exclamatory noises that mean nothing, and teaches me the names of
vegetables. The land is rich and black.

Opposite us, looking down on our security, is the long, arched mountain
of snow. We climbed one flight of steps, and we could see the little
villages on the opposite side of the lake. We climbed again, and could
see the water rippling.

We came to a great stone building that I had thought was a storehouse,
for open-air storage, because the walls are open halfway up, showing the
darkness inside and the corner pillar very white and square and distinct
in front of it.

Entering carelessly into the dimness, I started, for at my feet was a
great floor of water, clear and green in its obscurity, going down
between the walls, a reservoir in the gloom. The Signore laughed at my
surprise. It was for irrigating the land, he said. It stank, slightly,
with a raw smell; otherwise, I said, what a wonderful bath it would
make. The old Signore gave his little neighing laugh at the idea.

Then we climbed into a great loft of leaves, ruddy brown, stored in a
great bank under the roof, seeming to give off a little red heat, as
they gave off the lovely perfume of the hills. We passed through, and
stood at the foot of the lemon-house. The big, blind building rose high
in the sunshine before us.

All summer long, upon the mountain slopes steep by the lake, stands the
rows of naked pillars rising out of the green foliage like ruins of
temples: white, square pillars of masonry, standing forlorn in their
colonnades and squares, rising up the mountain-sides here and there, as