This lack of observation and of intelligent interest in their surroundings we found not uncommon among the people, who have an almost Oriental incuriosity with regard to things that do not practically concern them. Many a time did we draw the attention of a native to some conspicuous plant growing in profusion around his home, and ask him what kind of flower it bore when in bloom; whereupon he would reply without hesitation that that particular plant never flowered at all, and consider himself well out of the matter.
I remember being told by a traveller in Spain that once when in the very centre of the liquorice industry he inquired of his landlord what part of the plant was used, to which he replied that it was the root:
“And what kind of plant is it that supplies these roots?”
“Oh, there is no plant at all—nothing to be seen above ground.”
Pursuing his inquiries further, he found a man who admitted that there was certainly a plant, but he maintained that it never flowered. This was in the neighbourhood of acres of the plant, then in full flower!
In the afternoon our host drove us to Aubercuix in a tilted cart, with an old flea-bitten Rosinante in the shafts. Passing the quaint Fuente de Gallo—an urn-shaped stone fountain presided over by a spruce cock, where all day long the women fill their water jars—we had not proceeded more than half a mile on our way when the back bench of our conveyance, on which we both were sitting, broke down with a loud crack, and in the confusion our best umbrella fell out in front and got badly kicked by the horse. Our host was aghast; he jumped down and repaired the damage as quickly as possible—propped up the seat with some chunks of firewood that happened to be in the cart—disengaged the umbrella from the horse’s hind leg—and tried to assure us that all was well. But it was far from well. Our appearance had for some time past not been our strong point; repeated wettings and dryings had not improved our hats; our clothes were almost worn out—and now the best umbrella was just as baggy and bent and stained as the other, and, moreover, would only open in a lop-sided way.
“The Fuente de Gallo, an urn-shaped stone fountain, presided over by a spruce cock.”
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