The sun is the only time-keeper known in the “campo.” The only definite hours are those of his rising and setting; therefore the bell sounds the assemble at sunrise, and soon two or three groups of children, enveloped in gay-coloured and picturesque ponchos, are seen leisurely sauntering to obey the summons--perhaps. In they come at the open door, doffing their “sombreros” (hats) respectfully enough, with a “Buenos dias, Señor!” (“Good day, Sir”). Now we have before us seven or eight black heads, whose owners range in age from five to fifteen years. There are really as many grades as there are individuals. Modestly, seated farthest back is Haquin, a bright Indian lad. He came to school early, and has already been a full half-hour hard at his reading-book, for he must soon leave in order to take his father’s cattle afield to pasture. Three months ago, he did not know a single letter. Now he reads and writes fairly large words. Now slates, books, and pencils are served out, and for three long hours our young Bolivians are under restraint. Lazy little Antonio raises his slate high in air with both hands and yawns audibly. A tap on the big, black head, and a quiet word, recall him to his task. During a full half-hour he has written only one word, but Government forbids the rod. The time has arrived for reading-lessons, and a whisper of appreciation is heard, for reading from the “Spanish Reader” involves a lesson in Spanish; and Indian and “Cholo” (half-caste) alike learn eagerly and quickly the tongue of the ruling class. Confronted by Bolivia’s map, a barely suppressed giggle ripples through the school. They think the names of towns, rivers, and mountains are so foreign and funny! Arithmetic is useful, however, and all work diligently at this. Little Manuel is the pride and joy of the school in this department. Three months previously he could not write a single figure. Now, he adds and subtracts and multiplies with great exactness. Now, at the words, “Slates down,” these articles reach the hard floor with a rattle. Little Nieva draws her naked feet up on to the seat, and arranges her “manta” with the air of a Turkish princess. Word goes round, “The Jesus Book”; and a respectful silence prevails. Thank God, for these wonderful stories of the Saviour. The children’s verdict is: “Beautiful.” Thanks to Him for at least this small portion of the Gospel of St John translated into Quechua. Now comes time for dismissal--with a respectful “Hasta mañana, Señor!” (“Until to-morrow, Sir!”), or the Quechua “Ce’aya cama,” they file out, soon to break forth into whistle and shout, just like the little folks in the homeland. Our head is somewhat muddled with this two-language task of teaching Quechua-speaking children from Spanish text-books. Some attend for a week or two, and then come no more. The parents desire that they should be educated, but confess to being powerless to persuade the young folks to attend.