September found the children at home again, and Fernando back at school, while Juanita had a governess for a part of each day, though she was not expected to learn a great deal; for the Spaniards think if their girls are sweet and gentle they need not be very learned. If a Spanish girl of sixteen knows how to read and write, simple arithmetic, a little history, and can dance and embroider well, she is quite accomplished enough to marry, which is what most of them intend to do.

Things were going very quietly, when there came an excitement so great for the children that they were almost wild. This was the home-coming, in the latter part of September, of Pablo, just in from his long summer cruise, with a fortnight's leave of absence. He came home to celebrate his coming of age, and there was to be a tertulia in his honour. The children were to stay up to the party, and as it was the first time that they had been permitted to stay up after eight o'clock, they were delighted. To them it was the greatest event in their lives, and they were almost afraid to breathe all day, for fear the treat would be cut off. Juanita even stood quite still to have her curls made, which was generally a performance attended with agony, and before the end of which her aya was sure to say, "Hush, Mambru will certainly get you!" Mambru is to a little Spanish girl what a bogey is to an American child, and she will be very good for fear of Mambru. But the day passed off pleasantly, and the children were dressed and sent down to the patio to await the arrival of the guests.

The pleasant thing about a Spanish party is that there is no fuss made, and therefore everybody enjoys themselves. The hostess never tires herself out preparing for her guests so that she cannot be cheerful and agreeable when they arrive. The hospitality of Spain is perfect. A Spaniard gives his friends just what is good enough for himself, and never thinks of doing more. So there was not a great brewing and baking on the day of the party, and flushed, heated faces; but there were a few simple refreshments, much pleasant talk and hearty laughter among old and young. There were about thirty friends of the family who came in to talk and chat. The parents came with their daughters, for girls never go to parties alone in Spain, and old and young spent the evening together. Some one played on the piano and the young people danced, lovely Trinidad del Aguistanado dancing with Pablo. This Juanita watched with delight. Trinidad was the loveliest of all the girls, and she thought, of course, Pablo should have the prettiest maiden in all the world. She was as sweet as she was pretty, and said to the little girl:

"What is thy name, niÑa?" and when Juanita answered, sweetly:

"Juanita, to serve God and you," as all Spanish children are taught to answer, Trinidad kissed her on both cheeks, and gave her a rose from her girdle. At this Juanita was delighted, and Pablo sighed prodigiously. The older people, too, seemed well pleased with Pablo's choice, for the girl's family was as good as theirs, and the two had been friends for many years.

"Juanita," said Fernando in a whisper, "I believe that Pablo will bite the iron[16] of the SeÑorita Trinidad. Will it not be strange to think of him beneath her window, singing of love to his guitar?"

"It will be beautiful," sighed the little girl, for Spanish children are always interested in the love affairs of their older brothers and sisters, and even little girls talk about them. "How handsome Pablo looks as he talks with her."

"They are as fair as the lovers of Teruel," said old Dolores, who was at the party to take care of her little charges.

"Tell us about them," said Juanita, eagerly, for she dearly loved Dolores's quaint stories; and the aya began:

"In the town of Teruel there lived, many years ago, a Spanish knight, Don Juan Diego Martinez de Marcilla, and he loved with all his heart DoÑa Isabel de Segura. Alas, unhappily! for the fathers of the two lovers were enemies, and would not listen to love between them.

"'Thou art but a second son,' said Don Pedro de Segura, the father of DoÑa Isabel. 'Moreover, thou hast not a fortune equal to that of my daughter, who possesses thirty thousand sueldos in good gold, and is my sole heiress.'

"'Full well I know that I am in no wise worthy of thy fair daughter,' said Don Juan, 'and upon her grace have I no claim save that she loves my unworthy self. But since this is God's truth, I pray you give me the chance to prove my devotion, and I will furnish sufficient fortune to equal hers. I go to the wars with my lord, King Sancho of Navarre. Grant me five years in which to gain this fortune, and give me your promise that for that length of time you will not force DoÑa Isabel to marry another.'

"DoÑa Isabel was very young, and her father very fond, and by this he could keep her with him five long years, and, moreover, marry her to whom he pleased, for he said to himself, 'In that time both of them will forget,' and so he smilingly said:

"'Your words have some reason. Go with God, and if you return, well and good. My daughter shall not marry against her will for five years to this day, but mark me, rash youth, not one day more shall she wait.'

"Then the lovers bade each other farewell, and Don Juan rode to the wars. These were waged against the wicked Moors, and with knights and squires, the armies of Don Alphonso of Castile, Don Pedro of Aragon, and Don Sancho of Navarre fought long and fiercely until, at the great battle of Las Navas de Tolosa, the Moor was crushed. Many a valiant deed was done, and Don Juan was bravest of them all. He broke through the chain which guarded the tent of the Moorish king, and thereby gained great glory and won for himself the right to wear a chain around the margin of his shield in honour of the day. He gained great renown and fortune, but, alas, he was sorely wounded, and it was more than five years before he could return to his beloved. He arrived in Teruel but one short day after the time was up, and found DoÑa Isabel married to another, Don Pedro Fernandez de Azagra. Despairing, he desired to see his beloved once more, and climbed to her window on her wedding-night. Finding her alone and her husband sleeping, he implored her to give him one last kiss. She refused, and said, weeping, 'Alas! you came not and I thought myself forgotten. I am wedded to this good man, and to him alone belong my caresses.'

"At this his heart broke, and crying, 'Farewell, beloved!' he dropped dead at her feet.

"At that moment her husband awoke, and she told him straightway the truth, at which he said, 'Thou hast been cruel and unkind to this good man, but to me faithful and true, and I shall but love thee the more!' and he took the body of the poor Don Juan and bore it secretly to his father's step and laid it down and fled away.

"When the body of the knight was found, there was great mourning, and he was given a grand funeral at the cathedral, to which all Teruel came to do him honour. There also came the unhappy DoÑa Isabel, disguised so that none might know her, and, determined to give her lover in death the kiss which she had denied him in life, she stooped to kiss his lips. Lo! the eyes unclosed, he smiled at her, and they closed again, and she fell beside him dead! All were struck dumb with horror, but Don Azagra came forward and told the mournful story, whereupon the two bodies were buried in the same grave.

"'Separated in life, in death they shall be together,' said the generous knight who had been her husband but not her beloved; and this is the sad, sad story of the lovers of Teruel."

"Oh, thank you, Dolores, it is a beautiful story," cried Juanita, and the young people who had gathered around to hear clapped their hands, and thanked her, too.

"What think you, SeÑorita Trinidad, would you have kissed your lover had you been DoÑa Isabel?" asked Pablo of the young girl.

"I should not have married the other man, seÑor," she said, flushing prettily.

"Come, Trinidad, you must sing for us," cried one of her friends. "Sing the song of Santa Rita," and Trinidad, with a merry little glance at Pablo, sang the gay little song which Spanish girls sing in jest, asking Santa Rita to procure them a good husband.

Everybody applauded loudly, and Trinidad, laughing and blushing, sang again. The older people sat about serenely, some talking, others playing cards or dominoes. The younger ones played sprightly games and talked like magpies, and the children listened spellbound.

"Who art thou, Pablo?" laughed one, and Pablo answered, merrily:

And every one laughed, and Trinidad gave him a charming glance from under her black lashes.

Refreshments were passed around, very simple ones. There were trays of water, and by each glass round lumps of sugar, which the guests dipped in the water and ate, hard little cakes, cups of thick chocolate into which finger cakes were dipped and eaten, and some charming little bonbons. There was no wine, for although the finest wine in the world is made in Spain, the Spaniards are great water drinkers, and seldom have wine except at dinners. The men all smoked, but not the ladies, for while the Mexican women sometimes smoke a dainty cigarrillo, Spanish women do not.

Later on, Pablo's health was drunk in tiny glasses of sherry, as this was a special occasion, and pleasant speeches were made to him, wishing him all success in his career.

"Thou art now a man, my son," said his father, proudly and affectionately. "Remember that since the time of the Emperor Charles V., thy fathers have had the right to wear the Golden Key[19] upon their hip, and do nothing to disgrace thy name. On the sword of my grandfather was engraved the motto, 'Do not draw me without reason nor sheathe me without honour!' Let his motto be thine own, and remember that to a Spaniard honour comes first."

Then the party broke up, and Fernando and Juanita were trotted off to bed, and sleepily murmured their evening prayer:

and they heard through the soft moonlight the tinkle of Pablo's guitar, as he strolled along to bite the iron beneath the grating of the dainty SeÑorita Trinidad.