seemed preposterous; and, as Pancho knew everything, I asked him to suggest some more economical system of purchase. He recommended watching for the carretas at five o'clock in the morning.
Promptly at the hour indicated, I was before the barred window, when I heard the awful screech, thump, bump, and rumble of the lumbering carretas. About a dozen in a line, they advanced slowly—their great old wooden wheels wabbling from side to side—drawn by oxen with rawhide trappings; their sturdy drivers sandal-footed and clothed in cotton cloth, with an iron-tipped goad in hand, punching and pushing the beasts at every step. Here was the wood—the entire tree, roots and all—ghosts of the forest hauled twenty-five miles, rolling down the street on an antiquated vehicle. In response to Pancho's hand-clap, the manager of the caravan demanded fifteen dollars a load, the dollars being the only part of the transaction that belonged to our age. But the wood was duly bought.
THE WOOD.
Pancho had so far held the reins as to all household purchases, but in accordance with my ideas of independence and careful management, I announced that I was going to market. He kindly told me it was not customary for ladies to go to market—"the niozo did that"—throwing in so many other arguments, also of a traditional nature, that I was somewhat awed by them, though not deterred. Having been accustomed to superintend personally all domestic duties, to be bolted and barred up in a house, without recreation and outdoor exercise, induced an insupportable sense of oppression.
Walking leisurely along the street, absorbed in thought, with Pancho near at hand carrying a basket, I was attracted by the sound of voices and the tramp of feet. Glancing backward, I saw a motley
