always done. I
selected a small room for the baby's bath, the all important function of
the day. The Indian brought me a large tub (the same sort of a half of a
vinegar barrel we had used at Apache for ourselves), set it down in the
middle of the floor, and brought water from a barrel which stood in
the corral. A low box was placed for me to sit on. This was a bachelor
establishment, and there was no place but the floor to lay things on;
but what with the splashing and the leaking and the dripping, the floor
turned to mud and the white clothes and towels were covered with it, and
I myself was a sight to behold. The Indian stood smiling at my plight.
He spoke only a pigeon English, but said, "too much-ee wet."

I was in despair; things began to look hopeless again to me. I thought
"surely these Mexicans must know how to manage with these floors."
Fisher, the steamboat agent, came in, and I asked him if he could not
find me a nurse. He said he would try, and went out to see what could be
done.

He finally brought in a rather forlorn looking Mexican woman leading a
little child (whose father was not known), and she said she would come
to us for quinze pesos a month. I consulted with Fisher, and he said
she was a pretty good sort, and that we could not afford to be too
particular down in that country. And so she came; and although she was
indolent, and forever smoking cigarettes, she did care for the baby, and
fanned him when he slept, and proved a blessing to me.

And now came the unpacking of our boxes, which had floated down the
Colorado Chiquito. The fine damask, brought from Germany for my linen
chest, was a mass of mildew; and when the books came to light, I could
have wept to see the pretty editions of Schiller, Goethe, and Lessing,
which I had bought in Hanover, fall out of their bindings; the latter,
warped out of all shape, and some of them unrecognizable. I did the best
I could, however, not to show too much concern, and gathered the pages
carefully together, to dry them in the sun.

They were my pride, my best beloved possessions, the links that bound me
to the happy days in old Hanover.

I went to Fisher for everything--a large, well-built American, and a
kind good man. Mrs. Fisher could not endure the life at Ehrenberg, so
she lived in San Francisco, he told me. There were several other white
men in the place, and two large stores where everything was kept that
people in such countries buy. These merchant