along the planks with the dark-green melons, and piling them in a mound on the rough sand, melons dark-green like creatures with pale bellies. To see the tomatoes all poured out into a shallow place in the lake, bobbing about while the women washed them, a bobbing scarlet upon the water.
The long, heavy bricks were piled in heaps along the scrap of demolished breakwater, and little gangs of asses came trotting down the rough beach, to be laden, pressing their little feet in the gravelly sand, and flopping their ears.
The cargadores were busy at the charcoal boats, carrying out the rough sacks.
“Do you want charcoal, Niña?” shouted a grimy cargador, who had carried the trunks from the station on his back.
“At how much?”
“Twenty-five reales the two sacks.”
“I pay twenty reales.”