The Brave Mules Which Had So Gallantly, Under The Lash Of The
Running Foot-Boy Beside Them, Galloped Uphill With
Us the moonlight
night of our coming, now felt their anxious way down in the dismal
drizzle of that last
Morning, and brought us at last to the plaza before
the station. It was a wide puddle where I thought our craft should have
floundered, but it made its way to the door, and left us dry shod within
and glad to be quitting the city of my young dreams.
XII
THE SURPRISES OF RONDA
The rain that pelted sharply into the puddle before the station at
Granada was snow on the Sierra, and the snow that fell farther and
farther down the mountainsides resolved itself over the Vega into a fog
as white and almost as cold. Half-way across the storied and fabled
plain the rain stopped and the fog lifted, and then we saw by day, as we
had already seen by night, how the Vega was plentifully dotted with
white cottages amid breadths of wheat-land where the peasants were
plowing. Here and there were fields of Indian corn, and in a certain
place there was a small vineyard; in one of the middle distances there
spread a forest of Lombardy poplars, yellow as gold, and there was
abundance of this autumn coloring in the landscape, which grew lonelier
as we began to mount from the level. Olives, of course, abounded, and
there were oak woods and clumps of wild cherry trees.
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