It was a calm, sunshiny afternoon, peace and quiet resting on
everything, even bird and insect, for they were silent, or uttered
only soft, subdued notes; and that modest lodge, with its rough stone
walls and thatched roof, seemed to be in harmony with it all. It looked
like the home of simple-minded, pastoral people that had for their
only world the grassy wilderness, watered by many clear streams, bounded
ever by that far-off, unbroken ring of the horizon, and arched over
with blue heaven, starry by night and filled by day with sweet sunshine.
On approaching the house I was agreeably disappointed at having no
pack of loud-mouthed, ferocious dogs rushing forth to rend the
presumptuous stranger to pieces, a thing one always expects. The only
signs of life visible were a white-haired old man seated within the
corridor smoking, and a few yards from it a young girl standing under
a willow-tree. But that girl was a picture for one to gaze long upon
and carry about in his memory for a lifetime. Never had I beheld
anything so exquisitely beautiful. It was not that kind of beauty so
common in these countries, which bursts upon you like the sudden
south-west wind called _pampero_, almost knocking the breath out
of your body, then passing as suddenly away, leaving you with hair
ruffled up and mouth full of dust. Its influence was more like that
of the spring wind, which blows softly, scarcely fanning your cheek,
yet infusing through all your system a delicious, magical sensation
like--like nothing else in earth or heaven.
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