The next morning it rained quite hard, so the children had to stay in the house.

"What shall we do with ourselves?" said Maria. "Oh, I know. We'll ask father to tell us stories."

"What shall it be to-day?" he asked. "Do you want a tale of old Spain, or shall it be the life of Columbus; or maybe you would like a fairy story?"

"A fairy story! A fairy story!" all cried together.

"Very well, then, this shall be a tale that our people heard in Europe a thousand years ago.

"It was long before Columbus dreamed of his wonderful voyages across the Atlantic. It was before people had even thought of the idea of the roundness of the earth. They had such queer fancies in those days. Few men dared to sail far into the West. They believed that if they did so they would come into a place of perfect darkness.

"Still they had one legend of a land across the Atlantic that was very beautiful. Many of our greatest men believed in it. It was called the Island of Youth, and people who reached it could live for ever, and never grow old."

"What made them think there was such a place?" asked Maria, with wide-open eyes.

"They had heard that long ago there was a very brave young man. He had a wonderful horse as white as the foam of the ocean. Strange to say, this horse could carry him through the water more safely than the stoutest boat. As he was looking for adventure, he started off on the back of his fairy steed to cross the ocean.

"After he had travelled for some distance, he stopped to kill a giant who had enchanted a princess. When the giant was dead, and the beautiful maiden was free once more, he travelled on till he came to a land where the trees were loaded with birds. The air was filled with their sweet music.

"He stayed in this land for a hundred years. He was merry and gay all the time. He was never ill, and never tired."

"But wasn't he lonesome?" asked Ramon. "I should think he would wish for other company besides the birds."

"Oh, there were many other people there, of course, and as our traveller was fond of shooting, he had great sport hunting the deer.

"But at last something happened to make him think of his old home and friends. It was a rusty spear that came floating to the shore one day. It must have travelled across the ocean. The young man grew sad with longing for the scenes of his early days. He mounted his white steed once more, plunged into the ocean, and at last reached his own home.

"But think, children. It was a hundred years since he had seen it. His old friends were all dead. The people seemed like dwarfs. I suppose he must have grown in size and strength while away on the Island of Youth. At any rate, his own home was not what he expected to find it. He had no wish to live longer. He lay down and died. The Island of Youth had not been such a great blessing to him, after all.

"Another story used to be told in Spain of the Island of Seven Cities. It was a legend of our own Cuba, for all we know. People said that a thousand years before Columbus crossed the Atlantic, an archbishop was driven away from Spain. Why was it? He was untrue to his king. He sailed far from his country with a goodly company of men and women.

"After a long voyage they reached a land which they called Antilla. There were people already living here. They were kind and gentle.

"The archbishop divided the land into seven parts. He built churches and other fine buildings. He got the natives to help him. All lived together in peace and happiness.

"But look, children, the rain has stopped falling, and the sun is shining. You can go outdoors now, and amuse yourselves. Before you leave, however, let me ask you a question in geography.

"Cuba is shaped like what animal? Think how long and narrow it is, and of the ridge of mountains running through the centre of the island. I will give you until to-morrow to guess the answer.

"And, by the way, did you ever think that our home is really the top of a row of mountains reaching up from the floor of the ocean? Ah, what wonders would be seen in the valleys below us, if we could journey under the water, and explore it for ourselves!"

Just as the good man stopped speaking, Miguel knocked at the door. Two ragged little girls were standing at his side. They were strangers. Where had they come from during the hard rain of the morning?

It seemed that Miguel had been tramping through the woods after game. He did not care for the rain. He was a good-natured servant, and was always ready to make pleasant surprises for the family. When he was about four miles from home, he came upon an unexpected camp. There were about thirty people in it. There, on the mountainside, they had made rough huts to live in. There were not only men and women, but little children, also. They had been here for two or three weeks.

What a sad story they had to tell! It was the old story. They wished to be peaceful; they did not join the army of the Cubans. Still, they might possibly help them in some little way. But they did not go to the great city. They fled to the woods on the mountainside. They kept themselves from starving by gathering berries and wild fruit. Their children were sent out every morning to the country homes which were not too far off to beg for food and help.

"Poor little children!" exclaimed Maria, when Miguel had finished his story. "We will help you all we can, won't we, papa?" And the child's eyes were full of tears, as she said:

"We may be homeless like them, yet."

Isabella ran to call her mother and ask her help. Clothing was collected, and all the food the family could spare was put into baskets. It was far too large a load for the little girls to carry, so Ramon and Miguel went with them.

"What a good servant Miguel is!" said SeÑor Diaz to his wife, after they were gone. "So many of the blacks are lazy, and only think of their own comfort. But Miguel is always good-natured and ready to help."