a to go and fetch it. For a long time she refused, but on
my promising not to stir from the spot where I was playing, she was at
last persuaded, and hurried up the steep flight of steps on to the
verandah. It had been an intensely hot day, and I was tired, so I
thought I would sit down and rest until Juanita returned. Looking round
I saw, as I imagined, a nice smooth round stone close by, upon which I
settled myself very comfortably, curling my little fat legs under me.
But the stone must surely have been an enchanted rock out of one of
Tasso's fairy stories, for it suddenly began to move, and, rising up, it
put out four flat feet, and marched briskly down the beach towards the
sea. The entire unexpectedness of it so utterly terrified me that I
could neither cry nor move, only hold on tight with both hands, and
wonder what black magic had seized upon me. The turtle, for such in
reality my stone proved to be, rapidly gained the water, and it was
about to paddle off in a hurry with its strange burden, when Juanita,
returning on to the verandah, saw my desperate plight, and by her
frantic screams brought Tasso, who dashed down the steps and into the
sea, just in time to rescue me before the turtle took a dive into the
deeper water.

I do not think Tasso ever quite forgave poor Juanita for this accident,
though she beat her breast and lamented in a perfect hail-storm of
southern grief. And always after this he would keep an eye upon me when
I was in her charge, appearing mysteriously from behind trees, popping
his dark head through windows, or peering between the vines of the
pergola; coming so suddenly and unexpectedly upon us, that I began to
think he had the gift of some of his magic heroes, and could make
himself visible and invisible at pleasure.

I like to recall those happy days of my early childhood; days when the
sun always shone, and the air was full of the scent of orange-blossom,
and my father and I lived a life apart among the flowers in the old
terraced garden, where the hum of the little town and the roll of the
surf below seemed but a distant echo of the world beyond.

In the summer-time, when the heat at San Carlos grew unbearable, we
moved up into the hills, on the verge of the great forests. It was
cooler there, for the wind blew fresh from the snow-capped sierras, and
I could run to my heart's content along the narrow paths of our
coffee-plantations, or chase Juanita between the cinnamon-trees.
Someti