little ragged urchins, whose heads would not reach to one's elbow,
disputing vigorously in the street with a _Pero no, Señor, Pero si,
Señor_, as they bandy their arguments.

English travellers are sometimes found grumbling because the señor who
keeps a wayside _posada_, or even a more pretentious inn in one of the
towns, does not stand, hat in hand, bowing obsequiously to the wayfarer
who deigns to use the accommodation provided.

This is one of the things in which Spain, to her honour, _is_
unchanged. The courtesy of her people, high or low, is ingrained, and if
foreign--perhaps especially English and American--travellers do not
always find it so, the fault may oftenest be laid to their own ignorance
of what is expected of them, and to what is looked upon as the absolute
boorishness of their own manners.

When a Spaniard goes into a shop where a woman is behind the counter, or
even to a stall in the open market, he raises his hat in speaking to her
as he would to the Duquesa de Tal y Fulano, and uses precisely the same
form of address. The shopman lays himself at the feet of his lady
customers--metaphorically only, fortunately, _Á los pies de V.,
Señora!_--with a bow worthy of royalty. She hopes that "God may remain
with his worship" as she bids him the ordinary _Adios_ on going away,
and he, with equal politeness, expresses a hope that she may "go in
God's keeping," while he once more lays himself at the señora's feet.
All these amenities do not prevent a little bargaining, the one asking
more than he means to take, apparently for the purpose of appearing to
give way perforce to the overmastering charms of his customer, who does
not disdain to use either her fan or her eyes in the encounter. The old
woman will bargain just as much, but always with the same politeness.