"It belonged, once long ago, to – Tony – " he began.
Then his voice trailed off. He closed his eyes and fell asleep again. He was very feeble.
Pilar kissed him gently and stole out of the house.
The narrow streets of Seville looked like thin Arabs with their arms pressed close to their white-robed sides. They were bright with sunlight. They were noisy with squawking motor horns, with chattering men and women.
Juan's shop was on the Street of the Serpents, a wriggling ribbon of a street with booths and shops and cafés – a street of ragged people, of staring people, of chanting, selling people. But no automobiles or wagons were allowed upon the Street of the Serpents.
Pilar met Juan Sanchez at the door of his tiny shop.
"Good morning, Señorita (sā´nyō-rē´-tä) Pilar," he smiled.
He was glad to see Pilar. Everyone in Spain is always glad to see children. This is a good thing, because Spain is overflowing with children.
"Good morning, Señor (sā-nyōr´) Juan," said the little girl. Then, timidly she held up the faded old cape. "Will you buy this from me?" she asked. "My grandfather is ill, and I must have money to pay for food and medicine."
Juan looked at the cape. He said nothing, but his mouth twitched as though it wanted to smile. He turned the cape inside out and stared at something he saw.
"The name 'Tony' is printed in ink on the inside of this cape," he said.
But Pilar was not interested. She only looked up at him and repeated earnestly, "Will you buy it, señor? Will you?"
Juan shook his head. "No, Pilar," he answered. "I cannot buy it because it is worth nothing to me."
Then as he saw the cloud cover her smile, he added, "But it may be worth a great deal to you if you will send it away!"
"If I will send it away, señor?" Pilar thought that the good Juan must be teasing her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, "that you must send it to America to the one whose name is written here."
He pointed to the name Tony. It meant nothing until Juan explained.
"Years ago," he said, "Tony was a little boy who played in the streets of Seville. He liked to play bullfight. This is the cape with which he angered the make-believe bull. I was that bull."
"You, Juan? You were the bull?" laughed Pilar.
"Yes, and a fierce one with great horns which I held proudly to my head," answered Juan. "But today," he went on, "today this Tony – ah, he is a very rich man. He has made many American dollars."
"But how did his cape come to be among my mother's souvenirs?" asked Pilar.
"When Tony went away to seek his fortune in America," said Juan, "he must have given it to your mother. They lived next door to each other when they were children. They were very good friends."
"But why should I send the cape to Tony in America?" asked Pilar.
"Because," answered Juan, "I am sure that he will remember your mother and help you in your trouble."
Pilar's eyes shone. "Oh, do you think so?" she cried.
Juan nodded his head knowingly. "I shall send it for you, Pilar," he said. "And I shall write a letter, too, and tell Tony about your sick grandfather. Now take this money, child, and buy what you need."
He pressed some coins into Pilar's hand, but she shrank back.
"Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed. "I cannot take money from you, señor, when I have given you nothing for it!"
Juan laughed. "Very well, little proud one," he said. "You may bring me something else tomorrow."
Pilar thought of the old pair of castanets.
She asked Juan whether he would take them, and he replied, "Of course. It is not difficult to sell castanets in Seville."
So Pilar left the shop of Juan Sanchez, and her heart sang as she skipped along. She bought bread and fish and eggs and she took them home.
She cooked the fish and the eggs in oil, as Spanish people do. Then she poured some milk out of a pitcher and tried to make her grandfather eat and drink.
After that, she went into her tiny room and once again opened the wooden chest. This time she took out the magic castanets, whose mysterious history she did not know.
But her grandfather knew all those terrible legends which had been handed down through the family. He was too intelligent really to believe them but when Pilar came into his room holding the clappers in her hand, his eyes suddenly filled with fear.
"What are you doing with the castanets, Pilly?" he asked in his weak voice.
"I am going to sell them to Juan Sanchez," answered Pilar, smoothing his pillow. "Then I shall buy a little chicken and cook it for your dinner."
"No, no!" The old man tried to sit up in bed. "Do not sell the cast – "
But Pilar interrupted him. "Please, Grandfather," she said. "You must not talk. You must rest while I am gone."
She made him lie down again and he sank back wearily, closing his eyes. He was too weak to say any more, but his lips began to move.
"Castanets, with – magic – spell – " he muttered to himself.
The words were muffled. Pilar could not understand them.
She patted his hand gently and said, "Go to sleep, dear Grandfather. Do not worry. Pilar will take good care of you."
Then she sang a little song which sounded like a Moorish chant. And perhaps it was, for Spain once was ruled by the Moors, who left much of their art and music behind them when they were driven out.
Pilar's soothing voice soon lulled her grandfather to sleep. And so it was that he did not finish the verse about the castanets.
It was a pity, too, as you will agree when you have heard the legend of the castanets in old Cadiz (kăd´ĭz).
CHAPTER III
IN OLD CADIZ
Before the Moors came into Spain, Cadiz, or Gadir, as it was then called, had become famous for its dancers. Throughout the land they were known for their grace and beauty.
Now there lived at this time one who had grown too old to dance any more. So she wished to teach her little daughter the steps she had once loved so well.
But strangely enough, she was afraid to do this – afraid, because a savage race called the Visigoths (vĭz´ĭ gŏths) were sweeping through Spain and were trying to destroy the art of the people. They were overrunning the country, smashing great statues and burning fine books.
What would they do if they were to discover that women were secretly teaching their children to carry on the art of dancing?
Although she feared the Visigoths, this mother, who had once been a dancer, used to take her daughter to a cave far from the city. And here she would attempt to instruct the little girl.
But young Lira did not want to learn to dance. She was plump and lazy. She disliked to exercise, except with a knife and fork. For eating was the only thing she really enjoyed.
One day when the sun shone fiercely, Lira felt very sorry for herself. She was hot and twice as lazy as usual – which, I assure you, was dreadfully lazy!
She decided that she would not take her dancing lesson. Yet how was she to escape it? Soon her mother would be leading her off to the cave and making her work.
Lira bit into a large loaf of bread and thought furiously. Why, of course! She would hide her mother's castanets and then say that she had lost them. This was a splendid idea.
So running off ahead of her mother, she made her way to the secret cave. Below her lay the city of Cadiz. It was so white that