round and round the treadmill of the waterwheel and the donkeys nipped the new sweet buds that grew about the well, we all spread our blankets on the ground and took asicsta in the soft air, sweetened by the sun-dried grass. Late in the afternoon Fernando gently shook me by the shoulder. The farmer's day's work had been done, which consisted of watching his mule draw up enough water to the storage reservoir to enrich his fields, and as he had offered us the hospitality of his house for the night and there was also a wedding in the village, we threw the grass, saddles, and saddle-bags over our donkeys and all three were soon on our way to the pile of low, yellow-roofed houses clustered around the cathedral in the village.

brown corduroy breeches, who felt their importance; and at the other end of the room a table was spread with cakes and bread and a wine concoction very sweet and pleasant but seductive. The women, some bringing their babies, were a pleasant set but not beautiful, although a few, with their large dark eyes, came very near to it. They did not wear the gay costumes of my imagination, but their dresses showed great care and conscientious patching. A gay handkerchief was often folded around the neck and across the breast and large earrings and big breastpins were the vogue even among the young women. The men wore broad-brimmed black felt hats and clean blue blouses, corduroy trousers, either

the head. There was a very old man who danced with great gusto and amused the crowd of young people, who encouraged him with clapping of hands. When, at last, we left the wedding, and passed the fountain where the laborers from the fields were watering their mules, the rose-color was slowly fading from the sky, and we made our way to the farmer's house, which was in the village. The front had the square prison-like effect so commoniron bars, delicately wrought, before each window, and a huge heavy double wooden door filled with big iron-headed nails, giving the entire place the look of a strong box. We entered the patio, a square yard around which the house was built. There was a high-wheeled cart resting on its shafts on the cobble floor, the heavy brass studded har

stairway came my host's family, displaying no end of curiosity. Later, over a large pan of rabbit stew, from which we all helped ourselves, my host asked many questions and told many little anecdotes of his large family. Four sons and two daughters, all married and living in this large, rambling, thick-walled house, made a family of twenty-two children (many of them were still at the wedding), and the eldest son tried to show with gestures the appearance of the stairway at Christmas time, when twenty-two pairs of shoes were laid there to receive the gifts of the honored and kindly saint. Many well-meant questions were asked regarding my history. Telling them that I was an American caused no cessation in their hospitality (I afterward learned that an American in Spain can come from North or

South America or Cuba or the West Indies, if he wishes, but a Yankee is the only man who hails from our glorious United States); but when I expressed my disappointment over the unromantic appearance of the wineshops, where I had expected to find the brave toreador trumming a guitar in unison with a fair señorita's lithe motions, my host, placing his finger beside his nose and drawing down the inner corner of his eye, promised to arrange an entertainment at the wine-shop of the village that night, that would, he was sure, restore my old ideals. His sons played the mandolin, and evidently belonged to a musical club, for four other young men came with their mandolins and sat around the great circular table in the wine-shop. In their flat-brimmed sombreros, hair banged and brushed forward over their ears, in imitation of the bullfighters, sun-browned faces, short, black velvet coats and red sashes tightly binding their narrow hips, they made a picture, and played their weird, wild music, touched with pathos, well into the night.

Although no request was made of me, the code required strangers to furnish wine, and Fernando ordered a large jug to be placed upon the table and kept full. The villagers who could, crowded into the shop and others stood at the doors and windows, and everyone had access to the flowing bowl; but before they drank they saluted me gravely,

and no one was rude or stared or took advantage of the occasion.

Fernando and I were given a large room on the upper floor of the farmer's house. There were two beds, one at either end; the floor was tiled with big square red bricks and heavy oaken blinds at the windows opened on a balcony. The beds and the room were sweet and clean, much better accommodations than the pretentious hotel at Madrid.

In the morning, our host, carrying a long heavy cane, accompanied us as far as a cross beside a small church, on the outskirts of the village, where we bade him farewell and continued our journey. The road lay over treeless rolling hills; sparse grain grew in meagre patches that ended abruptly on barren wastes with flocks of feeding goats on the red sun-baked earth, which took on rose hues in the sunshine or deep plum color in the floating cloud shadows. Purple bush flowers, clustered in the copperas green of the grass or poppies, waved their heads above the struggling blades. Then we came to waste tracts of light-gray clayey land; tufts of sage held savagely to life under the blazing sun, and the road, hard and white, showed us we were on the main highway. We passed more of the high-wheeled carts (some now held families, on the way to the larger towns for market-day) pulled by a mule in the shafts and often a dimin

utive donkey in the lead. On an uphill pull a high-wheeler's load shifted too far back of the axle for perfect balance. The slow creak gave way to excited female voices in a high key and the deep angry exclamations of men as the shafts pointed skyward and the mules' hind feet left the ground.

We seized the shafts and did our best to bring about order in Sancho's family as they laughingly endeavored to extricate themselves.

The road was not without its pathos. We passed some people too poor even to travel on donkey-back or in carts. One family a grandmother, the mother, and three children, the youngest having to be carried, under the only umbrella in the party-with a scanty supply of provisions, shoes and sandals worn and patched and tied on with strips torn from skirts and aprons, were walking a distance of two hundred miles to join their men, who had found work in a distant town. They answered our questions, but did not ask for money-far from beggars were they-but after we passed, the babies' little fists held a few shining silver pesetas.

We met tramps who were thoughtful enough of the future to carry a heavy ragged blanket over their shoulders to protect them from the cold night blasts and a small earthen pot for cooking food that might be given to them. Cigarettes were always received with great pleasure; but they were fain to talk. Stone structures, about six or seven feet high, whitewashed and reminding one of a kiln, occurred frequently on the road and were placed for wayfarers to spend the night in, and we passed several large buildings with a cluster of these gentlemen of the road before them, each with his earthen bowl full of steaming food.

As the sun sank that day, the sky casting its purple veil over all, we passed into a beautiful little town, all gardens and bridges and ornate gate-posts, placed there when Spanish rulers were lavish and indifferently maintained by the present King. We found the posada a short distance from the palace, and after the donkeys' trappings were taken off and locked in a room for safety and the little animals were led off to the stable, we stooped and entered the kitchen. Señor could have anything he preferred, but after a deal of hunting about

VOL. XL.-49

for chickens, the larder narrowed down to rabbit stew; so two rabbits were killed and prepared before us (I noticed in other posadas our food was always "alive" when we ordered it) and placed in a large bowl in the centre of the table, out of which we helped ourselves. At a table near by a group of carters sat around a larger bowl of "stew." The politeness of the Spanish was ever present, for they formed an orderly group, and cach wore a clean blouse and broad-brimmed hat, which he must have carried in his wagon—a sort of dinner dress. There were some sleeping-rooms above, but a "fiesta" in the town had brought many people, and we were obliged to lay down on bags of chopped hay, placed on the floor where the mules, donkeys, and horses were, but well out from their heels. I wrapped myself up in the great blanket shawl that swung from my saddle and lay down on the long bag, tired after the day's ride. Although I lay very still, sleep would not come to me, for I could not shut out the terrible noise of the bells that hung from the mules' gayly bedecked bridles, which with every movement of the jaw sent out a tormenting jangle. A flickering lamp on the post near by waved a sickly glimmer over the sleeping men and rested on the haunches of the taller animals. Centuries of cobwebs hung from the rough rafters like lowering clouds overhead, and during the momentary silence of the bells deep snoring reached my ears. How many honest souls and how many bandits were there among this crowd of black-haired, travel-worn men? They each had that long blade in their belts. The night was cold and I was far from home. As I lay there so still, watching them all, the blanket on a bag over back of the post moved, a head stuck up and looked about. I kept very still. The head raised, and the man sat on his bed and reaching around, drew out a thick rope that had been heavily knotted on both ends and torn apart in the middle. After assuring himself that all was safe, his short overworked, underfed form crept stealthily to the side of a raw-boned mule. He removed the good rope at the halter, and substituted the rope he held in his hand, tying one knotted end in the manger ring and the other on his mule's halter, and then slipped back under his blanket. The old mule tossed his head, backed out of his