Monday morning was quite cold and misty; but we photographed the church, with the kind co-operation of the resident curate, Padre Felipe Sora, who lowered curtains, opened doors, and did all he could to help us. When we took the exterior we attracted a great deal of attention; and fortunately the chief alcalde, who had assured us that we could get no mozos that day, as it was a _fiesta_, in honor of the President, noticed our performances, and, being a personable man, was seized with a strong desire to have his _ritrato_. He offered to get us our mozo if I would only photograph him; so I bade him to the hotel, explaining to him that the portraits could not be seen until I returned to the North, and that I should charge him a dollar for each picture. Honest soul! he agreed to all this; and on his way he joined to himself three of his colleagues. I sent them the result months after, and in due time the silver dollars were scrupulously returned. In the mean time our alcalde Florencio Cortez provided our mozo, and we started to walk back soon after two o’clock. We both hoped to see this pleasant city again. [Illustration: Cuatro Reales of Honduras.] CHAPTER V. FROM QUEZALTENANGO TO THE PACIFIC. Our little mozo was only fifteen years old, and his load was so heavy that we had to wait for him at every turn in the road; until, after helping the poor little fellow for miles, Frank took the load himself. As we reached the high ridge where there is the last view of Quezaltenango, we noticed that all the mozos—of whom there were many on the road—looked back at the city and removed their hats, as if in salutation. We did not reach the hotel at Totonicapan until nearly eight o’clock; but we had no trouble in the clear night,—except in trying to get a drink at a way-side fountain, into which we nearly tumbled headlong. [Illustration: J. Rufino Barrios.]