stones, ruby, ivory, agate, topaz, and a dried ilex leaf. I carried it with me always.
My grandfather gave me another long, considering look, and said, "I should like you to take Pedro with you."
"
Pedro? Why?
"
I was not pleased. True, Pedro was a good fellow, we got on well, and I was fond of him; but for an errand of this sort, where great delicacy might be called for, and who knew what kind of complications might arise, I did not see the necessity for his company. Juana and I had been alone together on our previous adventure, and we had come through it very successfully. Pedro's presence had been all very well on the journey from Salamanca, but I could not help feeling that, on this new mission, he might be most wretchedly in the way.
But my grandfather said placidly, "Pedro has grown into a very dependable, sensible fellow."
"Yes, that is true. He showed plenty of sense, coming from Salamanca."
"And you are going to have a pair of religious sisters on your hands; besides, I presume, Señora de la Trava."
"True," I said gloomily. I supposed the children's mother might wish to come along and have some say in our rescue plans.
"I shall feel easier in my mind if you have Pedro with you," my grandfather concluded in a firm tone.
I suppose I must still have looked as if I disagreed, my longing to conduct this adventure on my own was so very strong. A glow of pride warmed me through and through at the notion that Juana, even though she might now be a nun, had thought of me, had needed my help, had singled me out and taken such pains to have me sent for.
"But, after all, it is only to entice some children away from a madman? There can be no great danger or difficulty about such a task?"
"How can we possibly tell?" said my grandfather. "I recall meeting Manuel de la Trava almost fifteen years ago at Santiago de Compostela—"
"I can remember that journey," I began impulsively, and then stopped. I had been nearly four at the time. The pilgrimage had been undertaken so that my grandparents might pray for the safety of my uncles Juan and Esteban, colonels in the Spanish army fighting in the War of Independence. But those prayers had gone unanswered; both of my two uncles, like their brothers Miguel and Jose before them, had been killed in battle. I was now my grandfathers sole descendant, for my cousin Manuel Isidro had died of the smallpox in Madrid last summer.
"De la Trava was a fine, handsome fellow, intelligent, honest, and brave," my grandfather said slowly.
"But he may be quite changed now if he has gone mad."
"His strength and courage may be unimpaired. You may find your task a difficult one. In all kinds of ways."
I sighed, feeling certain that I would be able to manage it somehow, if only I were left to arrange matters to my own liking.
Grandfather smiled then, the rare smile that lit his face like the gleam of the dying sun.
"Bear with me, Felix! I am an old man and must be humored. The years have been long while you were away at Salamanca. But at least, while you were there, I could feel that you were in no danger and were profiting from excellent teachers—I trust that was so?" he added, shooting a diamond-bright glance from under his bushy brows, which, unlike the rest of his hair, had remained jet black.
"Certainly it was," I replied stoutly. "I have been working hard, Grandfather. I have learned a great deal."
"But now you are my sole heir—I have lost so much—so much," he muttered.
"I know, sir. And I am very sorry. I won't thwart you."
Yet still, though ashamed of my childishness, I felt impatient at this weight of moral obligation, which seemed to hang on me like a heavy collar; I had not asked to be his heir, after all!
"You will have to look after your great-aunts when I am gone. And your grandmother too, very possibly. And there is much less money than there was."
Indeed I had noticed that many of the treasured objects of silver, china, and porcelain were gone from the places they had
My grandfather gave me another long, considering look, and said, "I should like you to take Pedro with you."
"
Pedro? Why?
"
I was not pleased. True, Pedro was a good fellow, we got on well, and I was fond of him; but for an errand of this sort, where great delicacy might be called for, and who knew what kind of complications might arise, I did not see the necessity for his company. Juana and I had been alone together on our previous adventure, and we had come through it very successfully. Pedro's presence had been all very well on the journey from Salamanca, but I could not help feeling that, on this new mission, he might be most wretchedly in the way.
But my grandfather said placidly, "Pedro has grown into a very dependable, sensible fellow."
"Yes, that is true. He showed plenty of sense, coming from Salamanca."
"And you are going to have a pair of religious sisters on your hands; besides, I presume, Señora de la Trava."
"True," I said gloomily. I supposed the children's mother might wish to come along and have some say in our rescue plans.
"I shall feel easier in my mind if you have Pedro with you," my grandfather concluded in a firm tone.
I suppose I must still have looked as if I disagreed, my longing to conduct this adventure on my own was so very strong. A glow of pride warmed me through and through at the notion that Juana, even though she might now be a nun, had thought of me, had needed my help, had singled me out and taken such pains to have me sent for.
"But, after all, it is only to entice some children away from a madman? There can be no great danger or difficulty about such a task?"
"How can we possibly tell?" said my grandfather. "I recall meeting Manuel de la Trava almost fifteen years ago at Santiago de Compostela—"
"I can remember that journey," I began impulsively, and then stopped. I had been nearly four at the time. The pilgrimage had been undertaken so that my grandparents might pray for the safety of my uncles Juan and Esteban, colonels in the Spanish army fighting in the War of Independence. But those prayers had gone unanswered; both of my two uncles, like their brothers Miguel and Jose before them, had been killed in battle. I was now my grandfathers sole descendant, for my cousin Manuel Isidro had died of the smallpox in Madrid last summer.
"De la Trava was a fine, handsome fellow, intelligent, honest, and brave," my grandfather said slowly.
"But he may be quite changed now if he has gone mad."
"His strength and courage may be unimpaired. You may find your task a difficult one. In all kinds of ways."
I sighed, feeling certain that I would be able to manage it somehow, if only I were left to arrange matters to my own liking.
Grandfather smiled then, the rare smile that lit his face like the gleam of the dying sun.
"Bear with me, Felix! I am an old man and must be humored. The years have been long while you were away at Salamanca. But at least, while you were there, I could feel that you were in no danger and were profiting from excellent teachers—I trust that was so?" he added, shooting a diamond-bright glance from under his bushy brows, which, unlike the rest of his hair, had remained jet black.
"Certainly it was," I replied stoutly. "I have been working hard, Grandfather. I have learned a great deal."
"But now you are my sole heir—I have lost so much—so much," he muttered.
"I know, sir. And I am very sorry. I won't thwart you."
Yet still, though ashamed of my childishness, I felt impatient at this weight of moral obligation, which seemed to hang on me like a heavy collar; I had not asked to be his heir, after all!
"You will have to look after your great-aunts when I am gone. And your grandmother too, very possibly. And there is much less money than there was."
Indeed I had noticed that many of the treasured objects of silver, china, and porcelain were gone from the places they had
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