On the walls hung framed colored pictures of the Portuguese hero king, Affonso Henriquez, of Inez de Castro and Prince Pedro, her lover. A large gilt-framed mirror hung near the door, and over the mantel was a crucifix.
Never was there a cleaner or a prettier farmhouse in all Portugal. Never were there better-trained, more obedient children than Miguel Almaida's.
The father, in these many days when he had to sit helpless by the fireside in his arm-chair, felt grateful for his tidy home, his good wife, and his dutiful children. He was a man of middle height, thick-set in figure. He was of grave character and of great common sense. Even during this illness he kept himself cheerful and of good hope.
While the mother strained and cared for the milk, the older sisters washed and put away the dishes. Jose sat on a low stool by his father's side, holding Tareja on his knee, and listening to Antonio's stories about America, of his voyage home, and of the revolution in Portugal. Indeed the events in Portugal were of more interest even than the wonders of far-away America.
"Our country has changed very little in the past ten, twenty and perhaps fifty years. Now we can hope for better times," said Miguel Almaida.
News of the revolution had been slow in reaching the hillside farm. What the father had heard before as rumors Antonio now told him as facts.
The revolution had taken place while Antonio was on the voyage from New York to Gibraltar. The news had greeted him when he landed. As he had journeyed from Gibraltar to Lisbon, the capital city of Portugal, and then, northward still, to Guimarães, people everywhere were talking of the great event. Since then, travelling by foot from Guimarães out into the hill country and past the little market-place, always the one topic of interest had been King Manuel's banishment and the fact that the Portuguese people were now to rule and govern themselves.
Jose could not understand all that the change meant. But to Antonio and his father it meant better times,—not so much money to be paid in taxes, better laws, and a chance for the children to go to school. Almost all of the education which the Almaida children had received had been at home. Senhor Almaida was a man better educated than many of his neighbors.
When the evening work was done, the mother and the two older sisters drew around the hearth. Tiny Tareja soon fell asleep in the mother's arms. Joanna and Malfada began to embroider: Portuguese girls do beautiful work with their needles. The hearth-fire of maple wood burned brilliantly. Two candles on the mantel lighted up the crucifix.
Every few moments the parrot in its cage near the mantel, opened its eyes, blinked, and called out "Accolade! à deus!"—Welcome! Good-by! "I am sure the old parrot remembers you, Antonio," the mother said, each time. "He has not talked so much as this for six months."