The glad lady

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.