Except the noble pine-trees on the top, there was nothing attractive in this last resting-place. Some grave-diggers were making merry over a small and shallow grave they had just finished, and we gladly turned from the _calvario_ to the fine views townward. At night the regimental band gave us some agreeable music (perhaps national airs, certainly unfamiliar tunes); and as the music died away in the distant streets we fell asleep, to be awakened at day-break by the drums and fifes calling the men of military age to the regular Sunday inspection. We were present at the roll-call in the Plaza; and of all absurd military sights, this was the chief! Soldiers in every costume and of all sizes stood in line, much as they arrived at the rendezvous, and solemnly answered to their names. Would that I could present a photograph of this “Falstaff’s Regiment” to my readers! After coffee Frank and I went to church. The Indian women were all kneeling on the tiled floor, and formed the bulk of the worshippers. A few men stood or knelt, with striped blankets thrown gracefully over their shoulders. Mahogany benches between the side altars gave us an opportunity to sit comfortably and study the interesting scene before us while we listened to the very fine orchestra (consisting mostly of Germans), which occupied benches in the midst of the nave. Far away in the loft, over the door, a bass drum and fife, and still farther out of doors rockets and explosions, accompanied or emphasized the music. The sacrament of the communion was being administered to worshippers,—apparently in both kinds; the wine in a sort of sop, while the wafer was carried by an attendant. All through the long service the women remained devoutly kneeling on the tiled floor. [Illustration: Indio of Coban.] After church the market was more active than usual, and we spent the time before almuerzo in lounging through it. In the afternoon we were made happy by the arrival of Santiago and our mozos, with our luggage in perfect order; and not long after the Jefe Don Luis called, and assured us that we should have all the mozos we needed to carry our luggage onward. We had decided to take the unusual road to Quiché, about which even the Jefe could give us little information, and we found no one else who knew more; so we decided to send our heavier luggage direct by Salamà to Guatemala City, while we took with us only one mozo to carry those things we needed by the way.