in the corn in the yard
itself. But everyone had been profoundly ignorant of the boy's
existence. Walking up to the house, I found the door open, and the
mother and the little girl within. The moment the woman saw me, she
said, "_Que milagro, Senor_!" (What a miracle, sir!) and rising, gave me
a warm embrace. The little girl did the same. "And where is Manuel?" I
inquired. "Ah, sir, he has gone to Puebla on an errand for a gentleman;
but he will be back on the street-car at half-past ten. Pray wait, sir,
till he comes."

The house consisted, like most of its class, of a single room. The walls
were built of sun-dried bricks of adobe. Entrance was by a single door.
There were no windows. The floor was clay. The flat roof was scarcely
six feet above the floor. The furniture, though ample, was scanty. A
little earthen brazier for heating and cooking, a stone _metate_, a
rubbing-stone for grinding corn-meal, a table heaped with bundles and
boxes containing the family clothing, and a chair were all. There were
no beds, not even the mats which so frequently, among the poor of
Mexico, take their place. Several pictures of saints and of the virgin
were pinned against the wall, and there were signs of tapers which had
been burned before them. A bird or two in wooden cages, a rooster and a
little dog lived in the house with the family.

After answering various questions from the good woman and the little
girl, I finally stated that I proposed to take Manuel with me to my
country. He would stay with me there for six months, after which he
would come back and accompany me for three months longer on a journey
into southern Mexico. "If I have your consent," I said, "we leave
to-day." Immediately the woman answered, "Sir, it is for you to say."
Just then, however, the little girl, Dolores, began to cry. "Tut, tut,
Dolores," said I, "I am sure you want Manuel to go away and visit a
strange country and have a fine time; and think of the pictures that
he can bring you to show what he has seen. And more than that, it is
already half-past ten, and you shall go down tothe street-car to meet
him, and tell him that he must come straight home, for fear that he will
loiter on the way; but do not tell him I am here, nor say anything about
his going away, for we wish to surprise him." Drying her eyes, and
smiling almost as the boy himself, Dolores started to run to the
street-car line, and presently fetched Manuel home in triumph. As he
entered