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THE GYPSIES 255
the road, sit down on a bench, and gaze on the scurry-
ing in the market-place. The noon hour is past. The
sun shines so warmly that it entices beggar after beg-
gar out of the damp streets. They walk over the
square a few times, turn in my direction, and finally
lie down in the grass to rest, their blankets wrapped
around their heads. There they lie, snoring mounds
of rags—a superabundance of poverty.
Granada has so many of them that they even beg
from each other; and they are so proud that they in-
voke the blessings of God upon your head whether
you give or not.
Here comes a distinguished-looking lady, leading a
child by the hand. The child points to one of the
sleepers and says:
“Mother, look, there lies a beggar.”
“Wo, my child,” answers the« mother, ‘it “is: a
brother, a poor brother.”
The custodians do not even take the pains to chase
them away, although they lie in the grass with their
heads resting in the flower-beds.
The day draws to a close: the peasants, having at
last yielded, prepare to start for home or disappear
into one of the many wine-shops. The gypsies with-
draw with their mutilated beasts and head toward their
caves in the Mountain of Mercy, where the great trans-
formation of turning decrepit and diseased beasts into
fiery untamed animals is to take place before the next
Friday comes.
Soon recruits begin to drill in the market-place, and
chase away the few traders who remain; and here and
there a poor devil of a dog digs in a heap of garbage.
Along the wall of the ditch running by the road a
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