"Uira, you're not beginning right; you should say many, many, years ago." The fine-featured Spanish boy looked mischievously at the stolid descendant of the Incas. "You perhaps have heard," went on Uira, discouraging flippancy by disregarding it, "of the story of Attahualpa; at least you have known something of it from the histories you have studied; how, before he died, the mighty Huayan Capar divided his kingdom between his two sons, Attahualpa and Huascar, half-brothers, giving to Attahualpa the northern region, Quito, which your geography calls Ecuador; how Huascar, arrogant in his newly-acquired greatness, demanded tribute from Quito. You know how Attahualpa angrily refused; how he came at the head of a great army to the seat of his brother's power, defeated Huascar, and taking from the conquered man kingdom and freedom, left him only his life. Then the Spaniards, curses on them all----" "You forget that I am proud of my Spanish blood, Uira," the lad interrupted, his cheeks flushing with resentment. "Ah, yes, Juan, I forgot. Forgive my hasty speech and unintended insult. But to go on, the Spaniards, mad with lust for gold, marched with armies legion in number. If you do not know, boy, how many legion is, look at the tree tops above you; the leaves are countless; they are legion. The invaders, with the Pizarro at their head, burned our homes, desecrated our temples, and captured Attahualpa, who, elated with his conquest, was returning to Quito. The Attahualpa, the records say, collected in one room and gave the Pizarro the wealth of the Incas; and your traditions tell you that in fear of his own life, Pizarro put his captive to death. This is the story of Attahualpa as you have been taught it. But I will now tell you what it is given only the few in whose veins still flows the blood of the Incas to know. Huayan had a daughter Manca, whose name is not written in the annals. She was sister to Attahualpa, and in her heart was all the mighty pride of the Incas. Oh, how she loved the name of her race! How she rejoiced in their conquests, their prowess! How she delighted to look upon the gold in the temples, and think that it was all part of the prosperity of her people! There was a woman, Juan, perhaps not beautiful, I cannot say, well worthy to bear the name of an Incan. How she wept when Pizarro, with his Spanish followers, seized Attahualpa! But do not think that it was for fear that she wept, Juan. It was for injured pride; for sorrow that she was to lose her dearest friend, her brother.