Except for a sultry day or two in the end of October the atmosphere was only pleasantly warm. Week succeeded week when the sea reflected a sky of cloudless glowing azure, when the air was soft and yet exhilarating, and we could both walk and bask with pleasure.
Rain never comes before it is welcome in Majorca. Sometimes the welcome waits long before it is claimed.
When after an unbroken succession of days or weeks, or it may be months, of unbroken fine weather, one is awakened by the sound of rain falling in torrents on the tiled roofs, it is to rejoice with the knowledge that the thirsty crops are already drinking in the moisture, that the diminished store in the wells is being replenished, that your oranges are swelling, and that your lemons will soon lose the hardness of the nether millstone and become available for lemonade.
There is no hesitation about Majorcan rain. It does not play at being wet; it is simply drenching. And when rain comes, no man, however distinguished the uniform he wears or elevated his position (he may even be mounted on a panniered mule), hesitates to carry an umbrella. Consumeros, carbineers, farm labourers, postmen, all shelter under them. Nobody thinks it funny to meet a solemn policeman carrying a sword, a revolver, and an umbrella.
After the middle of January the weather changed. The temperature fell, and for nearly a fortnight cold winds raged. Warm wraps were brought out of the trunks where they had hitherto lain, and in the evenings a wood fire became a much appreciated luxury.
It was curious to note how speedily even this only comparatively cold weather made its malign influence felt on a people accustomed to warmth and sunshine. Colds and coughs abounded. Most of our Majorcan acquaintances appeared to suffer. As one lady said resignedly, "It is the tribute we must pay to winter."
Even the Boy spent several days in bed with a cold, reading all the French and Spanish novels he could beg or borrow, and comforting himself with the reflection that had he been well the weather for the first time during the winter would have made it impossible for him to paint outside.
Yet, had three months of sunshine not made us critical, we would never have grumbled at these few days of cold wind. Adopting unconsciously the local opinion of the weather, I found myself commiserating the Squire and his Lady, who had recently arrived from England.
"What a pity you didn't come earlier than you did. There was no bad weather till you came."
"But we've had lovely weather!" the Lady said, opening wide eyes of surprise. "Why, we've been out long walks every day. It isn't really cold, and there's only been one shower, and that fell at night."