and my question was answered, for I saw that the light shone through the
open window of a little house of adobe. What should I do? My appearance
at this lonely spot at night would cause so much surprise that I
hesitated. But I was quite conscious that I had made an unduly light
supper, and, moreover, that I was in the way of making no better a
breakfast. Probably I could buy here a little food, and at any rate, I
could get information as to my road: so I approached the house. There
was an attempt at a garden, I saw, and growing against the window was a
bush of the red-flowered sage which I have noted as being a general
favorite with Mexicans. As I came up to the door I heard voices, and
caught a glimpse through the window of a woman sitting at a rough table,
eating. At the same moment a dog within the room started up and barked
loudly. It seemed to be my cue to speak as well as knock, so, acting on
a vague assumption that the people were Mexicans, I called, "Buenas
noches!"

The talking ceased abruptly, and with it the music of knife and fork on
crockery. I knocked and called again, "Buenas noches!" A chair moved,
and a man's voice said, "Abajo, perro!" whereupon the bark was exchanged
for an equally uncomfortable growling. Then the door was thrown open,
and a man, standing in the doorway, asked in Spanish, "Who is there?" In
a few words I explained my presence, adding that I was short of food and
should be glad to purchase a little. "Enter, senor," he invited, and, as
I did so, "Carlota," he said to one of two well-grown girls who sat by
the woman, "Carlota, give your seat to the caballero." The woman had
risen already, and in a matter-of-fact way was putting a plate and cup,
evidently for me. My first impulse was to explain that I had had my
supper; but I have always found frank acceptance to be the best reply to
the frank hospitality of these courteous people, and with an expression
of thanks I took the offered place and was ready to share their meal.