Am I not a villager myself, a villana from
the Sagra? Ride forth, therefore; your horses are neighing in the
stall, as your worship says, and you might almost have added that
the Senor Antonio is neighing in the house. He says he has nothing
to do, on which account he is once more dissatisfied and unsettled.
He finds fault with everything, but more particularly with myself.
This morning I saluted him, and he made me no reply, but twisted
his mouth in a manner very uncommon in this land of Spain."
"A thought strikes me," said I; "you have mentioned the Sagra; why
should not I commence my labours amongst the villages of that
district?"
"Your worship can do no better," replied Maria; "the harvest is
just over there, and you will find the people comparatively
unemployed, with leisure to attend and listen to you; and if you
follow my advice, you will establish yourself at Villa Seca, in the
house of my fathers, where at present lives my lord and husband.
Go, therefore, to Villa Seca in the first place, and from thence
you can sally forth with the Senor Antonio upon your excursions.
Peradventure, my husband will accompany you; and if so, you will
find him highly useful. The people of Villa Seca are civil and
courteous, your worship; when they address a foreigner they speak
to him at the top of their voice and in Gallegan."
"In Gallegan!" I exclaimed.
"They all understand a few words of Gallegan, which they have
acquired from the mountaineers, who occasionally assist them in
cutting the harvest, and as Gallegan is the only foreign language
they know, they deem it but polite to address a foreigner in that
tongue. Vaya! it is not a bad village, that of Villa Seca, nor are
the people; the only ill-conditioned person living there is his
reverence the curate."
I was not long in making preparations for my enterprise. A
considerable stock of Testaments were sent forward by an arriero, I
myself followed the next day. Before my departure, however, I
received a Benedict Mol.
"I am come to bid you farewell, lieber herr; I return to
Compostella."
"On what errand?"
"To dig up the schatz, lieber herr. For what else should I go?
For what have I lived until now, but that I may dig up the schatz
in the end?"
"You might have lived for something better," I exclaimed. "I wish
you success, however. But on what grounds do you hope? Have you
obtained permission to dig? Surely you remember your former trials
in Galicia?"
"I have not forgotten them, lieber herr, nor the journey to Oviedo,
nor 'the seven acorns,' nor the fight with death in the barranco.
But I must accomplish my destiny. I go now to Galicia, as is
becoming a Swiss, at the expense of the government, with coach and
mule, I mean in the galera.
