usty black gown hung about her in scanty folds.
We stopped to inquire the cause of her sorrows.

"Ah, senor, this wretched animal will one day be the death of me. But
no, you wretched brute," suddenly turning to rage and anger, "I will be
the death of you. I know that one of these days I shall take a knife to
its throat, and there will be an end of it. And there will be an end of
me, for I have no other living. All I can do is to go about gathering
sticks and begging halfpence from charity. But this miserable donkey is
worse than a pig. A pig will go the wrong way, but my donkey won't go at
all. Sometimes for an hour together he doesn't move an inch. I have
known him keep me a whole afternoon within ten yards of the same spot. I
have beaten him till I'm black and blue"--the old woman had evidently
got mixed here--"until my arm has ached for a week and I hadn't a breath
left in my body; and all he does is to kick up his hind legs and bray in
mockery."

[Illustration: POBLET, FROM THE VINEYARD.]

All this time the donkey was switching its tail as though it understood
every word that was said and thoroughly appreciated its bad character.
And apparently to emphasise the matter, at this moment it suddenly gave
a bray so loud, long and a propos that we were convulsed with laughter,
in which the old woman joined. The donkey looked round with a
ridiculously comical expression upon its face that was evidently put on.

"Ah, senor, it is all very well to laugh, but I am a poor wretched old
woman," said this sable donkey-owner. "I never know one day whether I
shall not starve the next. My husband died forty years ago. I have one
daughter, but she left me. For twenty years I have not heard of her.
Mine has been a hard life."

"How often do you wash?" we could not help asking out of curiosity.

"Wash, senor?" opening very wide eyes. "I am too poor to buy soap, and
water is scarce. And I am so thin that if I washed, my bones would come
through the skin. Senor, if you will bestow your charity upon me I
promise not to waste it upon soap."

We were near the river. The clear, sparkling water flowed on its way to
the sea. Near the bank were whispering reeds and rushes. We felt sorely
tempted to lift the old woman with our stick--she could not have weighed
more than a good fat turkey--drop her into the stream, and for once make
her acquainted with the luxury of a cold bath. But we reflected that she
probably had no change of things,