r of Spain, and her parents have
travelled to Gibraltar in carts and then in a marvellous thing called a
train which made the children shriek with delight when it moved off
without horses. Maria and Sebastian were brought up in a hovel with a
mud floor, and only one room, shared with the donkey and the goat. They
were never taught to obey, or to have their meals at regular hours, or
to go to bed at night at a particular time; they ran in when they
pleased, clamoured for something to eat or drink, or else fell down on a
bundle of rags in the corner and were sound asleep in a moment. They
often slept in the heat of the day and were up almost all night
listening to a neighbour playing the guitar, or singing and rollicking
with other children. Their usual drink was sour red wine made from
grapes grown on the neighbouring hillsides after all the best juice had
been already pressed out of them. This the peasants bought in immense
bottles, swollen out below like little tubs, and cased in wicker-work
with handles which made them easy to carry. In every hovel there was a
bottle like this. To match it there was an enormous loaf of
dark-coloured bread, made flat and round as a cart-wheel or a small
table; bits of this were chopped off as required, and when Sebastian and
Maria cried out they were hungry they had a lump of bread and sip of
wine given to them, and then they became quite happy again. Sometimes
they had olives with their bread, or chestnuts, or a salad made from
herbs growing by the roadsides, and they had oranges very often and
goat's milk cheese. On high days and festival days they had sometimes
very thin hot cabbage soup out of a great black pot that boiled over a
few sticks; they dipped their bread into it or supped it up out of large
flat wooden spoons, wrinkling their little noses meantime because it was
so hot. A grand treat was a purple or crimson pomegranate given by a
kindly neighbour.

When Maria was about seven the whole family moved into a town where the
narrow streets were always dark between the tall thin houses. It was
much more exciting here than in the country; there was always something
to see, and in the evenings the whole place was like a bazaar with
people coming and going, and shows and entertainments open half the
night. On festival days the streets were gay with lanterns, and festoons
of coloured paper and flags were waved until the children thought it
like heaven.

Then came a talk of crossi