When they returned home to dinner the great space before the house was
filled with shining horses pawing the ground under their heavy saddles.
The court and corridors were an animated scene, overflowing with dons
and donas in brilliant array. When dinner was over and the grown-up
guests and young girls were lingering over the Christmas dulces, all the
boys slipped away and went out to the huge kitchen, where countless
Indian servants were busy or resting. They demanded four dozen eggs and
help to blow them at once. The maids hastened to do the bidding of the
little dons, and in less than a quarter of an hour the eggs were free of
their natural contents, and all were busy refilling them with flour, or
cologne, or scraps of gold and silver paper. Then the boys stuffed the
fronts of their shirts, their sleeves, and their pockets with the eggs,
and hid themselves among the palms of the court. Presently the guests
came forth and scattered about the corridor, smiling and chatting in the
soft subdued Spanish way. Suddenly twelve eggs, thrown with supple wrist
and aimed with unfailing dexterity, flew through the air and crashed
softly on the backs of caballeros' curls and donas' braids, flour
powdering, gold and silver paper glittering on the dense blackness of
those Californian tresses, cologne shooting down dignified spines.
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