"And you would rather put up with the grapes and the oranges in the market-place?" we suggested.
"We should like to put them down, señor. Only try us."
Having invited the challenge, it had to be accepted: and the whole troop tore off with one consent to drive bargains with the fruit-women. One boy, however, remained behind; a fair, thoughtful lad of about fifteen, with large, dreamy, beautiful brown eyes.
"Why don't you join them, and take your share of the spoil?" we asked him.
"Señor, I would rather study this old chapel than eat all the grapes in Catalonia," he replied. "My father is the sacristan of the cathedral. He loves old buildings too, but not as I do, I think. I have made up my mind to be an architect, and when I can do as I like I will build great churches on such models as these, like the mighty men of old."
So the father's love had descended to the son, and in the latter may possibly some day bear good fruit. The boy looked a genius. We turned away, and he turned with us.
"What is your name?" we asked him.
"Hugo Morales, señor. Will you let me show you my favourite spot, señor," he said; and forthwith led us to a short street of steps, something like the streets of Gerona, ending in a lovely old arched passage, through which one caught a glimpse of ancient houses beyond. Above the archway rose a wonderful old house with an ajimez window of rare beauty, and other Gothic windows with latticed panes and deep mouldings. Then came the overhanging roof covered with pantiles. The tone was perfect. Next to this was a small church with a Norman doorway, crowned by a graceful belfry in which a solitary bell was hung. If not the most ancient, it was certainly the most picturesque bit in all Tarragona.
"And you really love it?" we asked this singular boy.
"With all my heart," he answered. "I often come here with my books and do my lessons sitting on that old staircase that you see on the left. The house is empty and no one interferes with me. But I must be off home. A Dios, señor."