There was scant time for all we had to do. Yet we managed to pay good-bye visits; to take final peeps at our favourite haunts; to secure on behalf of a poultry-fancying friend a setting of the eggs of certain Moorish-looking fowls whose jet black bodies were topped by huge white feather turbans; to dig up bulbs of the most curious kinds of fly orchis for another friend who is so fortunate as to possess a "wonder garden."
Our final day, which rushed upon us before we had steeled ourselves to meet it, was deplorably wet. It seemed as though the climate that had treated us so generously was weeping at the thought of our departure.
We lunched daintily at the home of our good friends the Consul and his wife. Then came the moment when, for the last time, the bells of Bartolomé's chariot jingled at the door of the Casa Tranquila, and the neighbours came out to wish us God-speed. None of them came empty-handed. Pepe brought his finest carnations. The Andalusian lady, her entire brood clinging to her matronly skirts, also offered flowers, and the retired gentleman who lived in the lordly mansion across the way hastened to cut his choicest roses.
So with the carriage full of fragrant evidence of good will, we drove off, to pause a moment at Apolonia's door to bid her farewell. At the distribution of odds and ends a rug and a hat had been allotted to Apolonia. And when she seized this opportunity of thanking us for the trifles sent her, Apolonia spoke appreciatively of the rug, but there were tears in her bright eyes when she referred to the sombrero. And that makes one wonder how it is that the utterly useless and incongruous gifts are often the most valued. The dear old soul had never worn a hat in her life and certainly never would. The article could be of no possible use to her, but perhaps, like Jess in the Window in Thrums with her mantle, she "would aye ken it was there."
As we turned the corner we got a glimpse of Mr. and Mrs. Pepe carrying a gaily coloured handkerchief containing the discarded suit of the Boy's that had fallen to Pepe's share. Waving the bundle, they indicated that they were already on their way to the tailor's to have the suit altered.
The Angelus was ringing as the Miramar steamed out into the mist. Standing at the stern, we looked back while the rain-clouds gradually blotted out the town, and thought of the little house at Son Españolet standing empty and forlorn.
We had hoped that when the inevitable hour of parting came we might leave in one of those magnificent sunsets under which we had so often watched the mail-boat start for Barcelona. But though our last sight of Majorca was veiled with rain and tears, we will always remember it as a land of sunshine and of smiles.