Francisco awoke very early the next morning, for he was unaccustomed to sleeping away from home. He lay quite still listening to the unwonted sounds. He heard the servants scrubbing the marble floors of the patio and corridors; he heard the call of the panadero[8] and the hurrying feet to answer; for no private family ever bakes its own bread in Argentina, and the bakers have it all their own way, which isn't a very bad way since their bread is light and deliciously crisp; he heard the chattering of the parrots and paroquets in the servants' patio; then the clatter of a squad of mounted policemen on their way to the day's duty, the hoofs of their horses beating a tattoo of haste on the smooth asphalt still wet with the daybreak bath of the sprinkling carts.
Then he became interested in his room. Such luxury as surrounded him! He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, for he had never viewed these bed-rooms except from the corridor, on his infrequent visits to the house. His bed was heavily carved and overhung with a canopy of pale blue plush and silk; the walls were panelled and painted in delicate colours, with angels and cherubs everywhere; huge mirrors reflected each other as they hung in their frames of Florentine gold, and after he had viewed it all for a few moments, he buried his head in his pillow and wished for his own bare room and his mother. Then he longed for Elena that she might enjoy the beauties about him; and this reminded him of the pesebre, which was still unfinished, but which he had brought with him.
He wondered how he could get it to her without her finding out—and—he must have fallen into a doze, for soon he heard an imitation reveille blown through human hands, outside the closed blinds that shaded his door into the corridor, and his uncle called good-naturedly: "A pretty time for a soldier of the Republic to get up!"
Francisco hurried into his clothes and found the Colonel taking his coffee and rolls in a shaded corner of the patio.
"I am going to give you all of my time to-day, Niño, as I feel lazy, and I find there are many things here in your own native city that you know nothing about, and that a boy of nine should see and learn. Your mother could not be expected to do it, so it falls to me. We must start immediately, before the heat of the day drives us indoors. Get your cap, lad, and we will start over in the Plaza San Martín opposite, and have a lesson in history."
They donned their hats, and Francisco felt very proud to walk beside his uncle, who, if not a very large man in stature, loomed up big before the boy's worshipful eyes.
"What do you know of Buenos Aires, Niño?" he asked as they sauntered towards the centre of the park.
"Not much, Uncle Juan. I know it is the largest city on the South American continent, and that it has over one million inhabitants. My teacher said once that it is one of the largest produce markets in the world."
"Yes, and there is much more. It is the largest Spanish speaking city in the world, as it is twice as large as Madrid, the capital of Spain. But it is also very cosmopolitan."
"I don't think I know just what that means, Uncle Juan."