And though they could not go to the store that night, yet they went early the next morning, told the whole story, and were most kindly received by Mr. Baker, with whom Captain Dan had had a private conference just before their arrival, so that he was fully prepared for them.
In spite of their urging, he would not take their money, though he thanked them "for coming in such a manly way to confess their fault," adding, as he shook hands with them, that while they had only done what was right, yet he wished men as well as boys would have the moral courage to confess when they had done wrong, for so often these little beginnings of evil lead the way to greater sins.
"Ah, Jamie, don't you understand The little heart that's in my hand? The plain white heart with rosy band; Can you not read the simple sign? It is your first sweet Valentine.
"Come here and take it from me, dear; It will not hurt, you need not fear; You'll see, if you will come more near, It only bears one little line, 'To Jamie! My first Valentine!'"
Then Cupid, laughing, said, "Ah me! How calm this baby beau can be! But wait awhile, and we shall see What toys, with gold and jewels fine, He'll send to some sweet Valentine.
"Just leave your heart, Miss Leonore, He'll take it soon, and long for more: The little lad is only four. Some day, a hero bold and fine, He'll send full many a Valentine."
The baby was put to bed as usual, in his wooden cradle, and his mother had rocked him to sleep, singing some national cradle song, like the mothers of all lands. He was a stout little fellow of five months old, with dimples in his brown cheeks, curly dark hair as soft as silk, and great black eyes, such as the children of Spain and Italy alone possess. When the baby was asleep, his parents busied themselves with their duties of the evening, and at an early hour also went to bed.
Their home was located in the province of Murcia, in Spain. The house was built of stone, half in ruins, and was surrounded by a poor little farm. Before going to bed the father had looked out of the door to see that all was safe for the night. Spain is a country where little rain falls, because armies long ago destroyed the forests covering mountain slopes, in time of war. Now the traveller sees these hills as bare rocks, with deserted towns on their sides, and the beds of rivers become heaps of dry stones for the majority of the year, parched with summer drought. In the city of Alicante two years sometimes pass without a drop of rain falling. The season of the year (1879) was very different. In the late summer and autumn fearful storms of thunder and lightning burst over several provinces usually so dusty and arid; persistent rains followed, until the channels of the rivers became filled with rushing torrents from the heights where springs have their source. The waters of the Guadalquivir rose five meters in a few days.
