children play about while the mothers labor; hither dusky maidens come
to perform their toilets; here women fill their _ollas_ with water; here
_pulque_-gatherers wash and scrape their skin bottles. In the little
tank below, where the water lies so clear that everything is
visible upon its bottom, one may see axolotls creeping. They are
water-salamanders, but they have a strange history. Like frogs, they
pass through a series of changes, and the larval is very different from
the adult form. In some Mexican lakes of genial temperature, the little
creature goes through its full history from the larva to the adult; but
in cold mountain lakes, the adult form is never attained, and the larva
(elsewhere immature) lays eggs that hatch its like.

Our last evening at Huixquilucan, I went out to purchase native
garments. We rode from house to house, and were quite away from the town
in a district where houses were few and far between. It was nearly dusk
and our search must end. We were at the last house on a slope near the
bottom of a valley, on whose opposite slope were but a few houses. The
people were primitive in appearance, dress and language. They could not
understand all we said, but were anxious to please the "_padrecito_,"
whose hand they kissed. Having no clothing to sell us, they tried to
help us procure some. Orders were given to a shy and wild girl, with
deep-set, shining jet-black eyes, raven hair and dark brown skin,
dressed in rags. Stepping to a little out-jutting mass of rock, she
gave a wild cry, looking across the valley to the nearest house on the
opposite slope, fully half a mile away. We could see the people of
the house turn out to hear. Then, in a high, clear voice, strangely
penetrating, but without harshness or a break or pause for breath,
with rising and falling intonation, she cried her message. There was a
moment's pause, and then we saw the answering crier take her place, and
in the same clear, penetrating, unbroken, up-and-down voice, came back