertheless, Nan or Mary Lee would insist upon getting out and walking up-hill to spare Master Neddy, as they called him. It goes without saying that the lines of this special donkey fell in pleasant places when Mr. Pinckney became his purchaser.

In spite of the donkey, the girls often preferred to take long walks, sometimes stopping at the house of a peasant to see something quaint and old of which Mercedes had told them.

"Would you like to see an old, a very old loom, and some one weaving linen?" she asked one day.

"We should be delighted," responded Nan.

"Then we will go. It is not far and perhaps my cousin Dolores would like also to go. The old woman I know well, and she will be pleased to welcome us. The house, too, is old, oh, so old, I do not know how many years, hundreds, I think, and I am sure you will like to see it."

So the four started off up the long white carretera, passing on the way first a creaking cow-cart loaded with hay, then a viajante in his wagon lolling back and singing a strange song ending in a weird note, next a little shepherdess tending her two sheep which cropped the herbage at the side of the road, then an old woman bending under a mass of hay so great that the wizened face and bright eyes could scarcely be discerned. All these gave a cheerful "Adios" or "Buenas tardes" as they passed.

As the girls turned off the carretera and entered a narrow winding road, Mercedes said, "I want you to see the little chapel of Nuestra SeÑora de Soledad. It is such a quiet little spot where it is. When I am sad or unhappy I go there, for it seems as if it were nearer heaven than some other places."

She led the way to where the tiny chapel stood at the meeting of two paths. Truly "Our Lady of Solitude" could have no more fitting title. The rustling of leaves on the great trees, the murmur of a little stream, the song of a bird, the occasional creaking of a distant cow-cart were the only sounds heard. The girls stepped up on the small porch, without which is never a church or chapel in Spain, and looked in through the iron grating at the unpretentious little figure in her shrine, then they sat down on the porch to rest.

"How still it is," whispered Mary Lee to Miss Dolores. "I wonder how long the 'Lady of Solitude' has been here."

"Many, many years, no doubt. The chapel is very old, as you see. Many of these small churches and chapels were demolished, or at least abused by the French in 1808, but this one has evidently escaped. It is charming. I think I shall make a sketch of it for my cousin Teresa. She will like it, for she has known and loved it always."

They left the little chapel and mounted higher, then making another turn they came to an old gray house set in a patio. There was an entrance to the lower floor from below, but a long flight of crooked stone steps led up outside to the upper floor. A great tree overshadowed the house; under it some white hens were picking around industriously. Above, in the small windows, were set boxes of pinks and geraniums—no house so poor but had its clavel. Mercedes mounted the crooked steps, the others waiting below till an answer to the knock should come. "Manuela is in," Mercedes announced. "Will you come up or will you wait till she comes down to open the lower door? The loom is below."

Miss Dolores decided that they would wait, although Nan and Mary Lee were hoping they could see the inside of the old stone house.

"Perhaps we can go later," whispered Mary Lee to her sister.

Mercedes joined them, saying, "You will find it very dark and dingy, but clean."

Here Manuela opened the door and they stepped into a room whose blackened rafters were very near their heads. The earthen floor was beaten down hard by the tread of those who had gone in and out for centuries. A tiny window gave the only light, and under this was set the great unwieldy loom which Manuela started going. The clumsy shuttle clacked noisily as the weaving proceeded. A pile of coarse linen lay near; it was such as the peasants had for household use, and was literal homespun. Manuela, though quite overpowered by the sight of these strange visitors, was, nevertheless, dignified and gracious, and at Mercedes' suggestion offered to show the rest of the house.

Up through the narrowest of crooked stairs they groped their way to the kitchen, a dark little place, but clean and orderly. There was no stove in the great fireplace but only a stone platform which the girls decided looked like an ancient altar, for it was on the top of this the fire was kindled. In this primitive way all the cooking was done, and so it was in most houses, even in those of the well-to-do. A shining array of copper and brass utensils hung near the fireplace, and some old blue and white plates stood a-row on a shelf. In the next room there was but little furniture; a bed, a settle, an old chest, a small mirror, a picture of "Our Lady of Covadonga," a few gaudily colored prints of various saints. Though the rooms seemed small and dark they were tidy and Manuela, in her black frock and with black handkerchief tied over her head, was not an inartistic figure in the midst of the setting. She offered them flowers, a pink clavel and geranium to each, and they took their leave. As they passed out of the patio two women, bent under their loads of hay, came through the gateway to deposit their burdens in the loft back of the kitchen.

"Now," said Mercedes, "if you can stand the walk, I should like to show you my favorite view. It is a long climb, Cousin Dolores, but Antonio said he would meet us with the cart at the foot of the last hill and he will help you up to the top."

With this prospect Miss Dolores decided to undertake the walk. It was a long one, but it was worth the effort to see from the top of the high hill seven villages nestled at the foot of the mountains on one side, and a semicircle of sea on the other.

"I never beheld anything more glorious," cried Nan enthusiastically. "We have, of course, some greater and more magnificent scenery on our Pacific coast, but this is unique. To see half the world mountains and half sea from the top of a hill not a mile from home is not vouchsafed everybody."

"I knew you would like," said Mercedes well pleased. "I think there is no finer view in all Asturias."

At the foot of the hill they found Neddy and the cart, and went home joyously, taking turns in the cart to spare Neddy.

It was rather late when they passed by the plaza in the centre of the village, and here they saw that something was going on, for a man was setting up two poles, and some paraphernalia near by suggested that he had intentions in other directions.

"A comedia!" cried Antonio.

Nan looked at Mercedes questioningly.

"A comedia, a little drama on the plaza to-night. We must all come to it, all of us."

"Is there a tent, or what?"

"It is in the open air. These are strolling players."

Nan marveled, but was very curious and eager to see the performance. Supper was always a late meal, sometimes it was not served before ten o'clock, but there was always a merienda, chocolate, tea or coffee at five, so one did not mind. This evening the meal was hurried a little so it was over by nine, yet even then the play had not begun, though the performers were drumming up custom, as the roll of the drum proclaimed some time before the party reached the spot. This kept up for another half an hour, the crowd gathering slowly. But at last a ring was formed around the centre of the plaza, some brought chairs, others sat on the steps of surrounding houses, some squatted on the ground, some stood up. In all the windows and balconies overlooking the spot, spectators were gathered.

The two American girls were perhaps the most eager ones in the audience, for this was a rare treat to them, and they were curious enough to see the performance begin. It seemed long delayed, but at last two men came out and did some acrobatic feats; these were followed by a little play of which Nan and Mary Lee understood very little. Then a small girl and a tiny boy walked a tight rope. Next came a mock bull-fight in which the tiny boy took the part of a toreador, and ran so precipitately from the pretended bull at each onslaught that he brought forth shouts of laughter. At last the mock bull amiably presented himself to be killed and the victorious toreador retired amid great applause.

"That is the only bull-fight I want to see," whispered Mary Lee to Nan. "But I am glad to know how they do it. Nobody was hurt and the youngster was too funny for words."

The next act on the programme was a pretty dance given by the little girl, after which came a second farce in which a donkey appeared, and then the hat was passed around. Mr. Pinckney declared that a peseta apiece was none too much for such a novel performance, and thereupon dropped a gold piece into the hat to the surprise and joy of the actors.

"You have seen real old-time play-acting," he told the Corners. "It is the primitive method of performing dramas. So Shakespeare gave his plays, and so the old Spanish dramatists, Lope de Vega and Calderon, saw theirs played."

"It was great fun," the girls declared, "and we shall not forget it in a hurry."

"What a country of surprises it is," said Nan. "It isn't a bit like any other, and I am so glad we could come."

The crowd had dispersed, seeming actually to melt away, so quickly the plaza was deserted by all but two or three persons. Among these was the little girl who had taken part in the show. It seemed to be a family affair in which mamma beat the drum, papa and another younger man took the principal parts, and the children fitted in wherever a place could be made for them.

Nan stood watching the child, who, with a candle, was searching for something. "What have you lost?" asked Nan in her best Spanish.

"My slippers," said the child, and Nan could see that she had been crying.

"She has lost her slippers," said Nan to Mercedes. "Let us help her look for them. I wonder if that is why she has been crying."

Mercedes put some questions. "It is not that," she told Nan, "but she had to walk the tight rope, which is really a wire, without them, and it cut her poor little feet badly."

"Dear me!" Nan was all sympathy and rushed off to tell the tale to Mr. Pinckney, who, as usual, was moved to a better condition by a poultice of money. He slipped a gold piece into the child's hand and she went off happily, since she had now more than enough to make good the loss of the slippers.

"Rather an expensive performance for you, grandfather," said Miss Dolores smiling.

"Not so very," he replied, "when you consider what we pay for opera in New York, and this was much more of a novelty."

"That is just like you, Mr. St. Nick," said Mary Lee. "You play Santa Claus all the year round."

The time flew by till there were but three days left. One of these was given to Covadonga which all were eager to see.

"I love the story of Pelayo," Miss Dolores told the girls.

"Who was Pelayo, anyhow?" asked Mary Lee.

"He was the son of Favila, a Goth of royal lineage. He commanded the body-guard of Witiza, and his enthusiasm and influence roused his compatriots to fight. The different tribes by this time, the fair Goths, the Iberians of lofty stature, as well as the descendants of the Romans, had become Asturians all and made common cause against the Arabs. In those long ago days, when the Moors were trying to become victors all over Spain, the Asturian mountains became the refuge of the tribes who united against the Moors. They were headed by Pelayo. The Berbers sent Al-Kaman to vanquish these spirited and defiant people. Pelayo drew them into the great gorges at Covadonga and there they were slain by thousands. Pelayo was then made king by his victorious people. This was in 718, and so you see Asturias was the cradle of the Spanish monarchy. You must see the cave where Pelayo and his followers took refuge, and if you could stay till the early part of next month you would be here when the great pilgrimage takes place. The figure of our 'Lady of Covadonga' is much venerated."

"I have seen a number of pictures of it in the houses of the people here," said Mary Lee.

"I should like to read about Pelayo," said Nan. "Is there anything special that tells of him?"

"There is a wild poem and many legends. You can see Pelayo's tomb and that of Alfonso I and his queen when you go to Covadonga. There is much romantic history of this part of Spain."

"I would love to read it all," Nan declared, "and when I get a chance I am going to study Spanish so as to get hold of what I should like to know. One hears much more about Granada and Andalusia, but I am glad we came here first."

The trip to Covadonga was the last one undertaken, and then the girls set out upon their return trip which Mr. Pinckney and Miss Dolores were to take with them, going on from Paris to Switzerland.

Mercedes actually shed tears at the thought of parting from her new friends, and the reserved Don Antonio looked very solemn. He presented each of the girls with a huge bouquet of flowers, while DoÑa Teresa gave them a box of chocolate and a bottle of anisado, the latter as a remedy against any ills which might befall digestion during the journey. The two younger girls, Maria Isabel and Consuelo, gathered ripe figs from their own tree to present to the travelers, and would have added more flowers to those the girls already had, but were told by Mercedes that no more could be carried. Mercedes bestowed her favorite antique reliquary upon her cousin Dolores, gave Mary Lee a tiny silver cross with a figure of San Roque upon it, while Nan received a tambourine. Mercedes would have given them her entire aldeana costume as well, if they had not protested that they would not be able to pack so much in their trunks.

"I have always heard," said Nan to her sister, "that you have but to admire anything in Spain, be it great or small, to have it offered to you, though one must not accept it."

"I am sure that Mercedes was quite sincere in wanting us to accept her dress," returned Mary Lee.

"I am sure she was, and I think the people usually are. I never saw such generosity as they all show, from the peasants up. I am sure I know exactly how the dresses are made, and we have the photographs of Mercedes in hers to remind us, so I think we shall have no trouble if we ever want to make them for ourselves."

"And perhaps Mercedes will come over to see her cousin. We must be sure to make her have a good time, Nan."

"Indeed we will do that. Isn't it nice to have a Spanish girl friend? Won't the girls at home be interested when we tell them about her?"

"They will think we are great on having unusual friends," said Mary Lee. "You remember how excited they were over Daniella at school last year."

"Indeed I do. How long ago that seems, and how much we have seen since then."

"And how much more we shall see before we get back."

"So far I like Spain best," decided Nan.

"I, too," returned Mary Lee.

Back again they traveled, leaving behind the creaking cow-carts, the panniered donkeys, the towering mountains, the blue sea, and above all the warm-hearted Spanish family with whom their month's stay had been all too short.

"We shall never forget you," Nan assured Mercedes, "and some day we shall meet again; I am sure of it."

Mercedes, with swimming eyes, declared she hoped so, and the whole family having gone to the train with their guests, they waved farewells from the platform of the station, the last thing they saw being Neddy's gray ears as Mercedes and Maria Isabel drove him around the corner.

"Some day," remarked Mary Lee, as she settled back in her seat, "I mean to come back to Spain. I shall take that nice little house that Mercedes told me could be rented for forty dollars a year, for then I shall be old enough to keep house. I shall hire a servant for two dollars a month and I shall live on figs and chestnuts."

Miss Dolores laughed. "You would certainly need many doses of anisado if you were to do that," she said.

"For all there is so much corn in this part of the country," remarked Nan, "we didn't see any of our old home corn bread."

"No, and you never would see. The meal used by the peasants is poor stuff compared to ours," Mr. Pinckney told her. "They make it into a thick solid mass which is as unappetizing as it is unwholesome. Look over there, Nan; there is that old monastery you are so fond of, and the church attached to it. Pretty soon Mary Lee will see the town where her San Roque was honored in fiesta."

"That was a great fiesta," said Nan reminiscently. "How Jack would have enjoyed those funny fire balloons they sent up, the pigs and such things, the perigrinos, too."

"And those great giant figures dancing the jota all the time the procession was moving," said Mary Lee.

"There was nothing very solemn about it, as there was at Celorio," Nan went on. "To be sure, San Roque had a very serious expression, but everything and everybody else were as gay as larks."

With such chat they beguiled their way till night brought them again to Bilbao and the next afternoon saw them leaving San Sebastian and saying farewell to Spain. "Adios, EspaÑa!" cried Nan.

"You may say Adios, if you choose," said Mary Lee, "but I shall say only Hasta maÑana; for I mean to come back."

Miss Dolores smiled down at her, for she well knew that part of this enthusiasm for Spain was due to Mary Lee's love for this seÑiorita for whom she had always held a worshipful feeling.

There was no stop this time on the French side of the line, for they took the express to Paris and arrived there after a heavy rain when the French girls with their high heels and fluffy skirts were daintily stepping across the puddles, and before the hour when the students of the Latin quarter were ready to go forth to the restaurants and cafÉs for the evening meal. A quick drive from the railway station and the girls were again under their mother's wing, eager to tell of their adventures in Spain.

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