Wolf related of the outward appearance of her John, to whose new
name, Geronimo, she gradually became accustomed, Barbara could complete
from her vivid recollection of this rare child. He had remained strong
and healthy, and the violinist Massi, his good wife, and their daughter
loved the little fellow and cared for him as if he were their own son and
brother.

The musician, it is true, lived plainly enough, but there was no want of
anything in the modest country house with the gay little flower garden.
Nor did the boy lack playmates, though they were only the children of the
farmers and townspeople of Leganes. Clad but little better than they, he
shared their merry, often rough games. Geronimo called the violinist and
his wife father and mother.

Then Barbara desired a more minute description of his dress, and when
Wolf, laughing, confessed that he wore a cap only when he went to church,
and on hot summer days he had even met him barefoot, she clasped her
hands in astonishment and dismay. Not until her friend assured her that
among the thin, dark-haired Spaniards, with their close-cropped heads and
flashing black eyes, he, with his fluttering golden curls and free,
graceful movements, looked like a white swan among dark-plumaged ducks,
did she raise her head with a contented expression, and the sunny glance
peculiar to her again reminded her friend of the Emperor's son.

His lofty brow, Wolf said, he had inherited from his father, and his mind
was certainly bright; but what could be predicted with any certainty
concerning the intellectual powers of a boy scarcely seven years old? The
pastor Bautista Bela was training him to piety. The sacristan Francisco
Fernandez ought to have begun to teach him to read a year ago; but until
now Geronimo had always run away, and when he, Wolf, asked the worthy old
man, at Dona Magdalena's request, whether he would undertake to instruct
him in the rudiments of Latin, as well as in reading and writing, he
shook his head doubtfully.

Here a smile hovered around the speaker's lips, and, as if some amusing
recollection rose in his mind, he went on gaily: "He's a queer old
fellow, and when I repeated my question, he put his finger against his
nose, saying: 'Whoever supposes I could teach a young romper like that
anything but keeping quiet, is mistaken. Why? Because I know nothing
myself.' Then the old man reflected, and added, 'But--I shall not even
succeed in keeping this one quiet, be