Everybody praised the cream of cauliflowers. In default of soup-plates, it was ladled into small round, gaily-painted dishes, about four inches deep. A dozen of them had cost Antonio the equivalent of an English shilling at the fair of Santa Iria a year before. All the dishes differed in pattern and color. Young Crowberry was the first to eat his last spoonful of soup; and, having done so, he discovered at the bottom of his dish a violet leopard, with green spots, climbing a pink tree. He shoved it towards Mrs. Baxter. "Alas, madam," he said. "The pity of it. How sad that the industrious artist whose work I am contemplating should have lacked those blessings of education which you, ma'am, are so signally qualified to impart! I protest that neither this cærulean quadruped nor the blushing vegetable to whose apex he aspires are to be found figured on any of the numerous pages which the late spendthrift Goldsmith devoted to the description of Animated Nature. I protest--" So did Crowberry _père_, who had been listening to some eager talk of Sir Percy's. He gave Crowberry _fils_ a kick under the narrow table, and once more lent Sir Percy his right ear. "Mine," said Isabel to Antonio, "is a blue bird, with an orange-colored tail. I should love to eat soup every night out of this nest of his." "It is your own," said Antonio. "I will send it up to-morrow." Not knowing the Portuguese etiquette which prescribed that Antonio should make the offer and that she should decline it, Isabel simply spoke what was in her heart. "Mine?" she said gratefully. "How good you are! But no. It's old and valuable. I could never think of it." "Very old," smiled Antonio. "The potter made it last year for the village fair. And very valuable. My man, José, bought twelve of them for a penny each. It is not worth naming." At the news that she could possess the blue and orange bird without leaving her host more than one penny the worse Isabel was as pleased as a child. Meanwhile, Sir Percy continued his conversation with Mr. Crowberry and ignored his daughter. A Portuguese papa would have kept sharp ears and eyes upon his offspring; but the monk knew too much of English ways to be surprised. José stamped in with the trout. When he had set them down and there was no further risk of his dropping both fishes and dishes on the stone floor, Antonio disclosed his name, his offices, and his virtues to the company, in English and in Portuguese. José blushed, saluted, and fled.