Chapter VIII: When Spring Unlocks the Flowers

"In the merry month of May."
--_William Shakespeare._

THE hills were sweet with the air of spring. Down their sides ran rills of water, foaming with golden light. The fresh grass of the fields was carpeted with flowers. The young vine-shoots were full of tender, pale green leaves.

Lemon and orange trees shone with white blossoms. The elder, lotus, and shining-leaved magnolia showed almost more white than green. The pomegranate held forth fiery red blossoms. The olive-tree, with its stunted growth and its gray-green leaves, glowed all day long with a beautiful silver color under the bright sunshine. In the flower-garden, roses, geraniums and heliotrope were a-bloom.

Crops were growing wonderfully. The effects of the deep ploughing already showed in the stronger maize-stalks, the more abundant bean pods and the well-started vegetables.

"The fourth leaf-spike has appeared on the maize: it is time for the hoeing," said the father. He could walk now, slowly, with the aid of a stout cane, as far as the field.

It was easy for Jose to work with the new short-handled hoe Antonio had bought for him. Yet at the end of the day his arms and wrists were so tired that he could scarcely draw the bow across the violin. Many an evening the bow dropped from his hand as he fell asleep, heavy-eyed after being all day in the open air.

As soon as the young maize-stalks were strong enough to stand the flow of water, the oxen were set to work at the _nora_ and streams of water began running down through the fields. The dry season had commenced. There was day after day of bright, unclouded sunshine.

Then came the thinning of the crops, to make the strong stalks grow stronger, and to give food for the cattle.

Working with his bare feet two or three inches deep in the warm, moist soil, Jose felt as if he were a part of this great, growing, beautiful world. The strength of the earth seemed to come into him with the air he breathed. He was taller and more sturdy: he no longer looked like the slim slip of a boy of six or seven months ago.

Early in June the crops had grown to their limit. Their turning to a yellow color showed the ripening. It would soon be time for cutting down the first crop of barley, oats, rye and wheat, and to make ready for a second sowing. The flax had already been taken up, and had been steeped or soaked in water for more than a week. Now, well-dried in the sun, it must be broken and scutched by hand, or taken to some mill to be finally made ready for spinning.

Antonio decided that he would carry the flax to Guimarães, where there were good mills, instead of having his mother and sisters do the work at home. Besides, he wanted to buy some new seeds for the second sowing.

"Would you like to take a holiday with me to-morrow?" he asked Jose on the evening before St. Antonio's day.

"Yes. Where? To Guimarães?" Jose replied quickly.

"How did you guess, little brother?"

"Because last autumn, when we went on a holiday, you said you would take me to Guimarães when we went away again."

"We will start early to-morrow. We will take the oxen, because I am going to carry the flax to the mill."

"It is good to have the holiday on St. Antonio's day. Because you have that name, the day should be your holiday, Antonio."