At Gibraltar
"Oh, do let us go to the market, Nory, it is so long since we went there. It is so stupid always going up the 'Rock,' and you are always looking out to sea, and don't hear us when we talk to you. I know you don't, for when I told you that lovely story about the Brownies, the other day, you just said 'yes' and 'no' in the wrong places, and I knew you were not attending," said sharp little Ethel, who was not easily put off.
"Oh, Nory, see the monkeys," cried the little boy, "they are down near the sentry box, and one of them is carrying off a piece of bread."
"They are very tame, aren't they, Nory?" asked Ethel. "The soldiers leave bread out for them on purpose, Maria says."
"Yes, but you know I don't care for them, Ethel. They gave me such a fright last year they came down to pay a visit, and I discovered one in the bathroom. But run to Maria, and ask her to get you ready quickly, and I will take you to the market."
In great glee the happy little children quickly donned their things, and were soon walking beside their governess towards the gay scene of bargaining and traffic.
Here Moors are sitting cross-legged, with their piles of bright yellow and red slippers turned up at the toe, and calling out in loud harsh voices, "babouchas, babouchas," while the wealthier of them, dressed in their rich Oriental dress, are selling brass trays and ornaments.
The scene is full of gaiety and life, and it is with difficulty that the young governess drags the children away. But now fresh delights begin: they are in the narrow streets where all the Moorish shops with their tempting array of goods attract the childish eye—sweets of all sorts, cocoanut, egg sweets, almond sweets, pine-nut sweets, and the lovely pink and golden "Turkish delight," dear to every child's heart.
"Oh, Nory!" in pleading tones, and "Nory" knows that piteous appeal well, and is weak-minded enough to buy some of the transparent amber-like substance, which is at all events very wholesome. The sun was so powerful that it was quite pleasant on their return to sit in the little terraced garden and take their lunch before lesson-time, and while their governess sipped her tea, the children drank their goat's milk, and ate bread and quince jelly.
The warm February sun shone down on her, but she heeded it not; a passage in Mrs. Somerset's letter, which had just been handed to her, haunted her, and she read again and again: she could get no farther. "I believe it is very likely we shall take the next ship that touches here, it is the Minerva from Tasmania. They say it is a hospital ship, but I cannot wait for another, I hunger so for a sight of the children."