is worse than Russian or
Chinese."

This he related the next day as we went about the town, for we had
accepted his polite offer to guide us; and very intelligent and
painstaking he proved himself.

Our host's wife was fat, broad and buxom as the husband was the
opposite. When her homely face beamed upon her guests from behind the
counter of her little bureau, she looked the picture of an amiable Dutch
vrouw. Nothing less than a Frank Hals could have done her justice. Her
lines seemed to have been cast in pleasant places, and her days also had
been without shadow of evil.

It was also evident that our host was cheerfully disposed. His walls
were all painted with landscapes, and if rainbow-colours predominated,
he reasoned that they were more enlivening than grey skies and dark
shadows. Even the walls of his garden-court had not escaped: a court put
to many uses, level with the first floor, bounded on one side by the
kitchen, on the other by the dining-room, at right angles with each
other. A picturesque court with a slightly Italian atmosphere about it,
due perhaps to the sunny landscapes. Orange and small eucalyptus trees
stood about in large tubs. The far end was roofed, and the fine red
tiles slanted downwards. Over these grew a large abundant vine bearing
rich clusters of grapes in due season. Under the eaves were hung cages
with captive nightingales and thrushes that looked anything but unhappy
prisoners.

"In the spring they sing gloriously," said our host, who, evidently full
of tender mercies as of cheerfulness, gazed affectionately at his birds.
"I hang them outside our front windows sometimes, and night and day the
street echoes with the nightingales' song. You may close your eyes and
fancy yourself in the heart of a wood. I have often done so, and dreamed
I was in my Italian home, listening to the birds on the one hand, the
murmur of the Mediterranean on the other. That is one reason why I love
and keep them. They bring back lost echoes, and make me feel young
again."

Pigeons and doves strutted about the yard, and were evidently considered
very nearly as sacred as those of St. Mark's, for they were as fearless
as if the days of the millennium had come at last.

[Illustration: THE BOULEVARD: GERONA.]

But on the first evening of our arrival we had yet to learn the many
virtues of our host. We only saw in broad outlines that we were in good
hands.

"Not having telegraphed, you are fortunate to find