"And it was you I saw in the wood one day, lying on the ground playing with a small bird?"
"Yes, señor."
"And it was you that followed me so often among the trees, calling to me, yet always hiding so that I could never see you?"
"Yes, señor."
"Oh, this is wonderful!" I exclaimed; whereat the old man chuckled again.
"But tell me this, my sweet girl," I continued. "You never addressed me in Spanish; what strange musical language was it you spoke to me in?"
She shot a timid glance at my face and looked troubled at the question, but made no reply.
"Señor," said the old man, "that is a question which you must excuse my child from answering. Not, sir, from want of will, for she is docile and obedient, though I say it, but there is no answer beyond what I can tell you. And this is, sir, that all creatures, whether man or bird, have the voice that God has given them; and in some the voice is musical and in others not so."
"Very well, old man," said I to myself; "there let the matter rest for the present. But, if I am destined to live and not die, I shall not long remain satisfied with your too simple explanation."
"Rima," I said, "you must be fatigued; it is thoughtless of me to keep you standing here so long."
Her face brightened a little, and bending down she replied in a low voice, "I am not fatigued, sir. Let me get you something to eat now."
