FERNANDO had been three months in school and was beginning to grow tired, when it came time for the feast of Christmas, and he was very happy in the thought of all he was to do and see during his holiday. He and Juanita were very much excited in preparing their _nacimento_, which nearly every Spanish child has at Christmas time. This is a plaster representation of the birth of Christ. There are in it many figures, a manger surrounded with greens, the Baby Our Lord, St. Joseph, and the Blessed Virgin, the Wise Men worshipping the Holy Child, and angels hovering near, as well as the patient ox and ass who were his first worshippers. Juanita was wild with excitement as these were all grouped and set in place. She was only four and did not well remember the Christmas before, so that it was all new to her. Christmas Eve there was a grand family party, all the relatives coming to the home of Fernando and partaking of a supper of sweetmeats and wine. In the morning there was, of course, early Mass in the great cathedral, where the choir sang divinely. It started way up in the loft to sing the _Adeste Fideles_, the Church's Christmas hymn for centuries, slowly coming nearer and nearer; and Juanita thought it was an angel choir until she saw it come into sight and the glorious voices rolled forth in a volume of song. Then the children had breakfast and they made their _aguinaldo_, for every servant on the place expected a present as surely as did the old darkies of Southern days. The postman, the errand boy, the porter, the _sereno_ who walks the street all night with his lantern, trying your door to see if it is locked properly, and assuring you that all is well as the hours strike,--all must be remembered. Then the señora took the carriage, and the children accompanied her, as she filled it with sweetmeats for the poor children and such of her special protégés as could not come to the house for their _aguinaldo_. It was a cold day, for Granada grows cold in the winter time, and is not like other Spanish cities, which have summer all the year. The wind sweeps down from the Sierras and brings with it a blustering hint of mountain snows; and as the houses have no furnaces and seldom good stoves to heat them, even the rich can suffer, and the poor do suffer bitterly. While the sun shines it matters not, for the sun of Andalusia is so warm and bright that it blesses all who lie beneath it; but when the dark days come or evening's mantle falls upon the town, people hover close about the _brazero_ and long for summer.