The Gathering 



the gamekeeper, — a strange, lurching vagabond, who squinted 

 at right angles, and had all his arms and legs of different 

 lengths. He wore the dress of the country, much the 

 worse for wear ; over his broad, red, slovenly-arranged faja 

 were strapped a profusion of outlandish belts and baldricks, 

 and in his hand he bore a musket ornamented with silver. 



After wandering some time among the devious paths of 

 the olive-grove, we found the little colony of gatherers ; for 

 colony it seemed, being composed of men, won?en, and 

 children down to the smallest possible dimensions. The 

 babies, who had usually a very little girl to take care of 

 them (unless they were slung up in a manta out of the way, 

 among their metaphorical brotherhood of olive-branches), 

 sprawled and babbled around headquarters. 



Here, by a purple mountain of spoil, stood the general 

 of the army, who in all directions were waging war with the 

 trees of peace, besieging them with scaling-ladders, and 

 belabouring them with long staves. The women (whose 

 petticoats were tucked up above their waists, but who, to 

 make up for this little deficit of decency, wore breeches) were 

 on their knees underneath, picking up the bright little berries 

 as they rained from the beaten boughs. I tasted an olive, 

 though 1 was aware it was not likely to be good. Let the 

 reader imagine a rotten morel cherry soaked in oil, and he 

 will not be far from having an idea of a ripe olive, except 

 that there is a bitter, astringent after-taste, which sticks in 

 the throat, and prickles on the tongue for some time. 



The green olives, which we eat in their pickled state, are 

 no more like the ripe, than pickled walnuts are like the 

 walnuts of dessert. 



When any of the women had filled their baskets, they 

 came with them on their heads to the purple mountain 

 aforesaid, and discharged their gatherings upon the heap. 



79 



