land, a roaming sheikh settled here, calling it El Rahah--the
Repose.

He dug a well--for where the Moor has been there is always sparkling
water--he planted olive trees, and he built a mill. The well is
there to-day; the olive trees, old and huge and gnarled as are no
other olive trees on the earth, yield their yearly crop unceasingly;
the mill grinds the Spaniard's corn to-day.

In the Val d'Erraha there stands a house--a rambling, ungainly Farm,
as such are called in Majorca. It runs off at strange angles,
presenting a broken face to all points of the compass. From a
distance it rather resembles a village, for the belfry of the little
chapel is visible and the buildings seem to be broken up and
divided. On closer inspection it is found to be self-contained, and
a nearer approach discloses the fact that it presents to the world
four solid walls, and that it is only to be entered by an arched
gateway.

In the centre of the open patio stands the Moorish well, surrounded,
overhung by orange trees. This house could resist a siege--indeed,
it was built for that purpose; for the Moorish pirates made raids on
the island almost within the memory of living persons.

Such is the Casa d'Erraha--the House of Repose. It stands with its
back to the pine slopes, looking peacefully down the valley, over
terraces where grow the orange, the almond, the fig, the lemon, the
olive; and far below, where the water trickles, the feathery bamboo.

The city of Palma is but a few miles away, in its strong thirteenth-