other arrangements; we are going away. An uncle of mine is a priest—I may have forgotten to mention it—he lives in a small town, where he has a garden and an orchard, in fact, all a man could reasonably ask. They offered to make him canon, but he has always refused. Before taking any steps, I made inquiries as to his habits, whether my sister and I were the only nephew and niece that he had. How the devil could he have had others? All the same, I did not wish to intrude; but he has none, I hear. He is a holy man, so I sat down at once and wrote him full particulars. I offered to come and live with him, and take charge of his property. He is not as young as he used to be, and he replied greatly pleased; he seemed agreeable. He said that he would await me with open arms, so I decided to run down with my wife, and, whatever happens, we shall be quiet there, while I take up farming. I am reviewing the agricultural course I had at the Institute, although, I dare say, I shan't need to know anything there. What do you think? Don't you laugh; have that consideration. I am deadly in earnest.
Julio. Laugh? Why should we? Your warm heart, or your foolish head, as others might feel, has done you a real service. You are beginning life over again. The country means health, prosperity, and you will take to the country education and breeding. What our fields need are not rough hands to cultivate them, but sympathetic care, which is a caress. It sounds like a paradox, but I believe our harvests are bad because our women and our poets have never loved the country.
Pepe. So, after all, you are not laughing at me? Don't you honestly think I have behaved like an ass?
Manolo. I will tell you. Apart from the asininity of getting married, as to which I reserve my opinion, and it is
