As we entered the bedroom into which the Indian proudly ushered us, I exclaimed “Toby!” The room contained two large beds, a piano between them, some fearful crayon portraits of Nambé’s older settlers, and a scarlet Navajo rug. Nothing remarkable about the room, except that the piano and the two lace-covered beds denoted we were being entertained by pueblo aristocracy. But on that morning, being one of those people who do not start the day right until they have unloaded their dreams on some victim, I had compelled Toby to listen to the dream which had held me prisoner the previous night. In it, we had started off into the desert with the “old lady,” and traveled until we found ourselves in a sea of sand. Then, for some reason not clear when I woke, we abandoned the car, and set out afoot over wastes of sand, in which we sank to our ankles. All day we walked, and at night exhausted, found shelter in a crude building. Presently, the men in our party returned to say they had found beds for the women, but must themselves sleep on the ground. Then they led us into a room. And in this room were two beds, a piano, some crayon portraits with gimcrack ornaments on the wall, and on the floor a brilliant crimson rug. The arrangement of the furniture in the real and the dream world was identical. In my dream I also had a vivid consciousness of going to a strange and uncomfortable bed, tired and hungry. Now a psychoanalyst once told me that science does not admit the prophetic dream as orthodox. Yet our little excursion, ending so disastrously, had not been planned till after I told my dream to Toby. My own firm belief is that our guardian angels were violating the Guardian Angels’ Labor Union Laws, working overtime to send us a warning. Would we had taken it! This night, however, our dreams were broken. Indians are the most hospitable people in the world, especially the Pueblos, long trained to gracious Spanish customs. These simple hosts of ours had made us free of all they possessed. We could not properly blame them if their possessions made free with us. Their hospitality was all right; just what one would expect from the Indian,--grave and dignified. But their Committee of Reception was a shade too effusive. They came more than half-way to meet us. Perhaps in retribution for her imprudent dash into the river, its members confined most of their welcome to Toby, with whom I shared one bed. She woke me up out of a sound sleep to ask me to feel a lump over her left eye. “I would rather not,” I said, feeling rather cold toward Toby just then. “I prefer not to call attention to myself. Would you mind moving a little further away?” “I must say you’re sympathetic,” sniffed Toby. “If you had looked before you leaped, you wouldn’t be needing my sympathy.” It was our first tiff. A moment later she jumped up as if in anguish of spirit.