The children could not be consoled for the death of their mother. Isolated as they were, all the sentiments of their hearts became converted into love for each other, and sorrow for their loss.
Lucas, however, who was five years older than his sister, did his best to enliven and distract her.
"Don't cry so, Lucia," he said to her one night, not long after the condolement. "Mother will not come back for crying, and you make me cry. What shall I do to amuse you?"
The child made no answer.
"Shall I sing you a romance?"
Lucia inclined her head in token of assent, and the boy sang in his clear, sweet voice the following ballad:
Holy Saviour of La Luz,
Teach a child's tongue how to tell
A thing that happened in Seville,
Right, and worthily, and well.
Of a mother who lived there,
And two daughters that she had;
One was humble, mild, and good,
The other one was proud and bad.
They marry with two brothers,
Who are brothers but in name—
Under the same roof nurtured,
But in nothing else the same.
The younger sells his portion,
And loses the whole in play;
The elder follows the plough,
And works in his field all day.
Then the younger dies, and leaves
His wife, all alone and poor;
Her children weep for bread,
And she seeks her sister's door,
Praying, "In God's name, sister,
And for his sweet Mother's sake,
Give my little children bread,
And his word in payment take."
"Go, Mary," cries the sister,
"Beggar, take yourself away!
Was my lot better than yours
Upon our wedding-day?"
Weeping and broken-hearted,
The poor mother turns again;
To know her cause of sorrow
The neighbors ask in vain.
Of the parlor of her house
She had made a room for prayer
To our Lady of the Beads:
And now she enters there,
And, with her little children,
Before the altar falls
Of our sweet princess Mary,
And on her name she calls.
Now, homeward in the evening
The good brother turns his feet;
Finds table spread and waiting,
And he sits him down to eat.
He takes a loaf and breaks it,
But throws it away again,
For blood runs out of the bread,
On his hand he sees the stain.
Then he takes and breaks another,
But still the red blood falls—
"Oh! what is this?" astonished,
To his trembling wife he calls.
"Tell me, I say! what is it?"
For to tell she is afraid:
"In vain to me, this morning.
For bread my sister prayed!"
"And she that, without pity,
To a sister refuses bread,
To God's Mother doth refuse it,"
Then the angry husband said.
Six loaves the young man gathered,
And in haste to the abode
Of his sister and her children
He straightway took the road.
The window-shutters were closed,
And locked were windows and doors;
But the gleam of many lights
Shone out through the apertures—
Shone on six angels of God,
All kneeling upon the floor
Round six bodies of mother and children
That would never hunger more.
"Farewell, my soul's dear sister,
And sweet nephews of my heart!
Though gold I have, and plenty,
I would gladly give my part
For yours in the blessed country
Where sorrow is all forgot,
And the labor of life exchanged
For the eternal better lot!"
"And did she let her sister starve to death?" asked the child, her eyes refilling from her already surcharged heart.
"Yes, yes; she was a good-for-nothing; but don't cry, Lucia, a story isn't a thing that ever happened."
"If it had never happened, they would not have put it in the romance," said the little girl.