er?--was it Hermes?--who said:--

"The Sun is Laughter; for 'tis He who maketh joyous the thoughts of
men, and gladdeneth the infinite world." ...

The Shadow of the Tide.

I.

Carmen found that her little pet had been taught how to pray; for each
night and morning when the devout woman began to make her orisons, the
child would kneel beside her, with little hands joined, and in a voice
sweet and clear murmur something she had learned by heart. Much as
this pleased Carmen, it seemed to her that the child's prayers could
not be wholly valid unless uttered in Spanish;--for Spanish was
heaven's own tongue,--la lengua de Dios, el idioma de Dios; and she
resolved to teach her to say the Salve Maria and the Padre Nuestro in
Castilian--also, her own favorite prayer to the Virgin, beginning with
the words, "Madre santisima, toda dulce y hermosa." . . .

So Conchita--for a new name had been given to her with that terrible
sea christening--received her first lessons in Spanish; and she proved
a most intelligent pupil. Before long she could prattle to Feliu;--she
would watch for his return of evenings, and announce his coming with
"Aqui viene mi papacito?"--she learned, too, from Carmen, many little
caresses of speech to greet him with. Feliu's was not a joyous nature;
he had his dark hours, his sombre days; yet it was rarely that he felt
too sullen to yield to the little one's petting, when she would leap up
to reach his neck and to coax his kiss, with--"Dame un beso,
papa!--asi;--y otro! otro! otro!" He grew to love her like his
own;--was she not indeed his own, since he had won her from death? And
none had yet come to dispute his claim. More and more, with the
passing of weeks, months, seasons, she became a portion of his life--a
part of all that he wrought for. At the first, he had had a
half-formed hope that the little one might be reclaimed by relatives
generous and rich enough to insist upon his acceptance of a handsome
compensation; and that Carmen could find some solace in a pleasant
visit to Barceloneta. But now he felt that no possible generosity
could requite him for her loss; and with the unconscious selfishness of
affection, he commenced to dread her identification as a great calamity.

It was evident that she had been brought up nicely. She had pretty
prim ways of drinking and eating, queer little fashions of sitting in
company, and of addressing people. She had peculiar notions about
colors in