“Come into the garden and tell us about the _fiesta_ at Ribadesella. We are all going. Don Amable and Doña Elvira have been here, and we are invited to their house to lunch. The town’s people keep open house, we hear, so the more the merrier, they said, or words to that effect. Come over to the chestnut tree, it is lovely there now.” They passed on and as they turned into the garden path someone came along the little road beyond; it was a peasant girl who stopped, looked, and then went hurriedly on. At the same moment Tomás halted. “Perdita,” he said under his breath. “It is Perdita.” “Is that Perdita?” asked Patty, over her shoulder. “She is such a pretty girl. We saw her at the chapel of our Lady of Pity this morning, but she did not see us. Does she live near there?” “No, but she has a friend who does. Perdita lives in a village further up the mountain.” “Then she is going home now, I suppose. She seems such a nice, ladylike sort of girl, quite unlike a peasant.” Tomás made no reply, but presently launched forth into an account of the _fiesta_ to which they were going. “Don Roberto accompanies you?” he said questioningly, looking at Robert. “You are going, aren’t you?” Patty asked the young Englishman. “You are included in the invitation, you know.” “Then I will go with pleasure.” “And we shall have Don Felipe, I suppose. How about yourself, Tomás?” “I? If you will excuse me, I think I will not go. I have seen the _fiesta_ many times, and you will have an abundance of escorts without me.” Patty thought he looked a little troubled. She wondered why. Could it be on Robert Lisle’s account? “Oh, if you don’t want to go,” she said aloud. “This time I think I will not,” he answered without further excuse, and Patty made no protest. “If he wants to stay at home by himself, let him,” she said to herself. An early start had to be made in order to take the only train which would reach the small town in time for the ceremonies. It was found to be a quaint little place, full of picturesque corners, archways, windows and doors. Just now it was ablaze with the red and yellow Spanish colors. When all else in the way of decoration failed a yellow bed-quilt was pressed into service. A handsome bed-quilt is a necessity in the eye of the Spanish housewife, and a yellow one is not to be despised since it lends itself to decoration on such occasions. Strips of red and yellow cloth waved in the breezes, banners floated from the windows, over the window ledges were hung anything red or yellow which was available. “The church is scarcely worth seeing,” Don Juan told them, “but the town is and the little harbor.” It was market day, although Sunday, and the square was full of market people, in vociferous tones crying their wares. There was no sign of a procession as yet. “Shall we go to the church?” asked Don Juan, “or shall we go down by the quay and see what is going on there?”