Pilar was on her way to Juan's shop on the Street of the Serpents. In her hand were those magic castanets. She was taking them to Juan. She was going to sell them.

She passed the lovely Alcazar (Äl-kÄ´thÄr) Gardens, from which came the perfume of flowers and blossoms. She heard the soft voice of bells from the Giralda, a prayer tower which had belonged to an ancient Moorish mosque (mosk).

In a little square, some of Pilar's friends were dancing to the music of a hurdy-gurdy. Pilar stopped. How she longed to join them in their dance!

The thought came to her that she had never tried her mother's castanets. She wondered how they would sound. She fixed them on her fingers and began to play.

Their beauty astonished her. They spoke. They sang. They cried out to her feet and she danced. She danced until she was breathless and the hurdy-gurdy had gone away. So had the children—gone to their homes.

Pilar was alone. She stood in the center of the little court, its white, balconied houses all around, and its ancient fountain squatting in the center.

But to Pilar, time had not passed. She had been in a dream of music. The castanets had drawn her into a dream of music and dance.

Now she slowly unloosed them from her fingers. Never had she known that such beautiful sound could come from two wooden clappers. Why, her own little cheap ones were hideous and shrill beside these speaking marvels.

How could she give them up? How could she take them to Juan to be sold? No, no! She must keep them. She must keep them and dance every day to their rippling music.

But Juan had given her money, for which she had promised to bring him the castanets. And it would never do to give Juan her own instead, for that would be cheating.

But there were other lovely souvenirs in her chest at home. Perhaps Juan would as soon have one of these!

Pilar went home, and once again she knelt down beside the wooden chest. Out came each precious souvenir. Which should she take to Juan in place of the castanets?

If those souvenirs could have spoken, what strangely wonderful stories they could have told!

Pretend, for fun, that they can speak, and let us listen to their ancient voices.

The Sharp Knife From Toledo

"I am a knife—a very sharp knife. I was made in Toledo, which is said to be the oldest town in Spain.

"Toledo sits proudly upon a granite throne, like some weatherbeaten queen. The River Tagus (ta´gus) laps about her feet as though to wash away the dust of ages.

"There are Arab stories in the ancient streets of Toledo. Once it was an important center of the Romans, the Goths, and then the Moors.

"The cathedral is supposed to be the richest in the world. It contains a room with massive doors, to which six keys must be used before one may enter. In this room are the priceless jewels of the Madonna.

"I am made of the celebrated Damascus (d?-mas´kus) steel. I have a beautiful design worked into my handle. Ages ago, this art, which is called Damascene (dam´?-sen) work, was brought from the city of Damascus.

"I have a very dangerous temper and when I am angered, I bite. So be careful, for I am a very sharp knife."

The Proud Comb From Barcelona

"I am a tall, elegant comb, and my home is Barcelona (bÄr´se-lo´n?), the most important city in Spain. Oh, dear! There goes Madrid, howling at me again! Whenever I say that Barcelona is more important, the city of Madrid creates the most frightful row.

"It is jealousy, of course. For even if she is the capital of Spain, she is not so wonderful as Barcelona. At least, that is what we who live here think. And perhaps I can convince you, too, if you will go for a walk with me.

"Just think! I am honoring you by inviting you to walk with me through Barcelona, Spain's most important—oh, all right, then, Spain's most modern city!

"Shall we start from the harbor? It is the chief port of Spain. Do you see that fine monument of Christopher Columbus over there?

"Now we shall stroll along the celebrated Rambla. Is this not a handsome promenade, with its flowers and trees? Would you like to sit here at a little table and sip some chocolate?

"They say that Barcelona has more sidewalk cafÉs than any other city its size in Europe. You see, we know how to enjoy ourselves. Yet we are not lazy. No, indeed! We are most active. Why, Barcelona never sleeps.

"We are situated on the blue Mediterranean Sea. Not far from the city, there is a wonderful monastery called Montserrat (mont´se-rat´). It is perched high up amid a mystic forest of stony crags.

"Montserrat is the shrine of the Black Virgin, a sacred carving. The story goes when the Moors held Spain, this carving was hidden in a cave. Many years later, it was found by shepherds who heard weird music near by.

"They tried to move the Black Virgin, but could not, and so a church was built to hold it. Today great crowds swarm up the mountain to see the sacred carving.

"But now I shall have to leave you. I could show you much more, of course, but there might be an objection if I did. You ask why? Because a certain city I know would be afraid that you might agree with me that Barcelona is more important than she is!"

The Lazy Clock From El Escorial

"I am an old clock. I used to sit upon a shelf in one of the most curious castles in Spain—El Escorial (el es-ko´ri-al). It was built by King Philip II.

"King Philip built El Escorial as his tomb. Today, it stands a gray and gloomy monument upon a barren hill, and in its vaults are buried the kings and queens of Spain.

"Among the marble tombs, there is one which looks like a round, white birthday cake. It is the tomb of the children—young princes and princesses.

"King Philip watched the building of this immense palace from a rocky seat on a hill above. And later when he was very ill, he used to lie in his bedroom next to the chapel and listen to the church services.

"Ho, hum! I am a sleepy, lazy old clock. But then, all clocks in Spain grow lazy, for we are seldom used. Everybody is always late.

"Yet here is a funny thing. I have been told that Spain produces more quicksilver than any other country. Think of that! Quicksilver!"

The Faded Fan From Valladolid

"I am a fan. I belonged to a lady who lived in the town of Valladolid (vÄl´yÄ-tho?-leth´). It was built by a Moor named Olid, and was called Valle de Olid, Valley of Olid.

"The names of many important men are connected with Valladolid. King Philip II was born there. The Catholic monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, were married there. Cervantes (s?r-van´tez), the author of 'Don Quixote' (do?n ke?-ho´ta?), that famous Spanish romance, lived there; and Christopher Columbus died there."

The Saucy Bonnet From Segovia

"I am a bonnet, and I am very proud of myself because I am a beautiful creation. I am also very proud to think that I was born in the marvelous city of Segovia (sa?-go´vyÄ).

"Segovia has a Roman aqueduct which is one of the most remarkable of its kind in the world. It is sometimes called the Devil's Bridge, because a legend tells that Satan built it in a single night.

"There is also the famous Alcazar, an ancient castle set high upon a sharp cliff. It was built in the eleventh century by King Alfonso VI. Besides these marvels, Segovia has many fine churches and castles and cathedrals.

"How do I, a mere bonnet, know all these things? Ah, let me tell you this: I am not only very handsome; I am extremely wise."

Next day Pilar brought Juan these souvenirs. But it was of no use. Juan would not have any of them. He shook his head and told Pilar that he could not rob her of her wonderful treasures.

"You must bring me the old castanets, child," he said. "They are all that I will take."

Pilar begged and coaxed, but Juan was very stubborn.

"No, child," he repeated, "These are too fine and valuable to sell. Bring me the battered old castanets, for they have little value."

Poor Pilar! She now sat weeping in her room—weeping silently so as not to disturb her sick grandfather, who slept a great part of the day.

She held the castanets in her hands and looked at them tenderly. Juan had said that they possessed little value. Oh, but they did possess value to Pilar, for she loved them.

As to their real value, neither Pilar nor Juan could possibly guess. For though the other souvenirs might bring more in money, the castanets might well bring joy or grief to their owner. Or, at least, so it had seemed to Pilar's ancestors.

However, Pilar had given her word to Juan that she would bring them to his shop tomorrow, and so she must. If only Juan had heard the terrible tale of the castanets in old Granada (gr?-nÄ´d?), he would not have held Pilar to her promise.

CHAPTER V