Out of the pool below there resounded a tuneful croaking of frogs: it
spoke of many waters....
Presently an Italian workman or gardener with curly grey hair and
moustache--the ubiquitous Italian--came up and began to talk,--_per fare
un po' di compania_. He conversed delightfully, a smile playing about his
kindly old face. He told me about the garden, about the French engineers,
about himself, chiefly about himself, in limpid, child-like fashion. He
had travelled far in the Old and New Worlds; in him I recognized, once
again, that simple mind of the wanderer or sailor who learns, as he goes
along, to talk and think decently; who, instead of gathering fresh
encumbrances on life's journey, wisely discards even those he set out
with.
Seldja, he told me, used to be a dangerous place for Europeans to
traverse; many robberies and even murders had taken place there in times
past; the new regime, of course, had put an end to all that. But there
were still two perils: the frightful flies that bred diseases and made the
gorge almost impassable in the hot months (every one suffered from
fevers), and the serpents.
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