Several days passed before Pilar was able to leave her house and go to Juan's shop—several anxious days. Because that night, her grandfather had grown worse, and she had been obliged to call the doctor.

The doctor had been coming every day since then, and Pilar could not leave her grandfather's side. Neighbors had been kind, helping with food and attentions.

Now that her grandfather was better, Pilar realized that she must repay those good neighbors. So this morning, as soon as the burning Spanish sun arose, Pilar arose, too.

She prepared her grandfather's breakfast and made him comfortable in his bed. Then she drank her thick, sweet chocolate, and off she went to Juan's shop, taking along the old wooden chest.

Juan could not help smiling when he saw her enter, weighed down by her huge burden. It looked to Juan as if the big chest should really have been carrying the little girl.

"Good morning, SeÑorita Pilar," he laughed. "And where is the chest taking you today?"

Pilar did not smile. Resting the chest upon the counter, she said, "Grandfather has been very ill since last I saw you, SeÑor Juan."

"Ah, I am sorry, child," said Juan.

"But now he is much better," added Pilar more cheerfully, "And I have brought you what I promised."

"The castanets?" asked Juan, looking at her shrewdly.

"More than the castanets, SeÑor Juan," answered the little girl. "For they alone will not pay you for all the money I now need."

She started to open the chest, and Juan started to shake his head. But Pilar caught his arm, and her large, dark eyes pleaded pitifully.

"Oh, take them, please, SeÑor Juan!" she cried. "For I need a great deal of money! The doctor says that Grandfather will not be able to work for a long time."

She pulled out of the chest the Damascene knife from Toledo, the tall comb from Barcelona, the faded fan from Valladolid, the ancient clock from El Escorial, and the saucy bonnet from Segovia.

"Here, take them, please, seÑor," she said. "And also—" She put her hand inside the chest and drew out the magic castanets. "These, too," she whispered, "for I promised."

Juan looked at the old wooden clappers. Then he looked at Pilar. And quite abruptly he turned around to the strong box where he kept his money. He unlocked it and took out some paper bills.

"Here, little Pilar," he said. "Here is the money for you and your grandfather. I shall keep the knife and the clock and the fan, the comb, and the bonnet. But—" He pushed away her hand which held the castanets. "Keep those, since you love them so much."

Pilar clasped the castanets to her heart and her face lit up like a thousand candles.

"Oh, SeÑor Juan!" she sighed. "You are so good!"

Juan patted her shoulder.

"It is all right, my child," he said. "And if, later on, you are in need of more money, bring me the castanets. I can sell them to a dancing master who would like to buy them. He is very fond of such antiques."

Pilar did not answer right away. Then she said in a sober voice, "Before I give up the castanets, SeÑor Juan, I shall first bring you all the rest of my souvenirs. The castanets will be the very last to go. And how I hope that I shall never, never have to part with them!"

CHAPTER VII