And that is why, the legend tells, this sunny part of Spain is called Andalucia.
Seville, too, is in Andalucia; and now let us go back to Seville and to Pilar.
Tonight Pilar had left her grandfather for the first time in many evenings. A neighbor had kindly offered to stay with him while she went to the fiesta. Pilar's heart had been crying out for music and dancing.
Across the bridge, over the Guadalquivir (gwä´dăl-kwĭv´ẽr) River, went the crowd of young people. They passed the Torre del Oro (tôr´rā̍ dĕl ō´rō) (Tower of Gold), where treasure once was stored.
In Triana there are many pottery shops; also there is a large American olive factory. It is said that the best olives are grown in sight of the Giralda Tower, which is in Seville.
| A FIELD NEAR CORDOBA |
At the fiesta, music and song filled the air. Lanterns were strung from poles. Booths lined the square. Nuts and fruits and cakes were sold. There were small wagons where men fried long, golden cakes like the doughnut.
Shawls, laces, paintings, toys, and fans for sale. Merry-go-rounds, sideshows, dancing, and more dancing. Pilar and her friends whirled about, kicking their legs, pointing their toes, rolling their eyes, and rippling their castanets.
At last, tired, but filled with rhythm and harmony, the group started for home.
After Pilar had left the fiesta, however, somebody asked about her. That somebody was a great dancing master.