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205 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
205 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
3 years ago
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The sun had set. After the brief interval of twilight the night fell
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calm and dark, and in its gloomy bosom the last sounds of a sleepy
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world died gently away. The traveller went forward on his way,
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hastening his step as night came on; the path he followed was narrow
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and worn by the constant tread of men and beasts, and led gently up a
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hill on whose verdant slopes grew picturesque clumps of wild cherry
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trees, beeches and oaks.--The reader perceives that we are in the north
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of Spain.
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Our traveller was a man of middle age, strongly built, tall and
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broad-shouldered; his movements were brisk and resolute, his step
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firm, his manner somewhat rugged, his eye bold and bright; his pace
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was nimble, considering that he was decidedly stout, and he was--the
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reader may at once be told, though somewhat prematurely--as good a
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soul as you may meet with anywhere. He was dressed, as a man in easy
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circumstances should be dressed for a journey in spring weather, with
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one of those round shady hats, which, from their ugly shape, have been
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nicknamed mushrooms (_hongo_), a pair of field-glasses hanging to a
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strap, and a knotted stick which, when he did not use it to support his
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steps, served to push aside the brambles when they flung their thorny
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branches across so as to catch his dress.
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He presently stopped, and gazing round the dim horizon, he seemed vexed
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and puzzled. He evidently was not sure of his way and was looking
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round for some passing native of the district who might give him such
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topographical information as might enable him to reach his destination.
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"I cannot be mistaken," he said to himself. "They told me to cross the
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river by the stepping-stones--and I did so--then to walk on, straight
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on. And there, to my right, I do in fact, see that detestable town
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which I should call _Villafangosa_ by reason of the enormous amount of
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mud that chokes the streets.--Well then, I can but go 'on, straight
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on'--I rather like the phrase, and if I bore arms, I would adopt it
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for my motto--in order to find myself at last at the famous mines of
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Socartes."
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But before he had gone much farther, he added: "I have lost my way,
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beyond a doubt I have lost my way.--This, Teodoro Golfin, is the
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result of your 'on, straight on.' Bah! these blockheads do not know
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the meaning of words; either they meant to laugh at you or else
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they did not know the way to the mines of Socartes. A huge mining
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establishment must be evident to the senses, with its buildings and
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chimneys, its noise of hammers and snorting of furnaces, neighing of
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horses and clattering of machinery--and I neither see, nor hear, nor
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smell anything. I might be in a desert! How absolutely solitary! If I
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believed in witches, I could fancy that Fate intended me this night to
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have the honor of making acquaintance with some. Deuce take it! why is
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there no one to be seen in these parts? And it will be half an hour
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yet before the moon rises. Ah! treacherous Luna, it is you who are to
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blame for my misadventure.--If only I could see what sort of place I
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am in.--However, what could I expect?" and he shrugged his shoulders
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with the air of a vigorous man who scorns danger. "What, Golfin, after
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having wandered all round the world are you going to give in now? The
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peasants were right after all: 'on, straight on.' The universal law of
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locomotion cannot fail me here."
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And he bravely set out to test the law, and went on about a kilometre
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farther, following the paths which seemed to start from under his feet,
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crossing each other and breaking off at a short distance, in a thousand
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angles which puzzled and tired him. Stout as his resolution was, at
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last he grew weary of his vain efforts. The paths, which had at first
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all led upwards, began to slope downwards as they crossed each other,
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and at last he came to so steep a slope that he could only hope to get
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to the bottom by rolling down it.
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"A pretty state of things!" he exclaimed, trying to console himself for
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this provoking situation by his sense of the ridiculous. "Where have
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you got to now my friend? This is a perfect abyss. Is anything to be
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seen at the bottom. No, nothing, absolutely nothing--the hill-side has
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disappeared, the earth has been dug away. There is nothing to be seen
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but stones and barren soil tinged red with iron. I have reached the
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mines, no doubt of that--and yet there is not a living soul to be seen,
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no smoky chimneys; no noise, not a train in the distance, not even a
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dog barking. What am I to do? Out there the path seems to slope up
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again.--Shall I follow that? Shall I leave the beaten track? Shall I go
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back again? Oh! this is absurd! Either I am not myself or I will reach
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Socartes to-night, and be welcomed by my worthy brother! 'On, straight
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on.'"
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He took a step, and his foot sank in the soft and crumbling soil.
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"What next, ye ruling stars? Am I to be swallowed up alive? If only
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that lazy moon would favor us with a little light we might see each
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other's faces--and, upon my soul, I can hardly expect to find Paradise
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at the bottom of this hole. It seems to be the crater of some extinct
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volcano.... Nothing could be easier than a slide down this beautiful
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precipice. What have we here?... A stone; capital--a good seat while I
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smoke a cigar and wait for the moon to rise."
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The philosophical Golfin seated himself as calmly as if it were a
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bench by a promenade, and was preparing for his smoke, when he heard a
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voice--yes, beyond a doubt, a human voice, at some little distance--a
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plaintive air, or to speak more accurately, a melancholy chant of a
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single phrase, of which the last cadence was prolonged into a "dying
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fall," and which at last sank into the silence of the night, so softly
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that the ear could not detect when it ceased.
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"Come," said the listener, well pleased, "there are some human beings
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about. That was a girl's voice; yes, certainly a girl's, and a lovely
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voice too. I like the popular airs of this country-side. Now it has
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stopped.... Hark! it will soon begin again.... Yes, I hear it once
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more. What a beautiful voice, and what a pathetic air! You might
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believe that it rose from the bowels of the earth, and that Señor
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Golfin, the most matter-of-fact and least superstitious man in this
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world, was going to make acquaintance with sylphs, nymphs, gnomes,
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dryads, and all the rabble rout that obey the mysterious spirit of the
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place.--But, if I am not mistaken, the voice is going farther away--the
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fair singer is departing.... Hi, girl, child, stop--wait a minute!..."
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The voice which had for a few minutes so charmed the lost wanderer with
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its enchanting strains was dying away in the dark void, and at the
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shouts of Golfin it was suddenly silent. Beyond a doubt the mysterious
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gnome, who was solacing its underground loneliness by singing its
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plaintive loves, had taken fright at this rough interruption by a human
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being, and fled to the deepest caverns of the earth, where precious
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gems lay hidden, jealous of their own splendor.
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"This is a pleasant state of things--" muttered Golfin, thinking that
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after all he could do no better than light his cigar.--"There seems no
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reason why it should not go on for a hundred years. I can smoke and
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wait. It was a clever idea of mine that I could walk up alone to the
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mines of Socartes. My luggage will have got there before me--a signal
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proof of the advantages of 'on, straight on.'"
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A light breeze at this instant sprang up, and Golfin fancied he
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heard the sound of footsteps at the bottom of the unknown--or
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imaginary--abyss before him; he listened sharply, and in a minute felt
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quite certain that some one was walking below. He stood up and shouted:
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"Girl, man, or whoever you are, can I get to the mines of Socartes by
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this road?"
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He had not done speaking when he heard a dog barking wildly, and then a
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manly voice saying: "Choto, Choto! come here!"
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"Hi there!" cried the traveller. "My good friend--man, boy, demon, or
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whatever you are, call back your dog, for I am a man of peace."
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"Choto, Choto!..."
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Golfin could make out the form of a large, black dog coming towards
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him, but after sniffing round him it retired at its master's call;
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and at that moment the traveller could distinguish a figure, a man,
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standing as immovable as a stone image, at about ten paces below him,
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on a slanting pathway which seemed to cut across the steep incline.
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This path, and the human form standing there, became quite clear now to
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Golfin, who, looking up to the sky, exclaimed:
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"Thank God! here is the mad moon at last; now we can see where we are.
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I had not the faintest notion that a path existed so close to me, why,
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it is quite a road. Tell me, my friend, do you know whether the mines
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of Socartes are hereabout?"
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"Yes, Señor, these are the mines of Socartes; but we are at some
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distance from the works."
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The voice which spoke thus was youthful and pleasant, with the
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attractive inflection that indicates a polite readiness to be of
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service. The doctor was well pleased at detecting this, and still
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better pleased at observing the soft light, which was spreading through
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the darkness and bringing resurrection to earth and sky, as though
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calling them forth from nothingness.
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"_Fiat lux!_" he said, going forward down the slope. "I feel as if I
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had just emerged into existence from primeval chaos.... Indeed, my good
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friend, I am truly grateful to you for the information you have given
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me, and for the farther information you no doubt will give me. I left
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Villamojada as the sun was setting.--They told me to go on, straight
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on...."
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"Are you going to the works?" asked the strange youth, without stirring
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from the spot or looking up towards the doctor, who was now quite near
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him.
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"Yes, Señor; but I have certainly lost my way."
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"Well, this is not the entrance to the mines. The entrance is by the
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steps at Rabagones, from which the road runs and the tram-way that
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they are making. If you had gone that way you would have reached the
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works in ten minutes. From here it is a long way, and a very bad road.
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We are at the outer circle of the mining galleries, and shall have to
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go through passages and tunnels, down ladders, through cuttings, up
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slopes, and then down the inclined plane; in short, cross the mines
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from this side to the other, where the workshops are and the furnaces,
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the machines and the smelting-house."
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"Well, I seem to have been uncommonly stupid," said Golfin, laughing.
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"I will guide you with much pleasure, for I know every inch of the
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place."
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Golfin, whose feet sank in the loose earth, slipping here and tottering
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there, had at last reached the solid ground of the path, and his first
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idea was to look closely at the good-natured lad who addressed him.
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For a minute or two he was speechless with surprise.
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"You!" he said, in a low voice.
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"I am blind, it is true, Señor," said the boy. "But I can run without
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seeing from one end to the other of the mines of Socartes. This stick I
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carry prevents my stumbling, and Choto is always with me, when I have
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not got Nela with me, who is my guide. So, follow me, Señor, and allow
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me to guide you."
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