If it were possible to imagine hilarity in a countenance so long drawn out and preternaturally grave, it may be said that these sagacious animals enjoyed showing their heels too, and dusting everything encountered on the road. Or, it may have been that they were envious of the burros with their bulging sides, dodging out of their way as they flew by. A word and a sudden checking of the reins fastened to the nose, brought the team to a standstill in front of a basketry. Here the party alighted and Kerœcia caressed her roadsters, giving each one a cake of salt, and scratching its nose affectionately. They manifested pleasure in their own special fashion, and suffered themselves to be coaxed away by a bundle of dry moss. Inside the building were girls assorting thick packages of willow wands, and long stemmed, wiry grasses as well as splits of palms. Kerœcia’s eyes lit up as she recognized some of her favorite weaves. Bending over a young girl she took the work from her hands and began explaining an intricate decoration. “Fifteen stitches to the digit is not fine enough for this acorn pattern, twenty-eight will serve thee better. Where the point of the acorn cuts off here, a bottom must be put in to give it standing power.” When the coil was properly started in stitch and pattern, she picked up a handful of grass soaking in a shallow basket basin near by, and dexterously fashioned a tiny acorn, perfect in color and shape. “Use this for a handle on the acorn cup suitable to cover this basket,” she said. To the delighted exclamations of thanks, she replied: “May a good husband and sweet children grace thy home and bless thee with loving kindness.” The shamaness of the basket guild withdrew from a coil she had been weaving a priceless heirloom, inherited from her great-great-grandmother. This proved to be a long needle made from the wing-bone of a hawk and was believed to be an amulet of good luck. “Will the high-priestess honor and make me happy by accepting this little token? She who uses it will have the blessing of the whole guild.” Kerœcia took the polished implement, and motioned one of her tamanes to approach. From his hands she received a parcel so delicate and precious that it was protected by a basket-covering of unique design. When she disclosed the contents there was an involuntary exclamation of “A—h—!” from all the curious weavers cognizant of it. “Will the shamaness make me happy by accepting this example of my handicraft? I have worked on it three years,” she said. The gift was a fancy basket covered entirely with red-headed woodpeckers’ scalps, among which were placed at intervals many hanging loops of tiny iridescent shells. Around the rim was an upright row of black quails’ top-knots, nodding gayly.