The Argosy — page 221: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

, Letters from Majorca. 207 out of her pretty shy eyes with an effect which I thought would en- danger Rosita’s reign—as far as H. C. was concerned. At length everything was ready and we started. Of course there was a crowd outside to see us depart. The arrival of the diligence was a small matter compared with this. The mule boy followed up behind us, leading his long-suffering animal. He was a boy with ideas, and very often wanted to go one way whilst we went another. We knew better, however, than to trust him out of our sight; we should never have seen mule or boy or provisions again. Imagine our exhausted state at the top of the Puig Major with nothing where- with to restore animation ! We should never have lived to come down again. H. C.’s night of silence and solitude would have known no to-morrow. Mariquita and Rosita watched us from their doorway all down the narrow street, anxiety in their faces, a love-light in their eyes. This, H. C. said, was meant for the mule: it was compassion, not love; they are all fond of animals, these Mallorquinas, and are very good to the dumb creatures. I don’t think they ever even drown their kittens, for the place is overrun with cats. You never saw such miserable specimens. They are half the size of our English cats, and if there were convicts in the cat world, I should say these Mallorca cats from first to last were all at large on a ticket of leave. Small as they are, they have immense voices, and the caterwauling that goes on at night has constantly disturbed my rest and very much affected my nervous system. H. C. has many a time got up and throwna boot at them, but the missile seems to escape them or go through them, just as if they were ghosts or had a charmed life: and all they do in return is to-sit up on their hind legs and make faces at him—or so it looks to one’s sleepy and distorted imagination. He even went to the chemist’s one day and bought the largest squirt in the shop, but he might have spared himself the trouble: a fire-engine would not move them. Our progress down the narrow streets of Soller was attended with much excitement. People flocked to their doors and gazed after us as if we had been a group of angels from Paradise. The mule attracted great attention, and the mule boy, thinking it a pity the seat should be wasted, had himself mounted the animal. Outside the town we came upon one of the old crosses for which Mallorca may be said to be famous. It was a sort of religious day in Soller, and surrounding the cross, occupied in short devotions, knelt a group of people. It was very impressive ; nothing could be more picturesque. Everything was in harmony with the scene: the rich and beautiful plain, the far off hills, of which the Puig Major was most conspicuous, the small villages that dotted the slopes like nests on the hill sides. Grey and ancient, solitary and deserted they seemed, with their small churches, and an occasional monastery uprearing its gloomy walls, once the scene of cloistered monks, now comicbooks.com