"Genevieve, please, _please_ mayn't we get out of this?" she begged. "Honestly, I feel as if I were besieged myself in this horrid tomb-like place. And--and I like live soldiers so much better!" Genevieve gave her a reproachful glance, but in a moment she suggested that perhaps they had better go. "Oh, but that was lovely," she sighed, as they came out into the bright sunshine. "The caretaker told me they call it the 'Cradle of Liberty,' here; and I don't wonder." Tilly uptilted her chin--already the sunshine had brought back her usual gayety of spirits. "Dear me! what a lot of cradles Liberty must have had! You know Faneuil Hall in Boston is _one_. Only think how far the poor thing must have traveled between naps if she tried to sleep in all her cradles!" Even Genevieve laughed--but she sighed reproachfully, too. "Oh, Tilly, how you can turn poetry into prose--sometimes!" Then she added wistfully: "How I wish I could see this Plaza on San Jacinto Day!" "What is that?" demanded Tilly. "The twenty-third of April. They have the Battle of the Flowers in the Plaza here, in front of the Alamo. I've always wanted to see that." "Hm-m; well, I might not mind that kind of a battle myself," laughed Tilly. CHAPTER XVI TILLY CROSSES BRIDGES In the afternoon the young people again started out to explore the town. This time Mr. Hartley was not with them. "But are you quite sure you won't get lost?" Mrs. Kennedy demurred anxiously, as Genevieve was putting on her hat. "No, ma'am," returned Genevieve, with calm truthfulness and a merry smile. "But, dearie, it's daylight and there are six of us. What if we do get lost? We've got tongues in our heads, and we know the name of our hotel and of the street it's on." "Very well," sighed Mrs. Kennedy. Then, with sudden spirit she added: "Dear me, Genevieve! I shall be glad if ever we get back to Sunbridge and I have you to myself all quiet again. I'm afraid you'll never, never settle down to just plain living after these irresponsible weeks of one long playday." It was Genevieve's turn now to sigh. "I know, Aunt Julia. It will be hard, won't it?" she admitted. Then, with a quick change of manner, she observed airily: "As if anything could be nicer than learning to cook, and keeping my stockings mended! Why, Aunt Julia!" The next moment, with a breezy kiss, she was gone. It was a delightful afternoon that the girls spent rambling about the curiously interesting old town, which--Cordelia impressively informed them--was the third oldest in the United States. They tried to see it all, but they did not succeed in this, of course. They did stand in delighted wonder before the San Fernando Cathedral with its square, cross-tipped towers; and they did wander for an entrancing hour in the old Mexican Quarter, with its picturesque houses and people, its fascinating chili and tamale stands, and its narrow, twisting streets, which Genevieve declared were almost as bad as Boston.