The glad lady

“Corn-fields!” cried Patty, looking from the window as the train proceeded on its way toward Bilbao. “We might almost think it our native land.”

“Not with a tenth century monastery in sight,” returned her sister.

“Quite true, but I hadn’t seen the tenth century monastery when I spoke. Those are surely fig trees. Where corn and apples grow can there be figs? At least one doesn’t learn from our geographies that they flourish together.”

“They do here,” Don Juan told her. “You must prepare to have more than one surprise, hermana mia.”

“I’m beginning to get them. What gorgeous views. Spain is fine. I imagined it a dry and arid plain with a weazened tree sticking up once in a while out of the dust.”

“It isn’t all like this,” her sister admitted, “but you will have to confess that Asturias is wonderful.”

“And Asturians?” with a sly glance at Tomás.

Doña Martina frowned and Patty laughed gleefully, while Tomás looked from one to the other interrogatively. “She is a naughty child,” Doña Martina told him in his own language.

“She is a charming one nevertheless,” returned Tomás in the same tongue.

“What does deleitosa mean?” asked Patty, rapidly turning over the leaves of the small dictionary she carried.

“It is not necessary to know,” replied Doña Martina, in dignified reproof.

“You look so funny when you purse up your lips that way, Tina,” said Patty, “exactly as you used when I was a little girl and would pick green gooseberries from the bushes. You have always thought you must be the one to bring me to task, being ten years older. Oh, I have found the word. Now, what must I say? Gracias señor. Me gusto mucho. Is that right, Juan?” She turned to her brother-in-law, who smiled an indulgent affirmative.

“I shall beat you with my Spanish, Polly,” Patty went on, “and I venture to say I shall learn it before Don Tomás does English. I rather hope I may, for it is so funny to hear him say goomans for women, and moosilahga for mucilage. However, I wish there were a language we both knew and which you didn’t, Tina, then we certainly would enjoy ourselves.”

“Do not listen to her, Doña Martina,” said Paulette, “she does but to tease you.”

“I do but to look out the window at present,” said Patty. “See those stunning looking men. I should say they were Englishmen.”

“They probably are,” Don Juan told her. “There are quite a number connected with the mines in northern Spain. These may be mining engineers.”

“Oh!” Patty watched the three well set up figures approaching the train from the small station at which they had just stopped. “Do you know any of them, Juan?” she asked.

“I have met two or three and have found them very agreeable men. One sees them in Gijon or Santander, but rarely in our little pueblo.”

The train moved on, now passing a white village cuddled in the hollow of a mountain, now by reason of a twist in the road, suddenly disclosing a glimpse of the sea overhung by bold promontories, again affording a view of a gray convent perched high on the top of a craggy height, then corn-fields again offering little variety till a picturesque procession of gipsies or a cow-cart led by a stalwart mountaineer lent life to the scene.

In the course of time Bilbao was reached, a night was spent there and then the beaten path of the tourist was left behind and the unfrequented roads of Asturias were entered. From height to height, from village to hamlet, the train wound its way, until at last Tomás exclaimed, “Here we arrive,” and springing to his feet he gathered the coats, bags and umbrellas from the racks, and in a few minutes the train had moved off, leaving the five standing on the platform.

Patty looked about her. “So this is it,” she said to Paulette.

“And it is in ze mountains as we are hoping. Zey are on all side and how beautiful.”

“It is beautiful and unlike anything I ever knew. Now where do we go? Are we to walk or ride, Tina?”

“It is only a short walk to the fonda where we are to stop for a few days while our house is being made ready.”

“Fonda? Oh, yes, that means the inn. And when we get there shall we know it by any sign?”

“No, there is nothing to distinguish it to the uninitiated, but it is known to the people hereabouts as Fonda de Victor on account of the man who owns it.”

“Pigs! Tina, I smell them.”

“You may see them, for they are quite free to run the streets, but that odor, my dear, is only oil, unrefined oil, used by the peasants for cooking.”

“It is ghastly.”

“You won’t mind it after a while.”

“No, I believe I shall not.” Patty sniffed the air. “Now I know what it really is, it doesn’t seem so disagreeable. I recognize an olivish quality to it, and it really is not so terrific as I imagined. Such is the power of mind over matter. What’s that awful noise? Why don’t they grease their cart-wheels?”

“My dear girl, they wouldn’t for the world,” Don Juan hastened to say. “Do you see those little narrow roads winding up the mountains? Suppose one cow-cart should meet another without warning what happens unless they know by the creak of the wheels that another is coming? If they did not hear how could they turn aside in the proper place?”

“They sound like the hugest kind of buzzing creature. I suppose one gets used to it after a while, but I do hope and trust they do not start forth early in the morning or I foresee that my morning nap is lost.”

“They do start out rather early in the morning,” Don Juan was obliged to confess, “but you will get used to them, too.”

“And is this the place, this long white building? Isn’t it fascinating? though it is primitive with a vengeance.”

A dark-eyed, buxom woman came hurrying out to meet them with many expressions of welcome, and a timid little handmaid hovered in the background, all interest to see the Inglesas and their friend, Mlle. Delambre, less a person of importance. The little fonda was scrupulously clean, the board floors scrubbed white, though innocent of rug or carpet, the beds were soft, the home-spun linen fresh and sweet-smelling, the white-washed walls showed no mark nor speck. The small mirador faced the plaza, at once the center of the town and the market-place. Here, too, took place any special event, such as a comedia or a dance. Under the wide-branched tree on one side was the village fountain, whose constantly flowing stream sang a little tune in a pleasant tinkle which told of clear cold mountain sources from which the town was abundantly supplied. There was scarce a cessation of comings and goings from the fountain. Slim girls with buckets poised on their heads, old women who adjusted their circular pads carefully before lifting their water jar to its place, tiny children who carried their burdens unsteadily, but who, to imitate their elders, before filling their small pails, took up a handful of sand to scrub the vessel outside and in, that it might always be bright and shining. A fine odor of newly baked loaves came from the bakery opposite and above the tap-tap of the shoemaker upon his last arose his clear song in some weird Asturian ballad. Beyond all, against the bluest of skies, were the mountains.

Patty leaned her elbows upon the railing of the mirador and viewed it all.

“How do you like it?” asked Paulette, coming and putting an arm around her friend.

“Immensely. And you?”

“It is delightful. How primitive! How rural!”

“Rural indeed. See that lordly pig grunting around below there, and turkeys as I live, not to mention a host of chickens and, oh, the dogs, what a company of them. I see where those stale biscuits go, the ones we bought on our way here and couldn’t eat. Don’t you like these little balconies with the flowers swinging from them? I hope there are balconies at Juan’s house. There must be, I suppose, for all Spanish houses seem to have them.”

“Where are we to hang our frocks?”

“Oh, dear, where indeed? On the floor, I reckon. We’d better not unpack much, only what we shall need for a few days. Tina hopes we can leave by the end of the week. It is too bad we could not go at once to the house, but Juan says this is the best fonda about and it is something of a novelty to stay here.”

“What must the others be?”

“I can’t imagine, though there is nothing to complain of here. I am sure it was not much better at the convent. We lack clothes presses, to be sure. They say the food is good, all oil, I suppose judging from the odors now arising.”

A gentle tap at the door interrupted them. “Á comer,” said the little maid to whom they opened.

“What do you suppose that means?” said Patty looking at Paulette.

“Dinner, perhaps.”

Patty went through the motions of eating, looking inquiringly at Consuelo who, though amused, nodded gravely and beckoned them to follow her.

They found Doña Martina, Don Juan and Tomás seated at a long table where there were two other guests, one a viajante or traveling man, the other Patty concluded to be an Englishman. Nothing could be more courteously polite than the viajante. “He ate with his knife yet his attentions to us might put a courtier to the blush,” Doña Martina said afterward.

Little Consuelo ran hither and thither, so anxious for the Inglesas to be pleased that she watched every mouthful they ate with an absorbed interest. “As if,” said Patty, “the entire foundations of the kingdom would totter if we failed to do justice to each dish.”

The comedor was the room in which first-class guests alone were served. Below stairs in the wine shop were tables for the second and third class meals, these varying in quality according to the price. Matilda herself, supervised all. Her loud though kindly voice and her quick step were heard when one passed near the kitchen, and woe be to the vaquero who might royster too uproariously.

The viajante conversed affably with Don Juan. The Englishman made a single remark to Don Tomás which, not being understood caused a lapse into silence on the part of the Britisher. “I knew he was English,” said Patty in a low voice to her sister as the young man’s tall athletic figure disappeared in the doorway. “I couldn’t be mistaken. He is one of those whom we saw getting on the train at Llanes I am sure. One of the kind of Englishman whose chief ambition in life seems to be to look more bored than any other Englishman. I wonder why he didn’t vouchsafe a remark to some of us who could speak his own language.”

“Well, you see he was at the other end of the table. Juan was speaking Spanish to the viajante, Tomás and I were conversing in the same language while you and Paulette were chattering in French.”

“What’s he doing in Spain if he doesn’t speak Spanish?”

“The same thing that you are doing, perhaps.”

Patty laughed at the retort. “Never mind, I shall speak only in English to-morrow and then we shall see. Why don’t you chide me, Tina? Reproof is in order.”

“Anything to keep you from luring Tomás into your toils.”

“Oh, Tomás!” Patty gave a glance in that young man’s direction. “Of course he counts, too. I shall not be afraid of having to talk to both. Paulette can have the traveling gentleman. Can you and Juan go with us to hunt up a drug store? There are some things we want. I suppose there is one.”

“I really don’t know, but I will ask Juan.”

“Meantime I will have a lesson from Tomás, for I do not mean to remain in ignorance of things I might know when it depends upon a little study to gain the knowledge.”

As they left the fonda to follow the long white road for a short distance they observed the Englishman pacing up and down, taking the solace of his pipe. “I know he is lonely, poor fellow,” remarked Patty. “I don’t suppose Juan could invite him to go with us, could he?”

“Juan is not going with us; he has some letters to write,” said Doña Martina shortly.

“Did he tell you where to find the drug store?”

“Yes, it is in the jail building.”

“Heavens! what a combination. Healing for bodily ills on one hand and punishment on the other. And where is Tomás?”

“He is helping Juan.”

“Then we go alone, do we? Is it safe?”

“Do you imagine that bandits are going to descend upon us from the mountains? You couldn’t be safer in your own room, and you’re far safer than you would be at home. Come along, Patty, and don’t be so silly.”

“You see Paulette and I have been so used to being Argus-eyed by a sister we don’t dare move without one.”

“And am I not sister enough?”

“Oh, well, yes, but I can’t get accustomed to your being a proper chaperon although you have tried to serve in that capacity ever since I was born. You don’t tell me this is the place? Why, it looks like a plain stone house.”

“Yes, I am sure this is the place.”

“But there is no light.”

“We will knock.” After some banging on the door they heard footsteps coming down the stairs, keys jingled and a bolt was drawn back, then a man appeared, candle in hand. Evidently trade was not so brisk as to require the constant presence of the druggist in the shop. He ushered them into a queer little place, fumbled sleepily around among the shelves and finally produced the articles they wanted, the door was locked and bolted after them and they returned to the fonda. The whiff of a pipe and the appearance of a figure which stepped out of the shadow told them that the Englishman was following.

“I do believe he came behind us all the way,” whispered Patty, “just to see that no harm befell us. That was rather nice, I think.”

“It was entirely unnecessary,” replied her sister, “and I am not sure but that it was impertinent.”

“Oh, Tina. I don’t believe that, do you, Paulette?”

“It maybe was an impertinence,” said Paulette after a little hesitation.

“Oh bless me! How suspicious you are. Of course it would necessarily be so in your country,” returned Patty annoyed at this construction. “For my part I think it was a nice knightly thing to do. Quite like an American and a Southerner at that.”

“Oh, dear me, Patty,” Doña Martina began, “if you begin to create knights in this free and easy style I don’t know where you will land. Give you a bone and you will construct a mastodon any time.”

“A little imagination is an excellent thing to have in the family,” retorted Patty. “It comes in very handily sometimes. I adore my imagination; I wouldn’t be without it for the world. You and Paulette are of the earth. My golden flower of knighthood may be nothing but a yellow primrose on the river’s brim to you, but oh, my heart, who knows what it may prove to be in my eyes.”

“It may prove to be an inexpressible bore,” replied her sister. “There come Tomás and Juan to meet us.”