Uncrushed by all this weight of masculine authority, Pilarica threw kisses to her three guardians as long as they were in sight and then flashed into the midst of the dancing circle, where she was welcomed with a gleeful shout. Carmencita clamored, as always, for _Little White Pigeons_, and so the children divided into two opposite rows, each line in turn clasping hands and lifting arms while the other danced under, as the song indicates: “Little white pigeons Are dreaming of Seville, Sun in the palm tree, Roses and revel. Lift up the arches, Gold as the weather. Little white pigeons Come flying together. “Little white pigeons Dream of Granada, Glistening snows on Sierra Nevada. Lift up the arches, Silver as fountains. Little white pigeons Fly to the mountains.” Then they played Hide-and-Seek in their own special fashion. The first seeker was Pepito, who sat doubled over, with his chubby palms pressed tight against his eyes, while the others slipped softly into their hiding-places, all except Pilarica, who, as the Mother, stood by and gave Pepito his signal for the start by singing: “My nightingales of the Alhambra Forth from the cage are flown. My nightingales of the Alhambra Have left me all alone.” After they were tired of this, Isabelita called for Butterfly Tag and was chosen, because of her pink frock--torn though it was,--to be the Butterfly. Forming in a close circle about her, the children lifted her dress-skirt by the border and held it outspread, while Pilarica, on the outside, danced round and round the ring, fluting like a bird: “Who are these chatterers? Oh, such a number! Nor by day nor by night Do they let me slumber. They’re daughters of the Moorish king Who search the garden-close For lovely Lady Ana, The sweetest thing that grows. She’s opening the jasmine And shutting up the rose.” Then the children all at once lifted the pink frock and wrapped it about Isabella’s head, while Pilarica, dancing faster than ever, led them in singing seven times over: “Butterfly, butterfly, Dressed in rose-petals! Is it on candle-flame Butterfly settles? How many shirts Have you woven of rain? Weave me another Ere I call you again.” Suddenly they varied the song: “Now that Lady Ana Walks in garden sweet, Gathering the roses Whose dew is on her feet, Butterfly, butterfly, Can you catch us? Try it, try!” In an instant the circle had broken and scattered, while the Butterfly, blinded and half smothered in the folds of the skirt, dashed about as best she could, trying to catch one or another of her teasing playmates.