"But
I will have something new to send Mr. Van Bunting about the interior
towns," he said to himself, "and if I am captured, why, I will have a
great deal to write about when I am released." This thought made the
lad happy again, and he trudged along the road with as much vim and
energy as he had displayed during those weary days when he was walking
to New York to make his fortune. And it was a much more interesting
country in which to walk than the New York State counties had been.
The vegetation was rich and luxuriant everywhere, palm-trees, vines,
and flowers growing in profusion all along the road. In every
dooryard, in front of every hut, there grew what seemed to Archie a
veritable fairy bower of the most richly coloured flowers in
existence. And they were growing, apparently, without cultivation. He
had seen nothing like them before, even in California, and he longed
to pluck some of them to send home, if they had only been wax instead
of nature's blossoms. As it was, he kept his arms filled with them for
awhile, but after a time he grew tired carrying them, and was obliged
to drop them by the roadside.
The country looked as if it might have been very prosperous at one
time. There were plantations laid out in excellent fashion, and the
soil seemed rich and fertile. But instead of growing crops, and
storehouses filled with spices and coffee, there was desolation
everywhere, and it was easy to see that the Spaniards had determined
to leave but little behind them for the Yankees.
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