Pilarica, frightened by the fierce looks, fell back with the little ones, Isabelita and Carmencita, chubby Pepito, and the gypsy two-year-olds, Rosita and Benito, letting the bigger and rougher children lead the way. So in two companies they tagged after the tourists up into the Court of Myrtles, with its great pool enclosed by myrtle hedges, and on to the Hall of the Ambassadors, whose walls are like lace of rare design and whose domed ceiling, all white and gold and blue, studded with starry figures, seems a bit of sky. When they had come to the Court of the Lions, whose multitude of white marble columns look, in their varied grouping, like guests frozen by some playful enchantment just as they were chatting together or musing apart in this exquisite throne-room of the Sultans, the smaller children began to lag. Plump Pepito sat down firmly on the floor. Carmencita, startled by the twelve marble lions that uphold the fountain-basin in the center, puckered up her face for a cry, and Pilarica, to divert her, started one of the circle-games in which Spanish children delight. Hand in hand, the little dancers tripped about like a ring of fairies, until Pilarica’s clear voice led them in the song of San Serení, the well-beloved Saint of Gentleness. All but the wee gypsies knew every stanza, singing lustily, and even Benito and Rosita acted out the gymnastic movements with the rest, kneeling, sitting, lying back and jumping up again, as the several verses directed. “San Serení of the Mountain, Our Saint of Courtesy, I, as a good Christian, Will drop upon my knee. “San Serení of the Mountain, Where the strong winds pass, I, as a good Christian, Will seat me on the grass. “San Serení of the Mountain, Where the white clouds fly, I, as a good Christian, Upon the ground will lie. “San Serení of the Mountain, Where earth and heaven meet, I, as a good Christian, Will spring upon my feet.” Their own games were much more interesting to the children than the glories of the old Moorish palace, and they flocked about Pilarica, each clamoring for a favorite dance. “Little Bird Pinta,” teased Isabelita. “Little White Pigeons,” whined Carmencita, who was always on the verge of tears. “Little Blind Hen,” shouted Pepito. “Pin--Pige--Hen,” echoed the gypsy babies impartially. “The Charcoal Woman,” wept Carmencita. “Butterfly Tag,” coaxed Isabelita. “Charcoal-Butter,” chimed in the obliging gypsy babies. “Grasshopper! Grasshopper!” roared Pepito and thereupon began to skip about, his fat hands clasped under his knees, gasping as tunefully as he could: “Grasshopper sent me an invitation To come and share his occupation. Grasshopper dear, how could I say no? Grasshopper, Grasshopper, here I go!” “Hush! hush!” urged Pilarica. “We will play _Larán-larito_, and Pepito shall be the cheese.”