one comfort, i am not bothered much with aunt gwendolin—she has become acquainted with a french nobleman, count de pensier, and he is attracting all her attention, thanks be to goodness! mrs. delancy is delighted, and is doing all she can to further the acquaintance. "it is not every day that one has the privilege of associating daily and hourly with one of the titled aristocracy of the old world," she has said several times in my hearing.

when we first arrived aunt gwendolin saw some of the spanish ladies wearing mantillas on their heads, and she immediately bought one for me.

"there!" she said when i put it on, "isn't that simply perfect? doesn't that make her spanish through and through?" she says that when i become a thorough spanish-american she is going to give a "coming out party" for me.

the scarf is really quite becoming. uncle theodore admired it, or admired me with it on, so i wear it wound around my head when i go on my rambles through the country with him. i really much prefer it to the bristling hats of the american women, and it is quite pleasant to be called "se?orita," and to be thought spanish.

these long head scarfs are also worn by the poor women, but theirs are made of cotton. on the street they carry their babies strapped to their backs with it, the little heads and legs bobbing up and down until one would think they might snap off. sometimes the[pg 183] scarf ties the baby to the mother's bosom, thus leaving her hands free for other work.

"our american sensibilities" (quoting aunt gwendolin) "are sometimes shocked by mexican doings."

one day we saw a procession headed by the father carrying a tiny coffin on his head. behind him walked the mother dragging by the hand a little bare-foot girl, of two or three; and behind them again trotted a dog. the father was drunk, and staggered as he walked.

as we watched the little procession on the way to the graveyard they passed in front of a saloon where they sold pulque. the father wanted another drink, so he started to enter the saloon taking the little coffin under his arm. he stumbled on the threshold, and the little pine box fell out of his hands down[pg 184] onto the flag-stones, the cover coming off. and we saw a little dead baby within the coffin, with a crown of gilt paper on its head, and a cross of gilt paper on its brow. in its little hands were a bunch of flowers. the man laughed awkwardly, put the lid on the coffin and placed it on his head again, proceeding toward the graveyard without his drink, followed by the mother, the girl, and the dog.

"why do not the american missionaries who are crossing oceans to find heathen, look for them at their own doorstep?" said uncle theodore afterwards, when he was telling the story to grandmother.

"sure enough," returned grandmother, "it does look as if the unenlightened of its own continent is america's first duty."

aunt gwendolin is having moonlight walks and talks innumerable with count de pensier—and—oh, i am having liberty!