"What do you purpose doing?" inquired their father.
"Oh, we didn't know," said Walter. "We thought of going down to the springs again and watching the people bathe."
"They don't _bathe_ in the pools from which they drink, surely," said Aunt Mary in disgust. "Don't tell me they do that, Walter."
"I thought there was another pool," said Walter. "I'm certain I heard them say something about washing down there this morning."
"Oh, that man was speaking of the laundry where the women wash the clothes," said Mr. Page. "He said it was quite interesting to watch them."
"Bother!" said Walter. "I thought there was a pool for bathing, and that we might paddle about in it, just as we used to do at Ti Juana. But, anyhow, Nellie and I don't want to take any _siesta_, do we, Nellie?"
His sister shook her head. "Just let's go out and ramble around," she said. "We'll find something to amuse us."
"There is something already," said Mr. Page, as the clear note of a bird broke upon the midday stillness. Soft and sweet it trilled, then loud and shrill, then quivered down to a melancholy note, and again gradually ascended, terminating in one long, beautiful, slowly-dying tremolo.
"_What_ can that be?" cried Mrs. Page. "It seems almost like an angel's song. I have never heard anything like it."
"It is only me--Francisco," said a boyish voice on the outside, while a pair of bright eyes peered in between the interstices of the sylvan dining-room.
"Come in, come in!" cried Walter, hurrying from his place. "I want mother to see you."
"Mother," he continued, as the boy entered slowly, cap in hand, "this is Francisco, our friend whom we met near the church this morning. Is there anything he can do?"
Mrs. Page extended her slim white hand. The boy took it and said: "I can work very well. I could fetch water."
"I do not believe there is anything you _could_ do," replied Mrs. Page. "We have a man who does all we require. We shall not need any carrying of water, I think. I see there are hydrants not far away."
"Oh, but that is not to drink--that water. It is not so _very_ good," said Francisco. "But farther up, about half a mile, or maybe a little more, there is a beautiful spring. _That_ is nice and cold and good to drink. Some carry it in buckets, but I would fetch it on a little wagon, in a barrel. And I can give you another barrel in which to keep it. Out there under the largest pepper tree it would be very good."