“Yes, they are lovely. I’ve heard that they’re all hand made by the natives—that the designs are handed down in the families for generations. But, Peg, we haven’t time to stop here now.”
“Just look at that blanket hanging over there! It looks like the rainbow, the way the colors are shaded into each other. Don’t you love it?”
On receiving no answer from Jo Ann, Peggy turned around just in time to see her disappear in the crowd. Quickly she began pushing her way to the spot where she had last seen her.
“I don’t relish the idea of getting lost in this crowd of people who can’t understand a single word I say,” she told herself, as she darted in and out among the slow, deliberate Mexicans.
After looking about in all directions, to her great relief she spied Jo Ann standing before an enclosed booth, piled high with baskets, sombreros, hand-made chairs, and various other articles. Coming nearer she saw what had attracted Jo Ann’s attention—several long coils of rope hanging near the back of the booth.
“Jo Ann Cutrer, what do you mean by running off like that!” she scolded.
With only a nod at Peggy, Jo Ann stood gazing at the rope, her forehead wrinkled in deep thought.
“Oh dear!” she murmured. “I can’t think of the Spanish word for rope. What can it be?”
“Why don’t you add an a to rope as you did before,” suggested Peggy, smiling.
“Rope-a, rope-a,” repeated Jo Ann several times; then her face brightened. “I believe that is the word. I’m sure I’ve heard that word before.”