“Oh, yes, to be sure. I, too, wish to see the sea, that bay of Biscay of which we hear so much.” “It is really just like the sea, I suppose, for the bay is only a part of the ocean curving down a little towards Spain. Is this where the weaver lives?” “Yes. She weaves only very coarse linen for household use, but the loom is a very old one which has been in use a hundred years at least; no one knows how long, and the house, too, is quite well worth seeing as a type of those in which the peasants live. You will not think them so badly housed. Antonia is poor, but you will see she has certain comforts.” “And where is Tomás?” asked Patty. “He is coming. He went to the post-office and will meet us here.” The visit to the weaver was soon over. While the girls examined the loom the doctor made his call upon his patient, then Don Tomás joined them and up the long _carretero_ they sauntered. Once in a while a light-hearted teamster passed them, lolling back in his wagon and singing some weird song whose final note poised and echoed long after the sound of the wagon wheels ceased. Then, too, they met brown peasant women carrying burdens upon their heads which did not prevent them from giving a “_Buenos tardes_,” or a “_Vaya V. con Dios_.” A little maid minding a couple of sheep, a goat, and a cow as they cropped the wayside grass, interested Patty. “Do they allow that?” she asked. “I mean, why doesn’t everyone herd their cows and sheep along the road?” “Juana’s family have been granted special privileges,” Doña Martina answered. “You will find some odd customs here.” “Here we turn off,” said Don Juan. “The old house just ahead is the one to which we go next. In former times it was occupied by a bishop, and there are interesting inscriptions over the doors and windows. It is an extremely old house and has withstood the attacks of war.” “What war?” asked Paulette. “I am sorry to say it was your own nation which committed the outrages of which you can see many evidences in this part of the country.” A flight of stone steps led to the dimly lighted room at the doorway of which they were met by a dignified old woman who ushered them in with the air of one accustomed to receive honorable guests. The room was of good size but showed the ravages of time. It was simply furnished, though some rare old chests showed fine carvings, the wooden seats would have delighted an antiquarian, while the ancient windows and casements permitted no doubt of the extreme age of the house. All was neat and orderly, but the utmost simplicity prevailed. The kitchen utensils of copper and brass shone brightly, and there were a few specimens of old pottery on the shelves, but no more than necessity demanded. Patty looked with interest upon the primitive fireplace. “It is exactly the same kind of thing you can imagine Sarah cooked Abraham’s dinner upon,” she remarked. “How do they manage it? It looks just like an altar.”