"Yes, if he has one there. They are nearly always sold before they are finished. The people at the Springs buy them, and now the stores are selling them. They wear very well."
Feliciano had two or three mats on hand. Mrs. Page bought them all.
"Come and see this primitive cooking-stove," said Mr. Page, who had been passing from one tent to another.
A little removed from the rest a brush-shed, open on every side, was being used as a kitchen. A large hole in the roof gave egress to the smoke. A circular wall of round, flat stones about a foot in height had been erected; within this wall the fire had been made. A huge black pot containing an appetizing stew was steaming on the embers. In front of it, in an upright pan, a rabbit was roasting. A woman was peeling potatoes, another cutting green tomatoes and mixing them with mango peppers.
"All that goes into the pot," said Francisco. "Don't you like the smell?"
"Will everybody eat out of that pot?" inquired Aunt Mary, to whom this primitive method did not strongly appeal.
"No one will eat out of it but the dogs—what is left," laughed Francisco. "There are dishes and plates and knives and forks in every house. But everybody will have some of it, for each has helped to provide the food. To-day one does the cooking, or two, or three, and to-morrow others."
After smiling adieux from the Indians the party resumed its journey. On the opposite side of the hill they came to another camp, much more attractive in appearance than that of the Volcans.
"These are some of the Santa Isabel Indians," said Mauricio. "They live in the valleys hereabout, but farther back among the mountains. There was once a church for them, and a very good one, of adobe—now nothing but the walls remain. But they are going to build another. The priest comes once a year."
"Do they have Mass then?" asked Mrs. Page.