nstant--a
catapult; to be held a profound secret from the mother.

"It keeps her awake at night," he confided; "and when she does get to
sleep she dreams of smashed windows and murdered cats. Now I never smash
windows, though I do go for the cats when I have a chance. It does them
no harm. If I hit them, you hear a thud like a sound from a drum--the
cats are not over-fed in these parts--but instead of tumbling down dead,
which would be exciting, they rush off like mad."

"Perhaps they die afterwards, Ernesto, of fractured liver or broken
heart."

This was at once negatived.

"Oh no, cats haven't livers and hearts like human beings. Their insides
are nothing but india-rubber. You can't kill a cat. If one fell from the
top of San Filiu, it would get up, shake its paws and run away."

We noted this revelation, intending to bring it before the Faculty on
our return to England, which evidently still gropes in Egyptian
darkness. The catapult was restored to safe depths, and before long no
doubt many a domestic tabby would be missing; there would be widowed
cats and orphaned kittens in many a household.

Then Ernesto, drawing us under an arcade out of the throng of the fair,
insisted upon fastening his mother's mantilla with the new brooch that
we might all admire the flashing stones.

"I believe they have made a mistake, and these are real diamonds," he
cried excitedly, kissing his mother and duly admiring the effect. "And I
haven't spent half my pocket-money yet."

"Thanks to you, senor," said the happy mother. "I was his first thought.
He bought me the brooch before he would look at a knife or chestnut. It
shall be kept amongst my treasures."

She was evidently almost as happy and light-hearted as the boy, her eyes
flashing with proud affection. No great care haunted her life in spite
of her conjugal good-morning.

"Confess that your lot is favoured," we said, "and you would not change
your lazy husband even if you had the chance. Confess you adore him and
are to be envied."

"Well, senor, you are not my father-confessor," she laughed, "but I will
confess to you all the same. I admit I would rather bear the ills I have
than fly to those of which I know nothing," unconsciously quoting
Shakespeare.

"Then the conjugal good-morning must be a little sweetened. It is
dangerous to play with edged tools."

Again she laughed, a laugh free from anxiety.

"We understand each other, senor. If I received him too amiab