hated the memory of that ugly and infested garment.

"I, too, have a silk jacket and breeches by my bed," said Adan, "and a
lace shirt and silk stockings, and shoes with buckles. There must be
those of our age in the Casa Carillo, my friend. Bueno! I go to make a
caballero of myself. Hasta luego."

He opened the door and peered out, then ran hastily down the corridor to
his room. Who knew but there might be girls at the Casa Carillo?
Horrible thought!

The boys met a half hour later on the corridor, still weak, but
magnificent to look upon. Roldan's head was very high, despite his
protesting knees: he felt himself again.

"It is the hour of siesta," he said. "Let us lie in these hammocks and
wait. Ay! but it is warm, and the sky is blue, and the sun looks like
the copper lamp of my mother--the one that came from Boston. Who--even
an Indian--would live in the mountains when the valleys are so big and
warm?"

They extended themselves in two hammocks swung across the corridor and
watched the many doors on the several sides of the court. All were
closed, and the forest had hardly been more quiet than the Casa Carillo
in its hour of siesta. Through the arch of the gateway they could see
the green of fields, a corner of a vineyard, and rolling hills. On
either side of the entrance was a large magnolia-tree with broad shining
leaves and bunches of cream-white fragrance. The oranges were very
yellow, the palms very stately, the red tiles on the sloping roofs above
the white walls looked very fresh and red. There was colour and beauty