Out of the applauding cluster of pilgrims a very stout but very robust old woman, her skirt well slashed so as to display her carmine petticoat, came mincing to meet him, taking up the song: “Fell it by tempest, Fairies or witches, The students will raise it For students have riches.” An ironic laugh broke from the listeners, while the husband, flourishing legs and arms in still more amazing antics, caught up the response: “Call on the students! Call louder and louder! They’ve only two coppers To buy them a chowder.” The old dame flirted her canary-colored skirts and skipped as nimbly as he, replying in her rough but rich contralto: “Chowder of students Is sweeter than honey, But the gay Andalusians Have plenty of money.” At this the children looked so surprised and self-conscious that the shrewd peasants guessed at once from what province they came. “The gay Andalusians Have fiddle and ballad, But only two coppers To buy them a salad,” roared the man with special gusto, and frisked up to Pilarica, who dodged away in quick displeasure from those open arms. But Rafael, to his utter horror, was captured by the monstrous matron, who grasped the boy in a pair of marvellously strong hands and swung him, blushing and struggling, up to her shoulder, while, gamboling still, she led the chorus of pilgrims in the final stanza: “In Saragossa --Oh, what a pity!-- Has fallen the tower, Pride of the city.” Thereupon she enfolded Rafael in a smothering hug, smacked him heartily on each glowing cheek, and then let him drop as suddenly as the tower. Before he could fairly catch his breath, that astonishing old couple had started on with the rest of the Apostle’s devotees, leaving Rafael still crimson with shame and wrath at this outrage on his boyish dignity. “But pilgrims behave no better than gypsies,” he declared hotly to Uncle Manuel, who had come up to protect the children in case the fun should go too far.