Christmas in Spain: Mariquita's Day of Rejoicing
9781465653949
102 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“IF your mother is willing, I will take you for a walk with me,” said Señor Vasquez, smiling indulgently at his twin son and daughter. Anitia clapped her hands in delight as she ran after Antonio in search of their mother. They found her in the despensa, the store-house of many delicious dainties, as she was busy giving out the supplies for the holiday supper that evening. She followed them into the patio, however, and gave them the desired permission. “It’s such a busy day,” she said to their father, “that I am quite willing to spare them for the afternoon and a walk with you will be a great treat.” They made a pretty picture as they went down the narrow street, stopping once to wave their hands to the dark-eyed young mother who watched them from behind the barred windows of their quaint old house. More than one passer-by glanced after them half-enviously, for the erect young military man with his little son and daughter on either side was good to look upon, and their merry laughter was contagious. To tell the truth light hearts were not plentiful in old Seville that December day, for within the year the war with America had drained the resources of Spain and many people mourned for soldiers dead ’neath Cuban skies. But there was great rejoicing in the home of Señor Vasquez, for the father of the household had gone through the fierce campaign without injury, and although his term of service was not completed, his regiment had already landed in Spain and he had obtained a two weeks’ leave of absence for the holidays. Antonio and Anitia were wild with delight when their father came home and had scarcely let him out of their sight since his arrival. Antonio was constantly begging for stories of the war, and Anitia listened too, vaguely fascinated, although she shuddered sometimes when she thought of the pale, sick soldiers she had seen brought home from those same battle-fields. Her brother was always talking of the time when he should grow up and enter the army. Anitia couldn’t understand his eagerness; and she wondered if he would have been as anxious, if he had helped her mother make bandages and hospital supplies. She hadn’t forgotten the long hours when she had worked patiently, proud to be able to help the soldiers a little, while Antonio was marching and counter-marching with his boy friends. But the war was over now—Anitia drew a sigh of relief as she realized it and clung more tightly to her father’s hand. It was the afternoon of the day before Christmas and the sunny plazas and busy market-places were gay with holiday wares. It seemed as if the whole city were in the streets, for the laborers had all left their work at twelve and a good-natured throng jostled the little party of three. The children asked for a story this afternoon, so their father turned in the direction of the river and they walked away from the busy crowd towards the Triana bridge. From there they could look up and down the yellow Guadalquivir and fancy they could see again the stately galleons which rode there of old. They were familiar with the traditions of these ships and the cargoes they had brought from over the seas in the days when Seville was a busy port, but they loved to hear them again from their father’s lips.
