ouse we ascended by ladder to a first roof, where clucked a hen and
chickens, and lay a litter of new puppies. From this roof goes up a tier
of stone steps to a second roof. Off this roof is the door to a third
story room; and a cleaner room I have never seen in a white woman's
house. The fireplace is in one corner, the broom in the other, a window
between looking out of the precipice wall over such a view as an eagle
might scan. Baskets with corn and bowls of food and jars of drinking
water stand in niches in the wall. The adobe floor is hard as cement,
and clean. All walls and the ceiling are whitewashed. The place is
spotless.

"Where do you sleep, Marie?" I ask.

"Downstairs! You come out and stay a week with me, mebbee, sometime."

And as she speaks, come up the stone stairs from the room below, her
father and brother, amazed to know why a woman should be traveling alone
through Hopi and Moki and Navajo Land.

And all the other houses visited are clean as Marie's. Is the fact
testimony to Carlisle, or the twin-towered church over there, or Marmon
and Pratt? I cannot answer; but this I do know, that Acoma is as
different from the other Hopi or Moki mesas as Fifth Avenue is from the
Bowery.

All the time I was in the houses, my little guide had been waiting
wistfully at the bottom of the ladder; and the children uttered shouts
of glee to see me come down the ladder face out instead of backwards as
the Acomas descend.

We descended from the Mesa by the sand-hills instead of the rock steps,
preceded by an escort of romping children; but not a discourteous act
took place during all my visit. Could I say the same of a three hours'
visit amid the gamins of New York, or London? At the foot of the cliff,
we shook hands all round and said good-by; and when I looked back up the
valley, the children were still waving and waving. If this be humble
Indian life in its Simon pure state, with all freedom from our rules of
conduct, all I have to say is it is infinitely superior to the hoodlum
life of our cities and towns.

One point more: I asked Marie as I had asked Mr. Marmon, "Do you think
your people are Indians, or Aztecs?" and the answer came without a
moment's hesitation--"Aztecs; we are not Indian like Navajo and
Apaches."

Opposite the Enchanted Mesa, I looked back. My little guide was still
gazing wistfully after us, waving her shawl and holding tight to a coin
which I trust no old grimalkin pried out of her hand