"Yes, papa; yes, mamma, let me go," Nellie begged.
"Very well," both replied, but Aunt Mary said:
"Don't you think it rather tomboyish, to use a mild word, to go about that way with two boys?"
"One of them is her brother, Aunt Mary," hastily interjected Walter. "Nellie has always played with boys."
"It won't harm the child a bit," said Mr. Page.
Francisco smiled and said:
"The horse is very slow. He cannot hurt. He is an old one, mine. Once he was turned out to die, and I begged for him. So my uncle gave him. And he helps earn me my living now. When you see him I think you will laugh; but he is very good, as I said, my Rosinante."
"Where did you hear that name?" inquired Aunt Mary.
"A gentleman told me to call that name to my horse. He said there was a story about it—in Spanish."
"Don Quixote," said Aunt Mary pleasantly. "Did you ever hear about it?"