THE WALK
The next day the family dined alone. The _viajante_ with his big wagon
drawn by sturdy mules with gay trappings and jangling bells, had
departed, while the smoke of the Englishman’s pipe was no longer wafted
upon the air. “It seems sort of lonely,” remarked Patty, “and I didn’t
have a chance to see my knight gallop off wearing my gage upon his
sleeve.”
“Good reason why,” said Doña Martina: “he went by train, and he would
have looked well, wouldn’t he, wearing a gage upon his sleeve? with
that bored look of his.”
Patty sighed melodramatically. “I shall have to give all my attention
to Tomás then,” she said, “a good thing for my Spanish, perhaps. I have
a new incentive, for I believe Paulette is trying to get ahead of me;
she reels off her sentences with an _aplomb_ positively appalling. I’ve
been devoting myself to those dreadful verbs, you see, while she has
been increasing her vocabulary. Shall I ever compass _Ser_ and _Estar_,
do you believe?”
“I shouldn’t try to at once. Much better adopt Paulette’s method.”
“So I shall from henceforth, and I’ll plunge in boldly without
waiting to be exact. I know it is the best way, but I am so proud and
conscientious, you know.”
“I am aware of the pride, but I have yet to be impressed by the
conscientiousness.”
“You are too mean for words, Tina. To think that you should enjoy
abusing your poor little sister in the way that you do is dreadful, and
when she has just escaped from the rigors of a convent too.”
“My poor little sister thrives under the abuse, it seems.”
“You always take everyone’s part against me. One would suppose, for
example, that Tomás was your sure enough brother and I only your
sister-in-law.”
Doña Martina was silent for a moment, feeling there was some truth in
the remark. “Well, you see,” she began, “I don’t want you to throw
yourself away on a poor man like Tomás. I am afraid you would not be
happy if you married him.”
“I’m not marrying him.”
“You might.”
“Well, suppose I should. I’m sure we could get along. Haven’t you been
telling me that one can rent a nice little house for forty dollars
a year, hire a servant for three or four dollars a month and buy a
donkey for seven? What more could one ask? It is a paradise for poor
people from your own account. Why shouldn’t I settle down here, too, to
a love-in-a-cottage existence? I should think you would be delighted to
have me for a neighbor.”
“Oh, Patty dear, so I should.” Her sister came over and took the girl’s
face between her hands. “I never know when you are serious, dear. You
talk so much nonsense. If you were really to fall in love, you two, and
could be happy living that way, why of course--”
Patty laughed gleefully. “Oh, you darling old thing! Of course I am not
serious. I couldn’t stand it, not even to be near you. I should die of
the blues when winter came.”
“But winter here is not dreary a bit. The flowers bloom in the garden
all the year around; you should see the geraniums--and if one has a few
friends they are enough. Of course we came here originally for Juan’s
health. After that dreadful illness of his last winter it seemed the
best thing to do and he pined for his native air. You see how much good
it has done him; he is quite another man, and as long as it makes him
happy to stay I shall not say a word.”
“I fancy he will get tired of it after a while and will want a broader
field for his energies.”
“Perhaps, but I shall try to be content either way. At least,” she
added after a pause, “I shall be while I have you with me. There is
such freedom from the rush and worry of a big city and we can live on
so very little. Then, too, it is such a pleasure for Juan and Tomás to
be near one another after the long separation.”
“What did Tomás do before you all came?”
“Oh, he had an old housekeeper who did very well for him, and he has
his friends both here and in the towns near by.”
“Fancy my ever marrying a Spaniard,” said Patty after a moment’s
silence.
“No one could be truer, more faithful and honorable than my husband.
Spaniards are much like other folk, there are good and bad among them;
so far I have found the good to predominate. Do you find all our own
countrymen absolutely blameless? The Spaniards are proud, to be sure.”
“I’ve been looking for that far-famed Spanish pride,” said Patty, “but
up to the present I have discovered only the frankest conceit, and have
been wondering if that passes for pride.”
“Oh, conceit isn’t confined to Spaniards. I’d like you to find anything
more conceited than an out and out American or Englishman?”
“Not in just the same way. There is a childishness about the Spaniard’s
conceit.”
“Which makes it much more endurable.”
“Dear me, how we do argue in and out, first on one side and then on
the other. All right, Tina, I’ll consider it.”
“Don’t you make Tomás unhappy, that is all I ask. I don’t want you to
get him into your toils and then drop him.”
“How can I tell anything about him unless I do get him into my toils as
you express it?”
“Oh, go ’long, you foolish child; you are too much for me.”
“I’m too much for myself sometimes,” confessed Patty. She went to the
window and began dropping bits of biscuit to the turkey-hen below, who
turned a mild eye upward and solicited the alms in a little cooing
voice. “I never knew that turkey-hens had such lovely eyes,” remarked
Patty; “this one is quite fascinating which is more than I can say of
the pig. Oh, come here, Tina, and see these beauty parrots, two of
them. A man has brought them out from the next house and has set them
free on the _plaza_. They are walking all about and are so funny.”
“The _plaza_ is the place where everything goes on,” returned her
sister. “It is a very diverting place, I find. There comes Juan walking
as if an idea had suddenly cropped up in his cranium.”
“He is not coming at such a pace as warrants us to think there is
anything very exciting on hand.”
“His pace is quite energetic for a Spaniard. Don’t you know, my dear,
that it is very inelegant to seem hurried in Spain? If you wish to be
considered a lady of quality, you must merely saunter; never seem in a
hurry to get anywhere.”
“Oh dear, and I do love to fly along. I like to walk with vim and take
my exercise as if I enjoyed it.”
“Don’t do it in Spain. Well?” Doña Martina leaned over to speak to her
husband who had paused beneath the balcony. “Would we like to go to a
peasant’s home to see an ancient loom? A patient of yours? Old Antonia?
Why, I am sure we should like it. You would wouldn’t you, Patty?”
“I’d delight in it. Where’s Polly? I know she will be ready for any
sort of outing.”
“We can come around by the _playa_ if you care to walk so far,” Don
Juan told them as the three joined him below stairs.
“And what is the _playa_, please?” asked Paulette.
“The seashore, the beach.”
“Oh, do let us go there. I have been crazy to see it,” said Patty. “We
can walk any distance, can’t we, Polly?”
“Oh, yes, to be sure. I, too, wish to see the sea, that bay of Biscay
of which we hear so much.”
“It is really just like the sea, I suppose, for the bay is only a part
of the ocean curving down a little towards Spain. Is this where the
weaver lives?”
“Yes. She weaves only very coarse linen for household use, but the
loom is a very old one which has been in use a hundred years at least;
no one knows how long, and the house, too, is quite well worth seeing
as a type of those in which the peasants live. You will not think them
so badly housed. Antonia is poor, but you will see she has certain
comforts.”
“And where is Tomás?” asked Patty.
“He is coming. He went to the post-office and will meet us here.”
The visit to the weaver was soon over. While the girls examined the
loom the doctor made his call upon his patient, then Don Tomás joined
them and up the long _carretero_ they sauntered. Once in a while a
light-hearted teamster passed them, lolling back in his wagon and
singing some weird song whose final note poised and echoed long after
the sound of the wagon wheels ceased. Then, too, they met brown peasant
women carrying burdens upon their heads which did not prevent them
from giving a “_Buenos tardes_,” or a “_Vaya V. con Dios_.” A little
maid minding a couple of sheep, a goat, and a cow as they cropped the
wayside grass, interested Patty. “Do they allow that?” she asked. “I
mean, why doesn’t everyone herd their cows and sheep along the road?”
“Juana’s family have been granted special privileges,” Doña Martina
answered. “You will find some odd customs here.”
“Here we turn off,” said Don Juan. “The old house just ahead is the
one to which we go next. In former times it was occupied by a bishop,
and there are interesting inscriptions over the doors and windows. It
is an extremely old house and has withstood the attacks of war.”
“What war?” asked Paulette.
“I am sorry to say it was your own nation which committed the outrages
of which you can see many evidences in this part of the country.”
A flight of stone steps led to the dimly lighted room at the doorway of
which they were met by a dignified old woman who ushered them in with
the air of one accustomed to receive honorable guests. The room was
of good size but showed the ravages of time. It was simply furnished,
though some rare old chests showed fine carvings, the wooden seats
would have delighted an antiquarian, while the ancient windows and
casements permitted no doubt of the extreme age of the house. All was
neat and orderly, but the utmost simplicity prevailed. The kitchen
utensils of copper and brass shone brightly, and there were a few
specimens of old pottery on the shelves, but no more than necessity
demanded.
Patty looked with interest upon the primitive fireplace. “It is exactly
the same kind of thing you can imagine Sarah cooked Abraham’s dinner
upon,” she remarked. “How do they manage it? It looks just like an
altar.”
“The fire is kindled on the top of the--altar as you call it, and the
food is cooked over that,” her sister told her.
“Isn’t it primitive?”
“Very, but it is wonderful what a variety of food can be cooked in that
simple manner, and it is more surprising that it is cooked so well.”
“Is that the only kind of stove you have in your kitchen?”
“About the same.”
“Good! then I shall see how it is used and when I keep house in Spain I
shall not be at a loss if my cook leaves suddenly.”
Her sister shook her head at this offending speech and turned her
attention to Paulette who was examining the rudely hewn timbers, black
with age. Old Francesca was pouring out her woes into Don Juan’s
sympathetic ears. She was bent with rheumatism, for the cure of which
she had offered candles to the saints in vain. “She belongs to a good
old family,” Don Juan told them as they came away, “but they became
impoverished, and now Francesca has not the comforts she needs. She has
to work in the fields and that is not good for her.”
“That old woman?”
“Yes, you may see her and her sister in the haying season bringing in
all the hay to fill their loft. I have seen the two of them bent under
such a load as hid them from sight.”
“Yet she has some valuable old possessions; why doesn’t she sell them?”
“First, because she could not be induced to part from them, and again
because there are few purchasers of such things in this part of the
country. You are far from the track of the tourist, my dear, and
transportation over these mountain roads is expensive.”
“Now for the _playa_,” said Doña Martina. “Paulette, my dear, your
French heels will never take you comfortably over this rough road.
Better let Tomás pilot you. Patty, Juan and I will look out for you,”
and Patty, who expected Tomás to give his attention to her, was obliged
to turn back that she might be under her sister’s wing.
The way was lovely enough in spite of stones, for great trees met
overhead, and a little stream babbled a winding course to the sea. Wild
flowers enlivened the green, wild honeysuckle, English daisies and
big-eyed marguerites, wild rose blooms, too, spotted the bushes, and
the little partridge-pea threw its tendrils over the rocks. At last
a narrow strip of beach, with high cliffs on either side confronted
them. Great jagged pillars supported the roofs of cave-like structures,
through which one could pass to the sands beyond.
“They look as if they had been hewn out by Hercules or Titan, or some
of those old fellows,” said Patty. “I am coming here to take a dip
sometimes. I suppose it is perfectly safe.”
“Oh, dear, yes, and you see those great caves on each side afford
proper bath houses,” said her sister. “The unwritten law is that the
men take the right, the women the left.”
“It is such a nice, peaceful place I should like to spend a day here
with a book and--”
“And what?”
“Tomás,” whispered Patty, with a little laugh.
“You and Tomás could easily come,” replied her sister, calmly,
“although, of course, you would not be so rude as to leave Paulette at
home.”
“She would very likely decline to go,” said Patty, willing to enter
into an argument. “I think this one trip will be enough for her French
heels.”
“How about yours?”
“Oh, I have a fine pair of tennis shoes at home which I shall wear next
time. I brought them purposely for rough walking, but I didn’t put them
on to-day because I didn’t know it would be rough.”
“I shall not allow you to go off for a whole day with Tomás; it would
scandalize the community,” her sister went on.
“When he is your brother?”
“He is not yours.”
“Oh, well, if that is the case, you and Juan can go, too. We can take
lunch. Juan can fish, you can go to sleep, and if Paulette decides to
go with us she can read.”
“And what will you do?”
“I will study Spanish with Tomás. We can find some nice little
out-of-the-way corner where we shall be undisturbed.”
“You will? We shall see.”
“Exactly. That is what I thought we could do. By the way, talking of
fishing, that was mighty good fish we had to-day. What was it?”
“_Merluza_ they call it.”
“Do they get it here?”
“Yes, near by. We think it very fine. But Patty,”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t trifle with Tomás.”
“My dear, we thrashed that out long ago, and we decided that forty
dollars a year for a house and--”
“Do stop your foolishness. Here comes Juan,” said Martina, hastily. And
Patty was left to meditate upon her shortcomings while the other four
went to examine the curious rocks.
She sat quite unconcernedly upon the rock where she had ensconced
herself and at last had the satisfaction of seeing Tomás advancing
toward her alone, Paulette having remained with the other two. “I was
tired; it was such a long walk,” said Patty, smiling up sweetly. Her
vocabulary was sufficient by this time to compass ordinary phrases.
“But it is sunny and hot here; we will find the shade,” said Tomás. And
Patty had the delight of being escorted to a sequestered corner while
her sister cast anxious glances toward the spot where she had left the
girl.