Great was the amazement, and not slight the alarm of Meerta, when she beheld her little charge thus piloting two strangers down the hill. She spoke hurriedly to her blind companion, and at first seemed disposed to hide herself, but the man evidently dissuaded her from such a course, and when Letta ran forward, seized her hard old hands and said that God had sent people to take her back to mamma, she dismissed her fears and took to laughing immoderately.
It soon became evident to our adventurers that the woman was in her dotage, while the old man was so frail that only a few of the sands of life remained to run. They both understood a little English, but spoke in such a remarkably broken manner, that there was little prospect of much additional information being obtained from them.
“You hungry—hungry?” asked the old woman, with a sudden gleam of hospitality. “Come—come—me gif you for heat.”
She took Robin by the hand and led him towards a cavern, the mouth of which had not been visible higher up the mountain. Sam followed, led by Letta.
The interior of the cavern was lofty and the floor level. Besides this, it was sumptuously furnished in a fashion singularly out of keeping with the spot and its surroundings. Pictures hung on the walls, Persian rugs lay on the floors. Ottomans, covered with silk and velvet, were strewn about here and there, among easy-chairs of various kinds, some formed of wicker-work—in the fantastic shapes peculiar to the East—others of wood and cane, having the ungainly and unreasonable shapes esteemed by Western taste. Silver lamps and drinking-cups and plates of the finest porcelain were also scattered about, for there was no order in the cavern, either as to its arrangement or the character of its decoration. In the centre stood several large tables of polished wood, on which were the remains of what must have been a substantial feast—the dishes being as varied as the furniture—from the rice and egg messes of Eastern origin, to the preserved sardines of the West.
“Ha! ha!” laughed the weird old creature who ushered the astonished youths into this strange banqueting hall, “the rubberts—rubbers—you calls dem?”
“Robbers, she means; that’s the naughty men,” explained Letta, who seemed to enjoy the old woman’s blunders in the English tongue.
“Yis, dats so—roberts an’ pyrits—ha! ha! dems feed here dis mornin’. You feed dis afternoons. Me keeps house for dem. Dey tinks me alone wid Bungo an’ Letta, ho! ho! but me’s got cumpiny dis day. Sit down an’ grub wat yous can. Doo you good. Doo Letta and Bungo good. Doos all good. Fire away! Ha! ha–a! Keep you’s nose out o’ dat pie, Bungo, you brute. Vous git sik eff you heat more.”
Regardless of this admonition, the poor old man broke off a huge mass of pie-crust, which he began to mouth with his toothless gums, a quiet smile indicating at once his indifference to Meerta and consequences, while he mumbled something about its not being every day he got so good a chance.
“Das true,” remarked the old woman, with another hilarious laugh. “Dey go hoff awful quick dis day.”