palm-tree; Momo was engaged in repairing
the harness of the good "Swallow" (the ass); and Manuel, cutting up
tobacco. On the fire was conspicuous a stew-pan full of Malaga potatoes,
white wine, honey, cinnamon, and cloves. The humble family waited with
impatience till the perfumed stew should be sufficiently cooked.

"Come on! Come on!" cried Maria, when she saw her guest and the shepherd
enter. "What are you doing outside in weather like this? 'Tis said a
hurricane has come to destroy the world. Don Frederico, here, here! come
near the fire. Do you know that the invalid has supped like a princess,
and that at present she sleeps like a queen! Her cure progresses
well--is it not so, Don Frederico?"

"Her recovery surpasses my hopes."

"My soups!" added Maria with pride.

"And the ass's milk," said Brother Gabriel quietly.

"There is no doubt," replied Stein; "and she ought to continue to take
it."

"I oppose it not," said Maria, "because ass's milk is like the
turnip--if it does no good it does no harm."

"Ah! how pleasant it is here!" said Stein, caressing the children. "If
one could only live in the enjoyment of the present, without thought of
the future!"

"Yes, yes, Don Frederico," joyfully cried Manuel, "'_Media vida es la
candela; pan y vino, la otra media._'" (Half of life is the candle;
bread and wine are the other half.)

"And what necessity have you to dream of the future?" asked Maria. "Will
the morrow make us the more love to-day? Let us occupy ourselves with
to-day, so as not to render painful the day to come."

"Man is a traveler," replied Stein; "he must follow his route."

"Certainly," replied Maria, "man is a traveler; but if he arrives in a
quarter where he finds himself well off, he would say, 'We are well
here; put up our tents.'"

"If you wish us to lose our evening by talking of traveling," said
Dolores, "we will believe that we have offended you, or that you are not
pleased here."

"Who speaks of traveling in the middle of December?" demanded Manuel.
"Goodness of heaven! Do you not see what disasters there are every day
on the sea?--hear the singing of the wind! Will you embark in this
weather, as you were embarked in the war of Navarre? for as then, you
would come out mortified and ruined."

"Besides," added Maria, "the invalid is not yet entirely cured."

"Ah! there," said Dolores, besieged by the children, "if you will not
call off these creatures, the potatoes will not be co