Very, very keen were his eyes, and I detected him
several times watching me narrowly.
Leaving this Oriental tramp in conversation with Batata, who with
misplaced kindness had offered to provide him with a fresh horse, I
went out for a walk before breakfast. During my walk, which was along
a tiny stream at the foot of the hill on which the house stood, I found
a very lovely bell-shaped flower of a delicate rose-colour. I plucked
it carefully and took it back with me, thinking it just possible that
I might give it to Margarita should she happen to be in the way. On
my return to the house I found the traveller sitting by himself under
the corridor, engaged in mending some portion of his dilapidated
horse-gear, and sat down to have a chat with him. A clever bee will
always be able to extract honey enough to reward him from any flower,
and so I did not hesitate tackling this outwardly very unpromising
subject.
"And so you are an Englishman," he remarked, after we had had some
conversation; and I, of course, replied in the affirmative.
"What a strange thing!" he said. "And you are fond of gathering pretty
flowers?" he continued, with a glance at my treasure.
"All flowers are pretty," I replied.
"But surely, senor, some are prettier than others. Perhaps you have
observed a particularly pretty one growing in these parts--the white
margarita?"
Margarita is the Oriental vernacular for verbena; the fragrant white
variety is quite common in the country; so that I was justified in
ignoring the fellow's rather impudent meaning.
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