Their father went out again soon and their mother told them quietly that he had gone to the prison to secure Don Francisco’s liberty. Of course they were very impatient for his arrival, but soon their aunts and uncles and all the family relatives began to gather for the Christmas Eve supper which is always a gala event. There were no outside guests, except Mariquita, for this evening festivity is purely a family affair.
When their father returned, the supper was served, and it seemed as if the jollity was at its height when Dolores their good old ayo (nurse) appeared to take them to bed. It was very hard to leave the lights and flowers and smiling faces, but neither of the children objected, for they had been promised a great treat if they would go early to bed. For the first time in their lives they were going to the “Misa del Gallo” or “Cock-crow Mass” which is universally celebrated throughout Spain, at midnight, on Christmas Eve.
But Anitia was not at all sleepy, and she begged Dolores to tell her some stories of her own childhood until she could fall asleep. So good-natured Dolores told her some of the quaint customs which were still practised in her old home, a little old-fashioned town in southern Andalusia.
“Did you go to the ‘Misa del Gallo’ when you were as little as I am?” inquired Anitia. The little girl was quite impressed by the distinction she enjoyed.
“Yes, I was just your age when I went for the first time,” said Dolores. “I well remember the gorgeous procession when the beautiful Señora Juanita, our mistress, went to church with my father and all her other men-servants going in procession before her. Each one played a different instrument and I thought the sight was splendid.”
“Oh, will they do that to-night?” cried the little girl in excitement. Dolores laughed at the idea and told her that there were too many grand ladies in Seville to keep up such a custom. It is only practised in little towns where there is only one noble family.
“I remember another custom, too,” she said thoughtfully, as she stroked Anitia’s soft black hair. “In my little village there was no room in any house without its picture of the Saviour, and there was hardly a maiden who did not kneel before her picture of the Babe on noche-buena and hope to see His Mother. For they say that the Virgin visits every house where she can find a picture of her Son, on Christmas Eve, and brings blessings in her train.”
“I have a picture of the Babe, right here in my room,” murmured little Anitia drowsily.
“Oh, Anitia, Anitia, you do not need her kind blessing as much as I do,” said a sweet voice brokenly, as Mariquita buried her face in the pillow by the sleeping child. Then it was good Dolores’ turn to comfort the lonely girl who had stolen away from the gay family party and had been sitting in the darkness listening to the stories of old-world Spain.