Anita pondered over this page from the past as they descended the steep hill. "Oh, these piedras," she mourned as her thin-soled shoes struck the pointed stones jutting up from the roughly paved way. "I shall never need to do worse penance. How do they manage?" she asked as she saw two girls ahead tripping unconcernedly down the hill in high-heeled shoes.
"Always they have done so," Rodrigo told her, "and no longer does it appear a difficult thing. Let us sit down and rest for some moments. I will bring you a refreshment, a cup of the cold water from the good fountain so quite near."
The little company sat down on a stone near a grove of huge eucalyptus trees, and presently bringing his cup of water, Rodrigo returned, first presenting a draught to Mrs. Beltrán and then, bowing low, he held out the cup to Anita saying:
"Drink to me only with the eye,
And I am plague by mine,
Or drop a kees to the cope,
And no more I am asking for—"
"Ah-h, I am forget thees. The vino, what is?"
"The wine," Anita answered, scarcely able to hold the cup of water for mirth. She dared not laugh, and scarcely could drink without choking. She managed to control herself, however, and returned the cup saying: "Mil gracias, señor. The water is delicious and the poetry very beautiful."
"So I think," returned Rodrigo, well satisfied with himself. "Now we will descend, and at the basest part of the hill we discover the birth village of your father."