wn from the platform as he would
have taken a child.

"Come," says Mrs. Steele, "we will get our old places."

An Indian woman comes to the window after we are seated and offers a
paraquito for sale. The Baron buys it and shows me how to hold it on
my fan and let it take a piece of sappadilla from my teeth. This
performance somewhat restores my spirits, and the incident of catching
the wrong train at the risk of life and limb fades before the crowding
interests of an eventful day. It seems hotter and closer in the
cramped little car. Mrs. Steele grows faint.

"Come in dthe air." The Baron and I support her to the door. She
recovers a little and the Peruvian returns for his valise. He brings
out a silver travelling flask and sprinkles a white silk handkerchief
with delicious _eau de Cologne_ and gives it to Mrs. Steele. I can see
it refreshes her, and I throw the Peruvian a grateful glance for his
thoughtfulness. From the platform we have a far finer view of the
country. The rugged wilderness of the Cordilleras hems us in on every
side.

"Dthose air yust the zame mountains I look on from my home in Peru; it
ees von chain from Tierra del Fuego to Mexico," and a look of welcome
comes into the handsome face. "It ees four years since I zee dthose
Cordilleras. I am glad I am near dthem vonce more. _Ah!_" he exclaims,
as we break through the close circle of the mountains, and, coming out
on a wide plateau, a shining sheet of water bursts on our delighted
vision. "Lake Amatitlan!"

The world up here is wild and silent; one feels a breathless sense of
discovery and is vaguely glad there is no trace of man. No canoe rises
the waves save the grey feather-boat of the wild duck, and the
majestic circling hawk is the only fisherman.

"It was like this when Cortes saw it!" I say.

"It was like this when God made it!" says Mrs. Steele, under her
breath.

The train stops by the lake and we gather wild Lantana and many a new
flower during the few minutes' stay. I rush into a thicket after a red
lily, and come out a mass of thorns and Spanish needles. When the
train starts Mrs. Steele is tired, and goes inside to rest, but the
Baron and I still stay on the platform. He sits on the top step and
laboriously picks the needles off my dress.

"You zee dthat smoke, Blanca? Dthat ees a volcano."

"Oh, how delightful! but there's no fire!"

"No, not at present!"

"It's very disappointing," I say, "and the geography pictures are al