were those magic castanets. She was taking them to Juan. She was going to sell them.
She passed the lovely Alcazar (äl-kä´thär) Gardens, from which came the perfume of flowers and blossoms. She heard the soft voice of bells from the Giralda, a prayer tower which had belonged to an ancient Moorish mosque (mŏsk).
In a little square, some of Pilar's friends were dancing to the music of a hurdy-gurdy. Pilar stopped. How she longed to join them in their dance!
The thought came to her that she had never tried her mother's castanets. She wondered how they would sound. She fixed them on her fingers and began to play.
Their beauty astonished her. They spoke. They sang. They cried out to her feet and she danced. She danced until she was breathless and the hurdy-gurdy had gone away. So had the children – gone to their homes.
Pilar was alone. She stood in the center of the little court, its white, balconied houses all around, and its ancient fountain squatting in the center.
But to Pilar, time had not passed. She had been in a dream of music. The castanets had drawn her into a dream of music and dance.
Now she slowly unloosed them from her fingers. Never had she known that such beautiful sound could come from two wooden clappers. Why, her own little cheap ones were hideous and shrill beside these speaking marvels.
How could she give them up? How could she take them to Juan to be sold? No, no! She must keep them. She must keep them and dance every day to their rippling music.
But Juan had given her money, for which she had promised to bring him the castanets. And it would never do to give Juan her own instead, for that would be cheating.
But there were other lovely souvenirs in her chest at home. Perhaps Juan would as soon have one of these!
Pilar went home, and once again she knelt down beside the wooden chest. Out came each precious souvenir. Which should she take to Juan in place of the castanets?
If those souvenirs could have spoken, what strangely wonderful stories they could have told!
Pretend, for fun, that they can speak, and let us listen to their ancient voices.
"I am a knife – a very sharp knife. I was made in Toledo, which is said to be the oldest town in Spain.
"Toledo sits proudly upon a granite throne, like some weatherbeaten queen. The River Tagus (tā´gŭs) laps about her feet as though to wash away the dust of ages.
"There are Arab stories in the ancient streets of Toledo. Once it was an important center of the Romans, the Goths, and then the Moors.
"The cathedral is supposed to be the richest in the world. It contains a room with massive doors, to which six keys must be used before one may enter. In this room are the priceless jewels of the Madonna.
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