Free (1/3) Go Saddle the Sea by Joan Aiken Page A

daughter (even I came in for a few hugs)—and we had much ado to keep Nieves on her feet as they pushed around us. By the time we reached the mill, which was at the upper end of the village, we had a whole procession on our heels.
    Don José rapped on the door of the mill and a shrill voice from within called, "Who's there?"
    "It's I, Mario—your father!"
    "Papa—at last!" The door was instantly pulled back, and I saw a brown-haired boy, rather taller than myself, still clutching an enormous blunderbuss which must have held bullets weighing a half pound at the very least, while his small sister, who had unbolted the door, cried, "Oh, how long you were away. We thought you were never coming back!"
    Then she saw Nieves and let out a squeal that you could have heard across the valley.
    "
Nieves!
"
    Both the boy and girl hurled themselves at their sister, he dropping the blunderbuss—which exploded, burying its bullet, fortunately, in a heap of flour sacks that lay against the courtyard wall. I noticed this with one part of me, while, like all the inhabi
tants of San Antonio, I was laughing and crying, and repeating over and over again, "She is cured! Thanks be to God!"
    When the family had embraced each other enough, we, and all the rest of the village, went along to the church to say a prayer.
    And then Don José said, "Neighbors ... I thank you for your wonderful welcome—" His voice was breaking with happiness, it sounded like a stream full of pebbles; he went on, "And I have much to tell you about my visit to our enemies in Cobenna—but tonight my daughter Nieves needs rest, for she has had a long journey and is weary; so is my young friend here, who has been of sterling help on our journey" (which was kind, but hardly true, for it was he who had helped
me
); "let us all meet again in the morning. For now, I will bid you good night."
    So the village people drew off to the
posada,
to celebrate the recovery of Nieves, while Don José invited me into the mill.
    "But, señeor, you will wish to be alone with your children—" I said.
    He pushed me inside, saying, "You must be there, too! I am sure you are hungry. And I can smell that Anita has made something savory for our supper."
    "No, it was I, Father," said the boy, Mario. "I have made a stew of meat and tomatoes."
    "But I made the macaroons!" cried Anita, who looked a well-grown nine—she was almost as big as her sister.
    "Come in, friend Tiger!" said Nieves softly.
    So I went in and shared their supper in the big mill kitchen, where a fire blazed on the hearth, and strings of onions dangled from the rafters.
    I was even given a bedroom to myself, and slept for nine hours without stirring, on a flock mattress as wide as a carriageway.

    I SPENT three days with the family of José López. Indeed, they all begged me to stay longer, and I would have been glad to do so, but feared if I did not then go on, I should never be able to tear myself away at all. That mill was a pleasant place! The family were so frank and friendly with each other! Arid so fond of one another. The children heeded what their father told them, and ran to obey his wishes, but they did so from love, and because they saw the sense in what he asked—not just because he said "I order you." He showed me that a man need not bawl in a loud voice, nor utter threats, to make himself respected. Thin, quiet, gray, dusty with flour, Don José López had far more authority than Father Tomás—or my grandfather's steward, who was always shouting and banging his gold-knobbed stick on the floor.
    Besides respect, there was laughter and fun. They made jokes, they teased one another, they laughed and sang, they were endlessly happy to have Nieves restored to health and speech. If ever I have a family or children of my own, I vowed, our life shall be like this. And I wondered if most families acted thus—whether
it was only in the great house at Villaverde that life was so silent, grim, and wretched.
    That is a