We especially enjoyed their home-made macaroni.
In the family of the good priest lived a little Indian orphan girl, about five years old, as nice and sweet a child as one might wish to see.

He was teaching her how to read and write, and she had learned her letters in two months.
The padre, good-natured to officiousness, helped me to get Indians to be photographed, fie also would insist upon arranging them before the camera.

His efforts, however, were directed more toward achieving artistic triumph than scientific truth, and he wanted, for instance, to decorate the Indians with peacock feathers.

He yielded, however, to my suggestion that turkey feathers would be more appropriate, and straightway ordered one of his turkeys to be caught and deprived of some of its tail feathers.

The only way in which I could show my appreciation of the disinterested kindness of the family was by photographing them, too.
It was a new sensation to them, and the ladies asked to have it done next day, as they wanted to arrange their hair and prepare themselves properly.
After them it was the turn of the presidente of the village "to look pleasant," but at this juncture the camera met with an accident.