CHAPTER XXII 



La Mancha, Jpril 7. 



Leaving Jaen by the great Madrid road, we followed the 

 same for about a league, and then turned off to the right, 

 taking a by-path for Torre Quebradilla. 



In sight of this pretty village, we halted by the border of 

 a barley-field ; Harry, to sketch the place, and I — as my 

 forte does not lie in landscape — to draw the Cid and his 

 master. They formed a picturesque group ; Harry sitting 

 cross-legged on the grassy bank, and the Cid, his bridle 

 looped round the artist's knee, nibbling the herbage. 



The impatient little jerks of the rein, when the latter 

 strained towards some tempting tuft just beyond his reach, 

 were shortly found so detrimental to the artistic process, 

 that the Cid was turned adrift ; and I followed this example 

 with the equally troublesome Moor. 



Our steeds, being now free to adopt a diet of their own 

 choosing, began to show a decided preference for the tender 

 green barley, into which they unceremoniously waded knee- 

 deep. We were soon interrupted in finishing our sketches 

 by an indignant protest from the owner of the barley-field, 

 who came up in breathless wrath, anathematising both the 

 animals and ourselves. We begged him to dhhnular (excuse) 

 our indiscretion, caught our marauders, and entered the 

 village. 



At the posada^ where we stopped to breakfast, the unso- 



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