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Editor: Charles Peters
SHEILA'S COUSIN EFFIE.
A STORY FOR GIRLS.
CAMACHA.
Up, up, up, ceaselessly up. Would the paved road never merge into something more like an English mountain track? Sheila wondered, as her brave little horse pushed steadily and boldly onward, eager as it seemed to breast the long, steep ascents, never asking to pause for a breather, although the riders of their own accord would stop from time to time for the sake of their horses, and of the grooms on foot, who seemed as untiring as the steeds themselves.
"Poor fellows, we will give them a drink here," said Ronald, as they reached a little plateau where there was one of the numerous drinking bars of the island. "It must be jolly hot work keeping up with these plucky little horses. Let us rest a moment whilst they refresh themselves."
"And let the others come up," answered Sheila looking backwards and downwards. "We have quite left them behind."
"Oh, they'll come up all in good time," answered Ronald carelessly. "One can't ride in a cavalcade in these narrow roads."
For the peculiarity of Madeira is that for miles and miles the roads run between walls, with houses or cultivated ground behind them. It is only as the heights are reached that these walls are left behind, and more open country reached. Often the road is so narrow that two horses can barely ride abreast.
"I believe it means licensed to sell tobacco," answered Ronald, "and I expect they have to pay pretty high too for the licence. The imposts here are iniquitous. I wish we had the place. We'd make a different country of it. Just look at these barbarous roads cut straight up the sides of the mountains! It's ridiculous. It might be beautiful if they had only zig-zagged them as they do in other places. But let us ride on now. We shall get beyond the region of walls soon; up yonder I believe the country is very pretty. They say it is like a hot spring day in England when you get to Camacha."
"Shall we not wait for the others?" asked Sheila.
"I don't see why. They will come on all right. Our horses are bound to get ahead anyway. One must let them take their own natural pace. We shall all meet at the rendezvous. The horses soon get fidgety standing still. Come along, I believe it gets very pretty a little farther on."
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