only saved from displacement by the rebellion of his throat causing a terrific fit of coughing. This over, he recounted a vivid, if stupid dream he had just had, and then once more came restful silence.

It was not to last long, however, for in the early dawn a neighbor rode over to help kill a pig, but after a lengthy debate, it was decided that mañana would do as well.

By this time the farm world was astir, and we were not long in following suit. So, tired, dirty, still damp from yesterday's rain, I arose to meet the trials and tribulations of the third day.

Two little facts came to my knowledge before our simple breakfast, which gave a new color to my thoughts and revived my drooping spirits.

One was a prospect of absolute cleanliness, for Vincent told me they had a bathroom in their house, a luxury I must confess I had not expected to find in a small village in interior Honduras.

At Amalapa I had most regretfully said good-by to two good steamer friends who were going to the capital by another road, and one which led through Pespire, the little village we had passed the previous afternoon.

As good luck would have it, Eduardo, in his wanderings, had gone to a sort of agency there to inquire if we had been seen, and had found a letter for me, left by one of the two travellers who had preceded us. Surely never a communication from the dearest friend I had ever had was quite so eagerly seized and devoured as was this brief note, which came to me like a refreshing glimpse of the world I had known. Heaven bless the writer for his kindly inspiration!

At eight o'clock we were again mounted, and had said good-by for ever, I trust, to San Juan. Oh, mockery of names! Meanwhile my companion had informed me that we would soon come to the mountains, where I knew I should meet the much-talked-of equestrian difficulty.

We had not ridden long before it seemed to me our road came to a sudden termination, for right before us rose a steep and rocky cliff. Too soon I learned that we must scale this; so grasping my saddle firmly, I prepared to hang on while the mule did the rest. Just in the worst part of it, I became aware that the saddle was turning, and no effort or skill of mine could save me from a fall. Vincent saw my danger and shouted to me to jump, at the same time dismounting and hurrying to my assistance. With all too brief a prayer for mercy, I let go of everything except the bridle, and landed a shapeless mass, fortunately one containing considerable adipose, directly under the mule and upon a bed of jagged rocks.

My mule, bless her heart! never stirred, or I should either have had my head crushed by her hoofs, or have been hurled into the depths below.

As it was I was only slightly bruised, and very shaky, but as soon as the saddle was righted and firmly fastened, I was ready to mount and go on.

Then I was not so anxious for my cousin's presence, though Vincent will bear me witness that it was no fault of mine.

I learned during the day that the Spanish word for road is a most expansive one. For miles we went up and down over smooth, glaring white rocks, where no animal on earth but a Honduras mule could have found a footing. When I saw any particularly rugged bit of scenery, a gorge, a cliff, where surely human foot had never trod, I was told it was the road. I never foresaw where we were going for one instant. I kept the reins in my hand, but never pretended to guide the animal, whose intelligence I now had to admit was superior to my own. When we were going along the brinks of precipices so frightful that I dared not look over, I fixed my eyes upon the ears wagging so complacently before me, and imbibed courage therefrom.

Withal I was a trifle amused at the conviction that I, who had hitherto not quite entirely trusted any one, not even a man, was now abandoning myself to a most consuming confidence in a mule.

On in this way we went for six mortal hours, through pine forests with the trees so far apart that we got no shade, over the white rocks that nearly blinded us, and with the sun pouring down upon us in midday fury.

Then we began to ascend an almost perpendicular peak.

When little more than half-way up, a mule and driver came suddenly around a sharp turn and so startled my hitherto gentle animal that, with a snort of rage, she jumped from the path and bounded from rock to rock of the cliff above, I meanwhile clinging to her like a burr, and momentarily expecting to roll with her into the ragged gully hundreds of feet below.

But again I was doomed to happy disappointment, for a final effort carried us over a particularly dangerous projection, and the next instant we were on a plain and only a few rods from La Breita, our stopping-place.

I scarcely remember how I dismounted. I know it was with great difficulty that I got myself straightened from a sitting posture, and entered a house so cool and clean that I thought I must have unwittingly stumbled into Paradise. It goes without saying that I was soon in a hammock, trying amid those comfortable surroundings to forget how every bone and muscle ached, how a combination of sleeplessness, continued fasting, and the glaring roadway was tending to bring on a fearful headache, and that there were still three days of the journey ahead of me.

However, by the time I had eaten some lunch I felt better, and began to take an interest in my surroundings.

The house, of course, was one of the class Bret Harte describes as "those queer little adobe buildings, with tiled roofs like longitudinal slips of cinnamon," and belonged to a well-to-do family, the head of which was a large mule owner, who had amassed his wealth in carrying cargoes from the coast to the interior.

He was not at home, so his wife, two daughters, a servant, and a half-foolish boy of eighteen or nineteen, were the only inmates of the house.

On this particular afternoon they were entertaining three girl friends—the two younger ones being pretty, and naturally clad in the costume of their race, while the older one had unfortunately become imbued with some so-called civilized ideas regarding her toilet.

A calico dress of the most painfully intense pink was made with a full, plain skirt and an ill-fitting basque, which failed to accomplish a meeting with the skirt at the usual trysting-place. Over this she had a shawl of the most royal shade of purple imaginable, and instead of looking like a pretty, graceful Indian girl, she appeared to be a variegated monstrosity.

I feel self-reproached at criticising her thus, for she, with the other two visitors, admired me intensely, and when sufficient time had elapsed for them to conquer their bashfulness, they asked Vincent, in hushed and reverent tones, if all the ladies in the States were so "tall, and nice, and white, and beautiful."

I had previously known that I was tall and could be nice when occasion demanded it, but it required the elastic conscience and easily aroused admiration of a warmer-blooded race than mine, to find whiteness or beauty in the face of an ordinary, typical, American brunette.

They departed before dark, and with dark came a return of the perplexity regarding the sleeping accommodations I had experienced at San Juan.

In the large room—the living room—there were two beds, a hammock, some chairs, two tables, and—a "New Home" sewing-machine! Off one end of this there was a small apartment also containing two beds, and separated from the