MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



What with loitering and lingering pausing 

 to rest or enjoy or investigate it was nearly 

 noon of that beautiful day when we approached 

 the pilgrimage place. But, though the sun was 

 high, and its ray beat directly down on us, the 

 heat was not unpleasant. It seldom is in this re- 

 gion of bracing, invigorating, tonic-laden air. 



Pilgrims were coming and going, and near 

 each of the quaint, little flower-surrounded homes 

 were groups of villagers discussing the problems 

 of the day as represented by the interests of their 

 simple and primitive little world. An occasional 

 friendly greeting had hitherto been the share of 

 attention I received when passing this way alone 

 or with human companions, but very different 

 was it when my little, four-footed friend was 

 sighted. On entering the village I had picked 

 her up, fearing a bewildering effect for her if 

 she was left to thread her way after me through 

 pilgrim bands and among passing vehicles, but 

 from the safe shelter of my arm she looked out 

 undismayed and with deepest interest on the 

 strange new world before her. 



An old man leaning on the fence in front of a 

 cottage overshadowed by poplars was the first 

 of the villagers to spy my little Mexican. Slow- 



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