Like a flock of frightened sparrows the children of Leganés arrived that afternoon at Ana de Medina's door, just as the bells were ringing for vespers. Ana's son Jeromín was the first to get there, with his big blue eyes staring and his beautiful golden hair thrown back. But there was good cause for all this, and twenty shrill voices hastened to explain it to Ana, who, startled, came to the door distaff in hand, and a scolding on her lips.

There was no school in Getafe that afternoon; the sun had stricken down Sancha Apelza, the master's wife, while working on the farm of the Comunero, and she was to receive the last sacraments that night. The children from Leganés were coming back to the village, playing as usual by the way at Moors and Christians. Jeromín always insisted on this, and never would play at Comuneros, or at being Padilla, Adelentado or Bishop Acu?a, all recent and popular heroes. He said it was enough for him to be Jeromín and to pretend to cut off the heads of Moors. He entrenched himself in the Canon's well as if it were a castle on a rock, and Pedro Verde defended the orchard of Maricuernos opposite, declaring it to be the Vega of Granada. Jeromín gave the word "Santiago," and from both sides, like bullets from an arquebus, came lumps of soft earth. At this inopportune moment, while the battle was raging along the road from Madrid bordering the orchard of Maricuernos, four mules appeared, harnessed in pairs with long traces to what seemed to be a little wooden house, with two tiny windows and four big wheels. A man was riding the foremost mule on the off side, and another was seated on the roof of the house, guiding the mules with a long stick. Through one of the windows a very fat man with grey moustaches and a pointed beard, could be seen, sitting inside. Four well-armed horsemen and two baggage-mules escorted the unwieldy vehicle. The children were frightened at the sight of this extraordinary machine, such as they had never seen before, but curiosity overcame their fear and they all grouped themselves, very silent, in the orchard of Maricuernos to see it pass closer. The boys' terror increased when they realised that the heavy machine was halting in front of them, and the fat gentleman, putting his head out of window, was asking them very politely whether the Emperor's former guitar-player, Francis Massy, who had married Ana de Medina, a native of the village, still lived there.

The boys began to giggle and look at each other, not daring to answer, stir or even take off their caps as a mark of respect. The fat man repeated the question two or three times very politely and kindly, till at last Pedro Verde, who was eleven years old, and had been twice to Pinto, and had seen the cavalcade of Ruy Gómez de Silva from afar, made up his mind to answer, his mouth dry with fear and keeping his cap on, that the musician Francisquin, as they called him, had died some years previously, but that his widow Ana de Medina still lived there and that her son Jeromín, was one of those present. This Pedro demonstrated by seizing Jeromín by the neck of his doublet and pulling him forward. For the fat man to hear this, look at Jeromín and stretch his arms out of the window as if to seize him and drag him into the coach was only the work of a second. But it took the children, terrified at the old man's behaviour, even less time to scamper up the hill towards the village as if they had legions of devils at their heels. The gentleman called to them to stop. The escort also called out. But the children, spurred on by fright, ran harder and harder up the hill like hunted hares, until they stopped at the threshold of Ana de Medina where we met them.

The widow's face fell when she heard all this, and she drew Jeromín towards her as if she wished to hide him in her woollen skirt. She asked the boys several questions, but they all answered together, and all she could make out was that a fat gentleman had wished to carry off Jeromín in a little house on wheels.

Ana, worried, went back into her house and sent a message by Pedro Verde to ask the priest to come and see her, the cleric Bautista Vela, who served the parish for D. Alonso de Rojas, chaplain to His Majesty in the Royal Chapel at Granada at that time. Bautista Vela tarried too long; by the time he arrived at Ana's house he could no longer be there alone. Round the corner of the street came the whole population of the village, surrounding with wonder the vehicle in which the fat man came. He sat smiling, greeting some and of others asking the way to Ana's house, which a hundred hands pointed out to him, while he continued to look out of the window as if this house was the goal of his journey.

The hubbub made Ana come to her door, with Jeromín clinging to her skirts. The coach, the like of which was never seen before, stopped in front of her; the gentleman greeted her politely, and the widow could not therefore do otherwise than offer him hospitality in a peasant's homely way.

The gentleman then got out, and Ana conducted him to her parlour, which was also her kitchen, clean certainly and with room for twenty people in the chimney corner on the rough stone seats placed on either side.

Invited by the widow, who seemed to be afraid to be alone with the stranger, Bautista Vela entered also, followed by Jeromín, recovered from his fear, but still full of wonder and looking the visitor up and down as if he were the bearer of good or evil fortune. The fat man was about sixty, but his extraordinary corpulency neither destroyed the activity of his limbs nor the charm of his manners. He spoke with a soft, low, kindly voice with a marked Flemish accent, and not like the haughty man of war so common at that time. Everything in him betokened the obsequious courtier, accustomed to the yoke of powerful masters. Very courteously he told the widow who he was, the object of his visit, and what he hoped and wished from her. His name was Charles Prevost, a servant of the Emperor, who had come to Castille on his own business, but had also brought a special and secret message for her from Adrian du Bois, valet to the Emperor, and therefore his fellow-servant.

Here the courteous Fleming made a pause and, slightly raising his voice and accentuating his words, added that this business had been urgently recommended to him by the very high and mighty gentleman Luis Méndez Quijada, Steward to the invincible C?sar Charles V.

Hearing the name of C?sar all bowed their heads in token of respect, and on hearing that of Quijada the cleric and the widow exchanged a rapid glance of fear and suspicion. Jeromín, calmer than the rest, sat on a high stool, swinging his legs and never taking his eyes off the stranger, as if he were trying to decipher in that round red face some problem which he was turning over and over in his baby mind.

Charles Prevost pointed to the child as if its presence were an obstacle, so the widow took Jeromín by the arm and shut him up in a room, telling him to wait there. Meanwhile Prevost had produced a paper carefully wrapped up in two covers of linen, which he held out to the widow folded in four. As she could not read, shrugging her shoulders she passed it in her turn to Bautista Vela, who, very much astonished, unfolded the letter and slowly and solemnly read as follows:

"I, Francis Massy, musician to His Majesty, and Ana de Medina, my wife, know and confess that we have taken and received a son of Se?or Adrian de Bois, valet to His Majesty, which we did by his wish, and he prayed us to take and bring him up like our own son, and not to tell anyone whose son he was, as Se?or Adrian did not wish that by this means his wife or anyone else should know or hear of him. For this reason I, Francis Massy, and Ana de Medina, my wife, and our son Diego de Medina, swear and promise to the said Se?or Adrian not to tell or declare to any living person whose this child is, but to say that it is mine, until Se?or Adrian sends someone with this letter or the said Se?or Adrian comes in person.

"And because Se?or Adrian wishes to keep the matter secret, he has begged me to do him the favour of taking charge of this child, which my wife and I willingly do and acknowledge to have received from the said Se?or Adrian 100 crowns which he gave me for the journey, for taking the child, for a horse and clothes, and keep for one year that is to say that the year is counted from the 1st day of August of this present year 1550. For which I hold myself content and paid for this year, as it is the truth. I sign my name to it, I and my wife, but as she cannot write I begged Oger Bodarce to sign her name for her. And the said Se?or Adrian shall give me 50 ducats each year for the keep of the child. Dated, Brussels, 13th of June, 1550."

A long silence followed the reading of this letter; and when Ana de Medina understood that the hour had arrived for giving up the child she had looked upon as her son, she burst into tears and between her sobs said that she perfectly recognised this document to be genuine from end to end. She had done as she had sworn, and would act in the same way in the future, and give up the child to whoever was sent to fetch him; but for God's sake and Our Lady's and a multitude of saints, let him stay until seed-time, so that there should be time to make him some new clothes and render him more presentable. Bautista Vela seemed also touched, and timidly added his entreaties to those of the widow.

But the Fleming, with roundabout reasonings and kindly, comforting words, showed all the same his absolute determination to leave the next day at daybreak, taking Jeromín with him. Then, in a long talk and by clever questions, he let the widow and the priest know how very displeased the powerful Luis Quijada would be when he found the state of absolute mental neglect in which the boy had lived all these years, as he was healthy in body and appeared to be so also in mind; but it was clear that he knew nothing except how to run about the country shooting at birds with his crossbow and arrows, nor had he had other lessons than those of the sacristan Francis Fernandez, and those just lately in the school in Getafe. The blame for this fell on Bautista Vela, because he had written from time to time to Luis Quijada that he was seeing that the boy's education was cared for and that it was not that of a little peasant.

At this the priest and the widow were silent, knowing they were in the wrong, the more so as more than once the idea had occurred to them that Jeromín was not the son of Adrian de Bois, from whose hands they had received the child, but of Luis Quijada, Steward to C?sar and one of his greatest lords. And their idea, which no doubt Prevost also shared, was confirmed when the supper-hour arrived and he ordered that the table should be set with the silver and service he had brought in his baggage, and, seating Jeromín in the place of honour, himself served the meal and waited.

Jeromín let himself be waited on without showing any diffidence or surprise, as if all his life he had been used to such attentions. But when he saw Ana de Medina remaining by the fire and helping to pass the plates, without daring to come to the table, he said, without looking at anyone, in a tone which might be a question, or a request or an order, "Isn't she going to have any supper?" This made the widow burst again into sobs and lamentations, and the boy bit his lips to restrain the tears which filled his eyes. We cannot be certain whether Jeromín slept that night or not, but it is certain that no one had to rouse him the next morning, and the first light of dawn found him already awake, dressed in his best clothes, with his fair hair covered by the picturesque "monterilla." He twice kissed Ana de Medina at the door, and then turned back and kissed her a third and fourth time. But he did not shed a tear or say a word, nor did his face change, though it was paler than usual.

The whole village was at the door, the children in the front row, Christians and Moors all mixed up, filled with awe and envy at seeing him in the seat of honour in the little house on wheels which had frightened them so much the day before.

Then Jeromín asked the widow for his crossbow, so she brought the roughly made plaything with which he had acquired such wonderful dexterity, and he gave it to his enemy of the battles, Pedro Verde, saying shortly, "Keep it."

All the neighbours accompanied the coach to the outskirts of the village, and the children much farther, also Ana de Medina, crying out and begging that they would not take away her Jeromín, but would give her back her son.

He did not stir inside the coach, or put out his head, but remained so quiet with his eyes shut that the Fleming began to think he was asleep. But at the last turn, passing the orchard of Maricuernos, at the place where the Hermitage de los Angeles was afterwards erected, Jeromín's little hand could be seen out of the window, making last signs to his playfellows and to the humble woman who had brought him up.