I had given no little thought to what sort of a machine I would install for a demonstration of wind power. A pump was the simplest, of course, but on the other hand a mill of some sort--a pair of roller crushers for corn and cane or a pair of stones for grinding maize, would be more impressive and useful. But there were serious obstacles in the way of constructing these. They would require gear-wheels and gears were out of the question. I finally decided that the pump was the only feasible apparatus. To be sure a pump was not greatly needed. The stream ran past the town, and ollas or pots on the women’s backs had served every purpose for transporting water for centuries. Still a town pump was not a bad scheme, and as the breeze blew continually across the valley, it would seldom fail. So the wind-mill was set up near the stream, the pump--a crude affair that would have brought roars of laughter from any real mechanic--was rigged up, and as the last connection was made and the big wheel began to revolve, the entire population fell upon their faces and made obeisance to what to them seemed actuated by the gods. And when, a few moments later, a stream of water began to gush from the pump’s spout, pandemonium broke loose. Pushing, shoving, struggling, laughing, splashed with water, the women milled and crowded to fill ollas and jars at the miraculous stream brought by the power of the God of Air from the river to their doors. Like children they filled their vessels, emptied them and refilled them for the mere delight of watching the water come gurgling into the earthenware jars. But in a few hours the novelty wore off, the pump became as much a part of their everyday life as anything else, and though the windmill was always spoken of as Mulac, or the God of Wind, and although offerings of flowers and fruits were placed at its base each day, yet apparently the people never actually regarded it as a god or deity. * * * * *