Autumn came with its harvesting and all the joys of the vintage. Pedrillo, like his neighbors, made his own wine, and Rafael and Pilarica had glorious times stamping, in the lightest of attire, on the grapes in the vat and singing: “Green I slept in my cradle; Red at the ball danced I; But now I’m purple you like me best And laugh to see me die.” The autumn found Dolores more than ever fond of finery. She would don her best cream-colored kerchief, starred with gold, only to visit her father’s sheep out in the heather. One early October evening, when the girl, with shining eyes, had slipped away to join one of the groups of leaping dancers that dotted the fields, Doña Barbara smiled and sighed, and sighed and smiled, saying as if to herself: “There is no sun without its clouds and no lass without her lovers.” “I heard that handsome sailor-lad of Vigo tell Dolores that she is so sweet the roses are envious of her,” piped up Pilarica. “No sailor-lad shall ever enter my door,” growled Uncle Manuel, just back from another trip. “No door can keep out love and death,” answered Aunt Barbara softly. Pilarica began to wonder about love and death. People spoke those words in such strange, beautiful tones. And night after night she lay awake beside Dolores to hear a boyish voice, with the hoarse Galician note, singing under the window. At first the _coplas_ were light and playful. “The stars of heaven Are a thousand and seven. Those eyes of thine Make a thousand and nine.” “Tiny and dainty, you please me well, Down to my heart’s true pith. You look to me like a little bell Made by a silversmith.” Then they grew so earnest that the young voice would sometimes break with feeling. “Blest are the sheep that follow you Across the meadows green, For their shepherdess, in her mantle blue, Is like the Heavenly Queen.” “Until the singing shells On the margin of the sea Give me counsel to forget, I will remember thee.” For a while they waxed resentful. “Don’t act as if you were the Queen Putting on such airs. I don’t choose to reach my Love By a flight of stairs.” But soon they were triumphant. “I thought thee a proud, white castle; I neared thee with alarm; And I find thee a tender little girl Who nestles in my arm.”