Doctor Pearson is the genius who controls it all, and his name is breathed with awe at Necaxa.[59] As we stood looking up at the falling waters, bright birds and heavy scents about us, "the white man is lord and king of it all," I kept saying to myself. To-day has been still fuller. In the afternoon we visited the great dam that is just being finished to provide an immense storage reservoir against the dry season. Water is as precious as gold in Mexico, and in many places scarcer. Some one remarked that there seemed to be little or no _mañana_ about it, and Mr. C. told the story of one of his first experiences in Mexico, when he was still under the spell of the time-table. He was waiting at a station where the only passenger-train was scheduled to pass every day at 9 A.M. He arrived at the station a few minutes before nine, to see the train just disappearing. On complaining to the _jefe de estación_ about this running ahead of time, he received the bland response that it was _yesterday's_ train that had just passed out and there was every reason to suppose that the train of to-day would be delayed, perhaps as long! He cooled his heels till the next dawn. But Necaxa wasn't built at a cost of a hundred million pesos on that principle, he added. We had started out after breakfast to explore the "French trail"--a son of Gaul was once owner of Necaxa--plunging perpendicularly over the side of the little plateau, to find ourselves on the most romantic of footpaths, formerly the only road through the gorgeous wilderness. It got hotter and hotter as we descended, and though Rieloff kept insisting that, technically, we were not yet in Tierra Caliente, all its abundancies seemed to surround us: giant ferns, ebony and rosewood trees, lovely orchids hanging from high branches, convolvuli of all colors; and under our feet mosses, by the yard, of rare and lovely fabric, each patch holding a world of tiny forms and tints. I started to follow one bit of morning-glory vine, but was obliged to give it up. I could nor bear to break it, and it would have led me, like an endless thread, through a labyrinth of sarsaparilla, myrtle, and fern. The brightest of birds and butterflies were flying about--the sort of things one finds under glass in northern museums--and a huge, scarlet flower of the hibiscus type was everywhere splashed over the green. Here and there an Indian appeared from _quién sabe_ where. It was all his and yet not his. We came up in the cool dimness of the cog-railway, and after cold douches and luncheon, enlivened with entomological discussions (that lovely wilderness is alive with invisible biting specimens), we went with Mr. Cooper to the reservoir. We have spent the evening mostly meeting the officials of the company and playing bridge. (!) Though it was the least _noblesse oblige_ allowed, it seemed a lot after the long, full day--_on paie ses plaisirs_....