Just where the road came almost within sight of Arracó the path to the hills crowned by the windmills branched off. Deciding to get the climbing over first, we left the highway, and mounted amongst most beautiful and varied vegetation. All about us tall pink and crimson heaths were blooming. Small clumps of palms that we had not before seen out of a conservatory grew among the rocks, and great cactus rioted in picturesque masses.
The base of the windmills reached, we enjoyed a view that extended in every direction. Beneath to one side was Arracó, its houses, save where near the church they were huddled closer together, scattered widely over the surface of a cup-like valley, that was so closely encircled by hills that we could discover no way leading out. Above the hills to the north the heights of the island of Dragonera rose from the sea. From another point we looked down on Andraitx, and marked the wide plain that ended in the placid waters of the port.
We had not meant to stay long on the heights, but the varied prospects were so beautiful and the air so placid that we felt tempted to linger. Then the Man took out his sketching block, and the matter was settled. Arracó would remain unvisited. Like the lotus-eaters, we were content and would roam no farther.
We were now so accustomed to Majorcan skilled and thrifty husbandry that it was no surprise to find that even the summit of the height was planted with fruit trees. On a rocky ledge, close under the spreading sails of the windmill, nestled a tiny house, and every handful of soil supported its fig-, almond-, pomegranate- or apple-tree.
The air was soft and gentle. Even at that altitude there was scarcely a breath of wind. Butterflies were hovering about. All the world seemed at peace. From Arracó arose the faint chime of a bell, from beyond the rock-bound coast came the murmur of the sea.
I think it was the discovery that just outside the little hut a man was eating his dinner that aroused us to the fact that we also were hungry. Breakfast had been light, and early dinner, a good way off, was not due till two o'clock. Antonia's sharp little white teeth had long ago devoured Antonia's roll and black-pudding. We had started out with the intention of foraging at Arracó; but Arracó, a scattered handful of pigmy dwellings, lay far down in the hollow.
Then an idea occurred to us. The husbandman, who had finished his meal, and was now lighting a cigarette, would be sure to have food. We would ask him to sell us some bread.
The peasant, who proved to be a kindly soul, had a beard and the most dilapidated hat ever worn by mortal man. But he had no bread. The hut under the windmill was only a shelter. His home was in the valley, and it was evidently his provisions for the day that he had just consumed. He did what he thought was next best, and drawing a great jar of clean water from his well, brought it to us.