s were nearly out of sight, but had not
yet at all emerged from the wrath of Morano. "Lascivious knaves,"
muttered that disappointed man. And whenever he faintly heard dim
snatches of their far song that a breeze here, and another there,
brought over the plain as it ran on the errands of Spring, he cursed
their sins under his breath. Though it seemed not so much their sins
that moved his wrath as the leisure they had for committing them.

"Peace, peace, Morano," said Rodriguez.

"It is that," said Morano, "that is troubling me."

"What?"

"This same peace."

"Morano," said Rodriguez, "I had when young to study the affairs of
men; and this is put into books, and so they make history. Now I
learned that there is no thing in which men have taken delight, that is
ever put away from them; for it seems that time, which altereth every
custom, hath altered none of our likings: and in every chapter they
taught me there were these wars to be found."

"Master, the times are altered," said Morano sadly. "It is not now as
in old days."

And this was not the wisdom of Morano, for anger had clouded his
judgment. And a faint song came yet from the donkey-drivers, wavering
over the flowers.

"Master," Morano said, "there are men like those vile sin-mongers, who
have taken delight in peace. It may be that peace has been brought upon
the world by one of these lousy likings."

"The delight of peace," said Rodriguez, "is in its contrast to war. If
war were banished this delight were gone. And man lost none of his
delights in any chapter I read."

The word and the meaning of CONTRAST were such as is understood by
reflective minds, the product of education. Morano felt rather than
reflected; and the word CONTRAST meant nothing to him. This ended their
conversation. And the songs of the donkey-drivers, light though they
were, being too heavy to be carried farther by the idle air of Spring,
Morano ceased cursing their sins.

And now the mountains rose up taller, seeming to stretch themselves and
raise their heads. In a while they seemed to be peering over the plain.
They that were as pale ghosts, far off, dim like Fate, in the early
part of the morning, now appeared darker, more furrowed, more sinister,
more careworn; more immediately concerned with the affairs of Earth,
and so more menacing to earthly things.

Still they went on and still the mountains grew. And noon came, when
Spain sleeps.

And now the plain was altering, a