"Was my father one of these little scraps of men like so many we have seen?"
"No, he was rather a good height."
"And you are not short. He will probably be tall, then, with blue eyes." Anita was trying to visualize him, but gave it up. She could not adapt him to any special type.
The train sped on, winding around incredible heights, rushing through a limitless number of tunnels. All day they were travelling to reach Zaragoza at night.
"And he walked all the way," quavered Mrs. Beltrán, as she looked from the window of their small hotel. "Poor, weary little lad. Oh, Anita, we must find him. We must make up to him for all the love he had missed, for all the loneliness of his childhood." She dropped down upon a chair weeping, but checked herself almost immediately. "Forgive me, dear," she said, wiping her eyes. "I do not often give way, do I? but all day long, each mile of the way I have followed my boy's poor tired feet, toiling on so bravely day after day to finally reach—what? Oh, daughter, it is harder to bear now that he has become so much more of a reality. I used to see him as a baby boy; now he appears a tired, hopeless, homeless lad thrust out by unkindness into the world to fight his way alone."
"Oh, mother dear, mother dear," said Anita caressingly, "don't, don't feel that way. You are all tired out with the long journey, and it seems more to you than it should. You remember that Anselmo told us that he had many lifts by the way, and he was not so tired, perhaps as you believe. Remember that we have better reason to think we shall find him than ever before. To-morrow, it is probable that we shall be in the same city."
"For that very reason I am so fearful, so near and then to miss him; to come so far and then not find him!"
The possibility of this had not missed consideration by Anita but she did not say so. "Well, madre," she tried to comfort, "suppose he is not to be found at the very first, there will be much better chance in Barcelona than anywhere else, and we need not be discouraged even if we have to spend weeks or months hunting him up."
"I realize that." Mrs. Beltrán wiped her eyes. "I must buckle on my armor and not be such a lackadaisical mother. I am ashamed of myself."
"You are always so strong and calm," Anita returned, "that it is a pity if you cannot be allowed to indulge yourself in a few tears once in a while."