,
rolling tobacco leaves into cigars. I pass through the section of a shop
(which has neither wall nor window in front of it) into the inner
apartment, usually occupied by Dona Choncha and her daughter, and find
the former engaged in sorting tobacco leaves on the brick-floor, and
the latter in swaying and fanning herself in a cane rocking-chair. Both
ladies salute me respectfully, and make kind enquiries after my health.
These formalities over, Dona Choncha collects together her tobacco
leaves, and, without a word of explanation, adjourns to the 'patio.' For
the first time, since my acquaintance with the tobacconist's family, I
am left alone with the pretty Perpetua!

All is not well with her weird-looking mother, as I very shortly have
reason to find. I have been scarcely ten minutes in Perpetua's agreeable
society, when she is summoned by her mother to the court-yard. Upon her
return I am offered some 'refresco,' made from the juicy fruit of the
guanabana.

'Who mixed this drink?' I enquire, after taking a sip of it.

'La mama mixed it,' replies Perpetua.

Has the old hag added some infernal drug to the refreshment? I wonder;
for there is something besides guanabana in the libation!

While I am speculating about this, lo! a strange odour is wafted into
the little chamber, and presently some smoke is seen to issue from an
aperture in the door.

Is the house on fire? Perpetua is again summoned by Dona Choncha; but
before leaving the apartment she begs me not to be alarmed, as it is
only her mother at her duties. I would willingly believe what she says,
but being sufficiently familiar with the process of drying tobacco
leaves, I am convinced that sulphur, hair, mustard, and heaven knows
what besides, are not employed in it. The fumes of these burning
substances are, however, entering the apartment, and the atmosphere is
most oppressive--so much so, that my pulse beats high, and my head
begins to swim.

Without waiting another moment, I seize my walking-stick and panama hat,
and escape from the enchanted chamber into the street. The hot air does
not dispel the giddy feeling which had come over me, and not until I
have reached my well-ventilated abode, changed my damp linen, and
sponged my fevered body with 'aguardiente' and water, do I feel myself
again. I am better still after having taken a refreshing siesta in my
swinging hammock, in which condition I dream of black pins, burnt hair,
raw mustard, and sulphur.