It was indeed a lovely spot. The place itself, the productions of the earth, and surrounding scenery, were so entirely different from anything the boys had ever witnessed, that they remained for some moments lost in silent wonder. It was sheltered from the mountain blasts by hills, whose sides were terraced and covered with vines. Skirting the base of the hills, on the north side, flowed a broad, deep brook, from which the water, conducted in canals in all directions, watered the whole vale. Not a fence, ditch, or hedge marred the beautiful harmony of the picture, where the soil, abundantly watered, sheltered, and beneath a fervid sun, manifested an exuberance unknown in more northern climes.
"Look, Walter. I see the spire of a church, or something that looks like it, between those two hills."
"Yes; I see it. Those people seem very kind. Let us go and have a talk with that old man who is at work at the foot of that tree with such a lot round him; all the family, I guess. You speak to him, Ned."
Walter knew that the French he had learned from the exiles at Salem was quite different from the patois of Provence, being the language of cultivated society, whereas Ned had picked his up from Peterson, Jacques, and Mr. Bell, and it was the very dialect of this locality,—the dialects, in different parts of France, differing almost as much as the climate. Walter had also learned many words from the same source as Ned.
"I'll speak to him; I can talk their lingo first rate now; but let us sit down and rest a while."
"I'm real tired; where shall we sleep to-night?"
"Under that high cliff, the other side of the valley; and we can drink from the brook. I see some trees there, and we can make our fire right under them, drive a stake into some crevice, hang our kettle, and have a cup of tea."
"Think we couldn't get some milk of those folks, Wal?"
"I expect it would be goat's milk, if we did."
"Goat's milk is first rate, I tell you. We had two goats aboard the Madras."