The Purple Land

gaged in performing my morning ablutions in a large wooden bucket under the willows when he placed himself in the saddle; then, after carefully arranging the drapery

near me; and that inconsequent story of Anselmo's about Manuel and Pascuala caused me to laugh several times. Finally my thoughts, which had been roaming around in a wild, uncertain manner, like rooks "blown about the windy skies," settled quietly down to the consideration of that beautiful anomaly, that mystery of mysteries, the white-faced Margarita. For how, in the n

for, after all, the more leisurely one does a thing the sooner will it be accomplished-especially in the Banda Orientá

rmer occasions. Marcos Marcó was his name; a tall, sallow-faced individual about fifty years old, slightly grey, very dirty, and wearing threadbare gaucho garments. He had

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

d, after we had had some conversation; and

are fond of gathering pretty flowers?" h

are pretty,

. Perhaps you have observed a particularly pretty

pudent meaning. Assuming as wooden an expression as I could, I replied, "Yes, I have often observed the flower you speak of; it is fragrant, and to my mind surpasses i

otanists in the world of all nations are able to converse together about plants. From this somewhat dry subject I launched into the more fascinating one of the physiology of plants. "Now, look at this," I continued, and with my penknife I carefully

ordinary!" "Lawks a mussy!" "You don't say so!" I finished my lecture, satisfied that my superior intellect had baffled

"But the English know everything-even the secrets of a flower. They are also ab

imal for nothing! "Yes, I have!" I replied rather angrily; then, sud

ng presently, for I see the White Flower coming this way to tell us that breakfast is ready. Batata's roast bee

e to us, looked up into her matchless face with a