They Grew More Fertile As We Descended And
After We Had Left A Mountain Valley Where The Mist Hung Grayest
And
chillest, we suddenly burst into a region of mellow fruitfulness, where
the haze was all luminous, and where the
Oranges hung gold and green
upon the trees, and the women brought grapes and peaches and apples to
the train. The towns seemed to welcome us southward and the woods we
knew instantly to be of cork trees, with Don Quixote and Sancho Panza
under their branches anywhere we chose to look.
Otherwise, the journey was without those incidents which have so often
rendered these pages thrilling. Just before we left Ronda a couple,
self-evidently the domestics of a good family, got into our first-class
carriage though they had unquestionably only third-class tickets. They
had the good family's dog with them, and after an unintelligible appeal
to us and to the young English couple in the other corner, they remained
and banished any misgivings they had by cheerful dialogue. The dog
coiled himself down at my feet and put his nose close to my ankles, so
that without rousing his resentment I could not express in Spanish my
indignation at what I felt to be an outrageous intrusion: servants, we
all are, but in traveling first class one must draw the line at dogs, I
said as much to the English couple, but they silently refused any part
in the demonstration. Presently the conductor came out to the window for
our fares, and he made the Spanish pair observe that they had
third-class tickets and their dog had none.
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