sheep. . . . And when they have eaten we will leave them, and away
to the land of the Moor, my London Caloro.

During the whole time that I remained at Merida I stirred not once
from the house; following the advice of Antonio, who informed me
that it would not be convenient. My time lay rather heavily on my
hands, my only source of amusement consisting in the conversation
of the women, and in that of Antonio when he made his appearance at
night. In these tertulias the grandmother was the principal
spokeswoman, and astonished my ears with wonderful tales of the
Land of the Moors, prison escapes, thievish feats, and one or two
poisoning adventures, in which she had been engaged, as she
informed me, in her early youth.

There was occasionally something very wild in her gestures and
demeanour; more than once I observed her, in the midst of much
declamation, to stop short, stare in vacancy, and thrust out her
palms as if endeavouring to push away some invisible substance; she
goggled frightfully with her eyes, and once sank back in
convulsions, of which her children took no farther notice than
observing that she was only lili, and would soon come to herself.

Late in the afternoon of the third day, as the three women and
myself sat conversing as usual over the brasero, a shabby looking
fellow in an old rusty cloak walked into the room: he came
straight up to the place where we were sitting, produced a paper
cigar, which he lighted at a coal, and taking a whiff or two,
looked at me: "Carracho," said he, "who is this companion?"

I saw at once that the fellow was no Gypsy: the women said