Directly, a little troop of girls, with purple skirts and white guipils, their long black hair dangling loosely to their waists, and balancing red water-jars on their heads, came laughing down the pathway for water. They appeared to be old friends of our crew, who hailed them gayly with “à Dios, mi alma!” “buena mañana, mi corazon!” “adieu my soul!” “good morning, my heart!” to which they replied with “como estan, mis negritos?” “how are you, my darkeys?” and other railleries, very much, to our thinking, of the Bowery order. They passed along the shore a little distance, to a clump of bushes, and the next instant we saw them plashing like mermaids in the water; while some of our crew, who were throwing a net “for a fry,” as Pedro said, tried to frighten them by shouting “lagartos, lagartos!” “alligators, alligators!” and affecting to make great efforts to escape to the shore. But the girls were not to be “sold” so easily, and only laughed the louder, and splashed water in the faces of the jesters as they ran by. Upon discovering us, instead, as the reader might suppose, of making for the shore in confusion, they paddled boldly up to the boat, their long hair trailing like a veil on the surface of the water. They looked laughingly up in our faces for a moment, exclaiming, “California,” then ducked under, and were away. It seemed to us, while they stood drying their wet locks on the beach, that no sculptor could desire fairer models for his studio; nor the painter a more effective group for “the Bath of the Naides.” We were there in an auspicious period; those days of primitive simplicity are passing away, if, indeed, they are not already past. After drying ourselves in the sun, we took our guns and went on shore. We followed the inviting path to which I have referred, for a short distance, when we reached a brisk little brook which came murmuring among the stones with a familiar New England accent, here rippling over the bright sand, and there widening into broad, transparent pools. In one of them a whole bevy of little naked children were tumbling about, who took to their heels, like young ducks, upon our approach. Here we met Ben, coming down from the rancherias with two foaming calabashes of fresh milk, one of which was drained on the spot, the other reserved for our coffee. I shot a few strange water-birds and a parrot amongst the bushes, and strayed back to the shore just in time for broiled fish, crisp and hot from the fire.