Las Hurdes 259 
the younger girls could a trace of good looks be detected. All 
went bare-foot, indeed bare-legged to the knee. 
On opening the door of a den—an old packing-case lid, three 
feet high, secured by a thong of goatskin—two pigs dashed forth 
squealing, and at the first step inside the writer's foot splashed 
in fetid moisture hidden beneath a litter of green fern. It 
being dark within, and too low to stand upright, I struck a match 
and presently became aware of a living object almost underfoot. 
It proved to be a baby, no bigger than a rabbit, and with tiny black 
bead-like eyes that gleamed with a wild light—never before have 
we seen such glance on human face. While examining this 
phenomenon, a sound from the inner darkness revealed a second 
inmate. We crept into this lair, scrambling up two steps in the 
natural rock, and from the fern-litter arose a female. She stood 
about three feet high, had the same wild eyes, unkempt hair, 
encrusted brown with dirt, hanging loose over her naked shoulders 
—a merciful darkness concealed the rest. She appeared to be 
about ten years old, and dwarfed and undersized at that; yet 
she told us she was fourteen, and the mother of the rabbit-child, 
also that its father had deserted her a month ago—ten days 
before its birth. The lair contained absolutely no furniture, 
unless dead fern be so styled. Can human misery further go? 
The next hovel did contain a batane, or hollowed tree, in 
which lay some scanty rags like fragments of discarded horse- 
cloths. So lacking are these poor savages in any sufficient 
clothing, whether for day or night, that the children, we were 
assured, were habitually laid to sleep among the swine, in order 
to share the natural warmth of those beasts. In one abode only 
did we discover such convenience as a wooden chest. It contained 
a handful of potatoes, some chestnuts, and a broken iron cooking- 
pot. We examined another den or two—practically all were 
alike. If anything was there that escaped our attention we had 
an excuse—the aroma (personal, porcine, and putrid) was more 
than the strongest could endure for many minutes on end. 
We turned away. Mingled feelings of loathing, of pity, and 
of despair at the utter hopelessness of it all filled our minds. 
There, not a hundred yards away, a contrasted sight met our 
eyes, one of humbler nature’s most perfect scenes: a fledgeling 
brood of white wagtails tripped gaily along the burnside—types 
of pure spotless beauty, overflowing with high spirits and the joy 
