several beautiful cathedrals and small parks, artistically laid out around the statue of some noted general or other war hero.

Near the outskirts of the city Jo Ann noticed with the keenest interest that there were all types of architecture, from plain stone structures built centuries ago and looking dull and drab, on to modern bungalows, gay with bright-tinted stucco and tiled roofs. Now and then she could catch glimpses of richly furnished rooms behind the iron bars of a window, and a flower-adorned courtyard or patio through an open door.

“I love the courtyards,” she remarked. “The great arches, the fountain in the center, and the tropical plants make them beautiful and restful-looking.”

“Yes, they are delightful,” agreed Florence. “Señor Rodriguez, the lawyer Daddy told you about, has one of the most beautiful patios in his house that I’ve ever seen. You’ll enjoy seeing it when we go over to see his library. I’ve wished many times that our house had a patio.”

“I’ve been wondering why it doesn’t, since all the other old houses have them. There’s something strange about the way your house is built. I believe when we solve the mystery of that queer little window, we’ll find out some interesting things about the rest of the house.”

“Is that the cathedral and the Plaza already?” asked Peggy in surprise just then. “How did we get here so soon? I’ve had such a wonderful time that it seems that we’ve only started.”

“May I ask a favor, Florence?” asked Jo Ann as they drove up before the house. “Let’s drive down that street back of your house before we go in.”

“Why—I—I don’t think——” began Florence stammeringly, then stopped, hardly knowing what to say.

“You said we couldn’t walk down there, didn’t you?—and I do so want to see it,” Jo Ann urged.

After talking to Felipe a few moments Florence answered with a half-apologetic smile, “Felipe says mañana he’ll take us.”

“Mañana?” repeated Jo Ann. “Oh, you mean tomorrow?”

“Yes, it’s too late now.”

Jo Ann turned to Felipe, who was opening the door for them. “Por favor, Felipe,” she begged.

“Please, Felipe,” added Peggy quickly. She was not particularly interested in going down that back street, but it was so pleasant to be out at this time of the evening that she disliked the idea of going back into the gloomy house.

“He says he’ll take us if we insist,” translated Florence a moment later, after talking to Felipe again. “But really, girls, I feel that we shouldn’t go now. It’ll be better to go some morning.”

“I can’t see what difference it’d make when we go. Come on.” Jo Ann could not understand the Mexican’s way of putting off till tomorrow anything he did not care about doing. When she made up her mind to do a thing, she wanted to do it right now. “It’s silly to make so much fuss about such a simple thing,” she thought. “Why can’t you drive down a street when you want to?”

“Well—all right,” Florence reluctantly agreed at last.

Dusk was falling as they turned into the cobblestoned street back of the house. Slowly they made their way over the stones—century-old stones, worn smooth by the tread of many feet.

The farther they drove the more thickly populated the street became. Jo Ann and Peggy were shocked by the utter wretchedness and abject poverty which they saw on all sides. Dirty, half-clad peons with their empty baskets or trays were shuffling homeward after their day’s labor in the city; old crippled men and women, who had begged all day on the streets, were wearily dragging themselves to a place of shelter for the night. The small windowless adobe huts which lined each side of the street seemed overflowing with people. Women with babies in their arms squatted in the narrow doorways, while dogs, pigs, and goats wandered in and out of the houses at will, as much at home as the children. As for children, they were everywhere—dirty, naked, half-starved looking.

“I never imagined anything could be so terrible,” shuddered Peggy. “Did you, Jo?”

Jo Ann shook her head soberly. “I didn’t realize there was such poverty anywhere.”

A shout rose down the street: “Americanas! Americanas!”

Children appeared from every direction. They crowded around the car. Some of the larger ones climbed up on the running board and the fenders.

“Centavo, mees! Centavo, mees [A penny, miss! A penny, miss]!” they cried, holding up dirty, scrawny little hands to them.

“Oh, Florence!” begged Jo Ann. “Let’s stop and give them something.”

“If we stopped now, we’d never be able to start again.” Florence explained quickly. “They’d climb all over us. Let’s throw some pennies out the windows.”

Hurriedly they emptied their purses of all the pennies they could find and threw them far into the street.

Such shouting and scrambling as followed! The children fought and knocked each other down in their effort to find the pennies, the tiniest ones crying because they could get nothing.

“It’s pitiful—heartrending—these children fighting over pennies as starved little animals over a bone,” thought Jo Ann. How was it possible for such things to exist, almost at your very door, and yet to be absolutely unseen and unknown? Was this really a part of the beautiful city they had enjoyed seeing such a short time ago?

Felipe could scarcely drive without hitting some of the children, yet he dared not stop. He had not wanted to bring the girls down here, as he felt sure Dr. Blackwell would object, but since they were here he must take care of them. While the children were busily searching for the scattered pennies, Felipe managed to escape the crowd. Quickly he drove to the end of the street and turned down an old, dry, rocky river bed, the car bumping and swaying as it sped along over the rough cobblestones.

“Florence!” shouted Jo Ann above the noise as she clung to the side of the car to keep from falling over on Florence. “I take back everything—I said—about you coming down—here alone. I understand—a lot that I thought foolish—before I saw this with my very own eyes.”

“We won’t have to go far—on this rough river bed,” Florence called back a moment later. “We’ll turn—at the next corner.”

“This is the—widest river bed I ever saw—to have so little water in it,” put in Peggy above the noise.

As the car turned into the next street Florence replied, “Sometimes when it rains hard in the mountains this river’s full of water.” She paused and added, “This is the street Mother and I’ve come down frequently to bring clothing for the poor families.”

Just then some ragged little children near by began to wave their hands and call out, “La Señorita! La Señorita!”

Florence smiled and waved back. “Those are some of the children we’ve given clothes. They look as if they need some more.”

“I wish we had some pennies to give to these children, too,” said Jo Ann. “Let’s come back here sometime and bring them something.”

In a few more minutes the adobe huts were left behind, and they began passing the plain stone houses of the middle class. With long-drawn sighs the girls settled back against the cushions, each thinking of the distressing poverty she had seen.

Suddenly down the street directly in front of them Jo Ann spied a tall, ungainly object against the high stone