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that while the Southern negro had been shrewd in appropriating the names of such great men as George Washington, Henry Clay, and Thomas Jefferson, the Mexican servants had likewise availed themselves of the names of their own great men. I hired Miguel Hidalgo twice, Porfirio Diaz once, Manuel Gonzales three times, as also numerous others. But when a little, old, weazened, solemn-looking man, with a face as sanctimonious as an Aztec deity, wanted employment, and gave his name as "Pio Quinto" (Pius v.), assuring me he would guard well my front door, he quite took my breath away.

Among the many who came immediately under my observation was a newly married pair who had walked a hundred miles, seeking employment. They had neither beds nor bedding; nor, in fact, anything save the soiled, tattered clothing they wore.

The wife's name was Juanita, and knowing that Juan meant John, I then supposed that the addition of the ita, signifying little, made it Little John; but a further knowledge of names and idioms revealed the fact that Juana was Jane, and Juanita little Jane. But I began by calling her Little John, and so continued as long as she was in my employ. The diminutive was peculiarly appropriate. I see her now —this patient, docile, helpful child-woman. Her wealth of shining black hair hung in a long plait; her eyes, soft, yet glowing with a strange, peculiar, half-human, half-animal fire.

When the rebozo fell from her shoulders, a dainty figure was revealed—the contour exquisitely rounded. Her hand and arm would have delighted an artist for a model. Her step on the stone floor was light and free—noiseless as that of a kitten. Her voice was plaintive, sweet, and low, accompanied by a manner so gentle, so humble