urned the streets to
glittering silver; while beyond, the trees sprayed gold like magic
fountains against the white sheen of far snow-peaks.

Thus we ran up the winding road by the river Urumea, worming our way deep
into the heart of the mountains; climbing ever higher with a wider view
unfolding to our eyes--a view as new, as strange to me as to Dick Waring.
And yet I felt at home with it, as if I had known it always.

As we ascended, the roads did what they could to deserve their evil
reputation. The rain of a few days ago had been snow in the mountains. The
surface of the road became like glue, and despite non-skidding bands, and
Waring's careful steering, the car declared a sporting tendency to waltz.
Presently the glue liquefied. We were speeding through sheets of yellow
soup, which spouted from our pneus in two great curving waves, spattering
from head to foot the few wayfarers we met. Down the front glass coursed a
cataract of mud, and Waring could steer only by looking out sideways.
Thrown up by the steering-wheels, the yellow torrent thudded on the roof,
so that we were driving under a flying arch of liquid Spanish earth.

With the approach to a town, however, the way improved. The place was
Tolosa, and at the sound of our motor in the distance, a cry of
"Automovile, automovile," came shrilly from a score of childish throats.
Even the grown-ups rushed out, and were far more excited than we should
have expected in this motor-frequented part of Spain between Biarritz and
Madrid. In a French town of the same size scarcely a head would be turned
if an automobile passed; here people were as pleased as if we had been a
circus, though only a few moments before they must have had the joy of
seeing Carmona's car go by.

"If it's like this in the north, what must it be south of Madrid?" said I.
"Here they're all wonderfully good-natured; delighted with us in towns and
villages--I believe they'd pay to see us if they had to!--the road-menders
give military salutes, and even the men whose mules and donkeys are
frightened grin as they cover up the silly beasts' faces with their
shawls."

"That's because we behave like decent human beings instead of
marble-hearted scorpions," said Dick, with an originality of simile which
he cultivates. "When we see that we're frightening anything we slow down,
slip out the clutch, and glide so stealthily by that the creature gets no
excuse for hysterics. I used to think before you taugh