And at length when the searching was all over, some gaucho riding by
that cattle-path through the thistles would catch sight of a piece of
cloth, a portion of a boy's garment, and the secret of my end would be
discovered.
I had never liked the red pigs, on account of the way they ploughed up
and disfigured the beautiful green sward with their iron-hard snouts,
also because of the powerful and disgusting smell they emitted, but
after this adventure with the sow the feeling was much stronger, and I
wondered more and more why that beautiful soul, Don Anastacio,
cherished an affection for such detestable beasts.
In spring and early summer the low-lying areas about Canada Seca were
pleasant places to see and ride on where the pigs had not defaced
them: they kept their bright verdure when the higher grounds were
parched and brown; then too, after rain, they were made beautiful with
the bright little yellow flower called _macachina_.
As the _macachina_ was the first wild flower to blossom in the land it
had as great an attraction to us children as the wild strawberry,
ground-ivy, celandine, and other first blooms for the child in
England. Our liking for our earliest flower was all the greater
because we could eat it and liked its acid taste, also because it had
a bulb very nice to eat--a small round bulb the size of a hazel nut,
of a pearly white, which tasted like sugar and water.
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