"Bother!" said Walter. "I thought there was a pool for bathing, and that we might paddle about in it, just as we used to do at Ti Juana. But, anyhow, Nellie and I don't want to take any siesta, do we, Nellie?"
His sister shook her head. "Just let's go out and ramble around," she said. "We'll find something to amuse us."
"There is something already," said Mr. Page, as the clear note of a bird broke upon the midday stillness. Soft and sweet it trilled, then loud and shrill, then quivered down to a melancholy note, and again gradually ascended, terminating in one long, beautiful, slowly-dying tremolo.
"What can that be?" cried Mrs. Page. "It seems almost like an angel's song. I have never heard anything like it."
"It is only me—Francisco," said a boyish voice on the outside, while a pair of bright eyes peered in between the interstices of the sylvan dining-room.
"Come in, come in!" cried Walter, hurrying from his place. "I want mother to see you."
"Mother," he continued, as the boy entered slowly, cap in hand, "this is Francisco, our friend whom we met near the church this morning. Is there anything he can do?"
Mrs. Page extended her slim white hand. The boy took it and said: "I can work very well. I could fetch water."
"I do not believe there is anything you could do," replied Mrs. Page. "We have a man who does all we require. We shall not need any carrying of water, I think. I see there are hydrants not far away."