Even the rough flags and cobbles under
foot were of a faint lichen gray, chrome yellow, or pink, as if
painted at cost of infinite labor. Out of dark, open doorways
peered swarthy faces, naked bronze children scampered away on fat
legs at their approach, and in one house were a number of
cassocked priests droning in Spanish. Everywhere was the same
slumberous content, the same peaceful buzz of bees and birds and
soft-toned human voices.
The two visitors explored the village, even to the quaint, tawdry
chapel, with its impossible blues and rusted gilt, and noon found
them eager to investigate the contents of their lunch-basket.
Taking a random path up the hill, they came at last to a spring of
cool water, and here they spread their meal under a mango-tree
bent beneath tons of fruit.
"Oh, it's intoxicating!" cried Edith, as she sank to a seat,
feasting her eyes upon the scene below. "After lunch, shall we
climb the mountain?"
"I'm ready for anything," Kirk assured her. "Maybe we'll go
swimming. That seems to be the main occupation of the
inhabitants."
Up the path toward them came two timid children, one bearing a
pineapple half as large as himself, the other lugging an armful of
strange fruit. Kirk bought their entire burden, and they scuttled
away in high glee.
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