_. Have one.... When people, d'you
know, are kind to children, there are things to be expected."

"Certainly children are indulgently treated in Spain," said Telemachus,
his mouth full of almond paste. "They actually seem to like children!"

A cart drawn by four mules tandem led by a very minute donkey with
three strings of blue beads round his neck was jingling past along the
road. As the canvas curtains of the cover were closed the only evidence
of the driver was a sleepy song in monotone that trailed with the dust
cloud after the cart. While they stood by the roadside watching the
joggle of it away from them down the road, a flushed face was poked out
from between the curtains and a voice cried "Hello, Tel!"

"It's Lyaeus," cried Telemachus and ran after the cart bubbling with
curiosity to hear his companion's adventures.

With a angle of mulebells and a hoarse shout from the driver the cart
stopped, and Lyaeus tumbled out. His hair was mussed and there were
wisps of hay on his clothes. He immediately stuck his head back in
through the curtains. By the time Telemachus reached him the cart was
tinkling its way down the road again and Lyaeus stood grinning,
blinking sleepy eyes in the middle of the road, in one hand a skin of
wine, in the other a canvas bag.

"What ho!" cried Telemachus.

"Figs and wine," said Lyaeus. Then, as Don Alonso came up leading his
grey horse, he added in an explanatory tone, "I was asleep in the
cart."

"Well?" said Telemachus.

"O it's such a long story," said Lyaeus.

Walking beside them, Don Alonso was reciting into his horse's ear:

'Sigue la vana sombra, el bien fingido.
El hombre esta entregado
al sueno, de su suerte no cuidando,
y con paso callado
el cielo vueltas dando
las horas del vivir le va hurtando.'

"Whose is that?" said Lyaeus.

"The revolving sky goes stealing his hours of life.... But I don't
know," said Don Alonso, "perhaps like you, this Spain of ours makes
ground sleeping as well as awake. What does a day matter? The driver
snores but the good mules jog on down the appointed road."

Then without another word he jumped on his horse and with a smile and a
wave of the hand trotted off ahead of them.

_XVI: A Funeral in Madrid_

_Doce dias son pasados
despues que el Cid acabara
aderezanse las gentes
para salir a batalla
con Bucar ese rey moro
y contra la su canalla.
Cuando fuera media noche