20 Unexplored Spain 
beasts, or any others that may come in, barely separated by a 
thatched partition that is neither noise-proof nor scent-proof. 
We can call instances to mind when even that small luxury was 
lacking, and all, human and other, shared alike. There are no 
windows—merely wooden hatches. If shut, both light and air 
are excluded ; if open, hens, dogs, and cats will enter with the 
dawn—the former to finish what remains of supper. The cats 
will at least disperse the regiment of rats which, during the night, 
have scurried across your sleeping form. 
Here we relate, as a specific example, a night we spent this 
last spring in northern Estremadura :— 
Owing to a miscalculation of distance, it was an hour after 
GA d y 
y ah x War, Ail 
A VILLAGE POSADA 
sundown ere we reached our destination, a lonely hamlet among 
the hills. Our good little Galician ponies were dead-beat, for we 
had been in the saddle since 5 a.M., and it was past eight ere we 
toiled up that last steep, rock-terraced slope. We were a party 
of three, with a local guide and our own Sancho Panza—faithful 
companion, friend, and servant of many years’ standing. At a 
dilapidated hovel, the last in the village and perched on a crag, 
we drew rein, and after repeated knocks the door was opened by 
a girl—she had set down a five-year-old child among the donkeys 
while she drew the bolt, the ground-floor being (as usual) a stable. 
To our inquiry as to food—and the hunger of the lost was upon 
us—our hostess merely shrugged her shoulders, and with an 
expressive gesture of open hands, answered ‘‘ Nada’—nothing! 
Sancho, however was equal to the occasion. Within two minutes, 
