Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

Here Doña Benilda came to bid them to the meal she had prepared with the assistance of the little maid, and Rodrigo gave his arm, with much ceremony, to Mrs. Beltrán, while Anita followed with his mother.

The midday meal was a substantial one, beginning with the hearty puchero, a soup to which vegetables, chicken, ham and sausage gave substance. The solid part of the soup, in which chick-peas (garbanzos) formed a prominent part, served as a second course. A wonderful omelet in which fried potatoes and herbs were folded, salad, fruit and cheese followed, while a good red wine was served all through the meal. Later coffee was brought into the sala.

There was much pleasant talk, some in English, some in French, some in Spanish, and Anita decided, that, however unlike her friends at home these new found cousins might be, that they were kind and hospitable to the very last degree.

It was still early in the day, but as deliberation marked the Spanish movements, they did not start on their walk to Cuesta till long past noon. However, as they intended to stop over night with relatives, Doña Benilda did not seem to think it mattered.

"You walk well?" inquired Rodrigo as they started out through the streets of the Venice-like little city.

Anita, a trifle puzzled, answered that she hoped so, that she was fond of walking, deciding that the latter was the proper reply to the question.

Leaving the town they struck the carretera, the hard white road which they followed for some distance, the sea always in sight, but after some miles they came to a divergence of ways, and took the road bearing overhill to the embowered little village of Cuesta. On its outskirts an ancient church offered its friendly porch as a resting place for the weary. They found it already occupied when they reached it. Two women with baskets sat on one of the benches, a little lame boy, with a baby toddler in charge, lounged on the steps, and two young persons, evidently sweethearts, moved away consciously at the sight of strangers. But the peasant women stopped their gossip for only a moment and the lame boy regarded them with pleased interest.

Anita dropped down on the nearest bench. "O, las piedras!" she exclaimed. "Why, why, my cousin, do they have these roads paved so horribly and have such nice smooth carreteras?"

"It is for the cow," returned Rodrigo, "always for the cow. Here you paircebay is a many farm, all is the hay, the cow, the corn. If no the angular and uneben stone to the road the cow is to recline—how you say?—is fall down when come wetness of road. No is goodth for the cow. He is, yes, he is fall down when is make the journey weeth the load of hay."

"I see, I understand. Many things are being explained to me," Anita responded. "I wondered why they did not grease their cart wheels, but now I understand that upon the narrow mountain roads there are sometimes places where the cow-carts cannot pass, and if one driver hears a screaking sound in the distance his own team can wait for the other to pass at the proper point."