SEVERAL weeks have passed since Manuel and Dolores went with their father to the cock-fight. It is a beautiful June evening, and the children are walking through the garden, planning a picnic at the seashore for to-morrow. Their mother comes out hastily on the veranda, and calls: "Manuel! Dolores! come in at once out of the moonlight! You know well enough that animals will never lie with the moon shining upon them; they are too wise. Oh, the evil I have seen that has come from the moon! Don't you remember poor little Sancho? He is feeble-minded because his careless nurse let him sleep in the moonlight when he was a baby. Come quickly, my darlings, to the shade of the veranda." Manuel and Dolores are a little frightened, and hurry toward the house, where they join the family in Spanish songs before going to rest. When Juana wakes them, early the next morning, they hear the rain falling in torrents outside. That will not prevent the picnic, however, for they feel sure it will not last long. It is the beginning of the spring rains, and there are showers every day, but they seldom continue more than an hour. But, oh, how the rain falls when it does come! It seems as though the heavens opened and all the water in the sky fell at once. By eight o'clock the shower is over, and Teresa, her duenna, Manuel, and Dolores are ready to start. The planter must be busy to-day, and his wife does not care to go. A low, comfortable carriage is drawn up in front, the lunch is packed away under the seats, and the coachman is told to start. Ponce tries to follow, but Manuel orders him back. They will drive at least ten miles, but the roads are fine, it is down-hill all the way, and the views are beautiful. The party soon cross a bridge over a little stream. There they see two women standing nearly knee-deep in the water. They are washing clothes and having a sociable chat at the same time. Two large, flat stones serve as scrubbing boards, and each one of the women holds a club in her hands. "What is that for?" one asks. To beat the dirt out of the clothes! The garments are spread on the stones, rubbed with some native berries (instead of soap), then pounded with the clubs. Not a delicate way to handle fine linen, to be sure; but the women seem to enjoy their work, and stop every few minutes to sit on the banks and smoke their pipes. When the party have nearly reached the seashore, the road leads through thick woods. Suddenly they hear a great scuttling among the trees. The driver stops his horses, and every one looks to see what is the matter. It is nothing more nor less than an army of land-crabs on their yearly journey from the mountains to the sea. The children have often found one of them in the garden or the woods near the house, but such a number as this, they have never seen or heard before.