"Water-buffaloes," he said, remembering them as he had seen them
in the south.
"The most useful animal on the island," remarked Mr. Ritchie,
adding with a laugh, "except perhaps the pig. You'll have a taste
of Mr. Buffalo for your dinner, Mackay."
And now they were up on the heights, and the lovely country lay
spread out before them. Mackay mentally compared this walk to
many he had taken along the country roads of his native land. It
was early in March, but as there had been no winter, so there was
no spring. It was summer, warm, radiant summer, like a lovely day
in June at home. Dandelions, violets, and many gay flowers that
he did not recognize spangled the grassy plain. The skylark high
overhead was pouring out its glorious song, just as he had heard
it in his student days in Scotland. Here and there were clumps of
fir trees that reminded him of Canada, but on the whole the scene
was new and wonderful to his Western eyes.
They were now on the first level of the rice-fields. The farms
were tiny things, none larger than eight or ten acres. They were
divided into queer-shaped little irrigated fields, separated not
by fences, but by little low walls of mud.
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