and we stumbled into
comfort. She hastened to help us off with our wraps, piled more wood on
the open fire, and busied herself to make us welcome and comfortable.
Poor Carlota Juanita! Perhaps you think she was some slender,
limpid-eyed, olive-cheeked beauty. She was fat and forty, but not fair.
She had the biggest wad of hair that I ever saw, and her face was so
fat that her eyes looked beady. She wore an old heelless pair of
slippers or sandals that would hardly stay on, and at every step they
made the most exasperating sliding noise, but she was all kindness and
made us feel very welcome. The floor was of dirt, and they had the
largest fireplace I have ever seen, with the widest, cleanest hearth,
which was where they did their cooking. All their furniture was
home-made, and on a low bench near the door were three water-jars
which, I am sure, were handmade. Away back in a corner they had a small
altar, on which was a little statue of Mary and the Child. Before it,
suspended by a wire from the rafters, was a cow's horn in which a piece
of punk was burning, just as the incense is kept burning in churches.
Supper was already prepared and was simmering and smoking on the
hearth. As soon as the men came in, Carlota Juanita put it on the
table, which was bare of cloth. I can't say that I really like Mexican
bread, but they certainly know how to cook meat. They had a most
wonderful pot-roast with potatoes and corn dumplings that were
delicious. The roast had been slashed in places and small bits of
garlic, pepper, bacon, and, I think, parsley, inserted. After it and
the potatoes and the dumplings were done, Carlota had poured in a can
of tomatoes. You may not think that was good, but I can assure you it
was and that we did ample justice to it. After we had eaten until we
were hardly able to swallow, Carlota Juanita served a queer Mexican
pie. It was made of dried buffalo-berries, stewed and made very sweet.
A layer of batter had been poured into a deep baking-dish, then the
berries, and then more batter. Then it was baked and served hot with
plenty of hard sauce; and it was powerful good, too. She had very
peculiar coffee with goat's milk in it. I took mine without the milk,
but I couldn't make up my mind that I liked the coffee. We sat around
the fire drinking it, when Manuel Pedro Felipe told us it was some he
had brought from Mexico. I didn't know they raised it there, but he
told us many interesting things about it. He an