Old Moodie, the muleteer, and the servants, having seen after their horses and mules, now came straggling into this hall, common to all the inmates of the house. Here they accommodated themselves with such seats as they could find, or contrive out of the baggage; and one of L'Isle's servants produced the rabbits and partridges purchased on the road, with some other provisions brought from Elvas. These he gave to the woman of the house to cook for the travelers, and no objection was started as to cooking flesh, that other people might commit the sin of eating it on a fast day. The whole party sat in a large semi-circle around the fire, conversing and watching the cooking of their supper; but no sooner did the savory fumes diffuse themselves through the building than another personage joined them. A stout pig, evidently a denizen of the house, came trotting and grunting out of the stable, and pushed his way into the interior of the social circle. Though he received some rude buffets, he persisted in keeping within it, until, trenching on Lady Mabel's precincts, she made such an application of her riding-wand that he was glad to seek refuge again among his four-legged companions. "It would seem," Lady Mabel remarked, "that these _Vendas_ are caravansaries, providing only shelter for the traveler, who is expected to bring his own food." "This is so true, that it is a blessing there are no game laws in the peninsula," said L'Isle. "The traveler would often starve at the inn but for the game purchased on the road. And it is well to travel prepared to shoot _one's own_ game, as you are perpetually threatened with famine or robbers. The cookery, too, of this country is peculiar, and if you ladies watch the process closely, you may carry home some valuable hints in what some people think the first of the arts." They accordingly closely watched the cooking, of the rabbits particularly. Each was spitted on a little spit, which had four legs at the handle, the other end resting on a piece of the fuel. When one side was roasted, the other was turned to the fire. To know when they were done, the woman cracked the joints; laying them by until cool, she then tore them to pieces with her fingers; and afterward fried the already over-roasted meat with onions, garlic, red pepper, and oil, which is always rancid in Portugal, from the custom of never pressing the olives until they are stale. The commissary knew too much about Portuguese cookery to trust to it. He had provided himself before leaving Elvas with the commissary's cut, which is always the best steak from the best bullock. He now produced from among his baggage that implement so truly indicative of the march of English civilization--the gridiron; and not until the large table, at the other side of the room, had been spread, and supper was ready, did his man proceed to dress it skillfully and quickly, under the vigilant superintendance of the commissary himself.