CHArTER XXX r 



IN THE SIERRA NEVADA (Continued) 



ITS BIRD-LIFE IN SPRING-TIME 



" UNEMPLOYED " 



Bee-eaters on a wet morning. 



The lone: snow-lines of the sierra had vanished behind whirlinoj 



cloud - masses, black and menacino;. The green avenues of the 



Alhambra seemed gloomier 



than ever under a heavy 



downpour, while troops of 



rain -soaked tourists belied 



the glories of an Andalucian 



springtide. 



Serins sang in the elms, 

 and wrynecks noisily courted, 

 as we set forthwith a donkey- 

 team for the sierra. On 

 former occasions we had ex- 

 plored northwards up the 

 Darro towards Jaen, another 

 year up the Genii, this spring we had selected the valley of the 

 Monachil. Hardly had we entered the mountains than thunder 

 crackled overhead, and then a rain-burst drove us to shelter in 

 a cave. Next day broke ominous enough, but we rode on up 

 the wild gorge of the Monachil, and after seven hours' hill- 

 climbing reached the alpine farm of San Geronimo, to the guarda 

 of which we had a recommendation. The house nestles beneath 

 the serrated ridge of the Dormijo, 6970 feet. 



With some dismay we found assembled at this outlandish 

 spot quite a small crowd of men, women, and children who, with 

 dogs, pigs, hens, and an occasional donkey, all appeared to 

 inhabit a single smoke-filled room. AVe were bidden to take 

 seats amidst this company, and watched the attempt to boil an 



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