"And what about Jose?" The father put his left hand upon the little boy's shoulder. Jose was kneeling beside him, roasting chestnuts on the hearth.
"I am going to school this winter, Antonio says." Jose looked up with a happy face.
"A school term will begin early in January, at the village. Jose can go for the sixteen weeks; he is strong enough to walk there and back, I think," said Antonio.
"Sometimes can I go, too?" Malfada asked, tossing back her thick black hair.
"Yes, little one, you can go with Jose, that is the best plan. Then you can help each other with your lessons," the father said quickly.
Soon the winter began. The dull weather with heavy rains lasted two or three weeks. In this Portuguese country, autumn meets winter with pouring rain and with strong winds, which break down almost everything in the gardens and which cover gardens and fields with wet leaves and long sprays of vine.
During these days Antonio and Jose wore about the farm-work curious coats made of several layers of dried grass. These were some protection against rain and wind. But there was not much work to be done until the heavy storms should cease.
In late November the sun came forth brightly. It was time to plough the stubble fields.
The only plough Jose had ever seen until now, was one made of a crooked branch of hardwood tree, shod with iron,—of the same pattern as the plough used by the Romans two thousand years ago. It was a plough so light in weight that after the day's work was done, the man lifted it from the ground and hung it over the yoke of the ox.