“Xochimilco or place of flowers. How lovely,” Nan spoke softly in the presence of the beauty before her.

Adair MacKenzie in his desire to introduce the girls to something that would make them forget the bullfight had brought them to one of the prettiest places in all Mexico. Now, he was looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Oh, daddy,” Alice too was thrilled at the spectacle before them. “Many, many times I’ve heard of the floating gardens of Mexico and I’ve always wanted to see them.”

“Well, there they are,” Adair said as off-handedly as possible under the circumstances. “Now you see them.”

They laughed at his matter-of-factness.

“If you will allow me,” Walker Jamieson who had deserted the party immediately after the car had been parked, now brought a canoe he had rented and paddled up one of the many canals before them to a stop at their feet. He stood up and held out his arm to Alice.

“Fair lady, you come first.” He said as he helped her in and assisted her to a seat opposite him. “And now, Nan.” So one after the other he helped the members of the party to places in the large canoe.

“H-h-hm,” Adair MacKenzie cleared his throat as he seated his bulk. “Now, I’d say this is more in keeping with what young ladies should like. How about it?” He addressed his question to Grace who was beaming beside him.

She nodded in agreement.

Everyone was completely happy as Walker pushed the canoe off. So the rest of the afternoon was whiled away in paddling lazily through the flower-bordered canals.

“Why are they called floating gardens?” Nan addressed her question to Walker who seemed a fountainhead of information about all sorts of things.

“Simply because they float,” Walker answered as he disentangled his paddle from some lily stems along the side.

“But you can’t actually see them move,” Nan said as she peered earnestly at one of the many islands.

“No, you can’t, now,” Walker agreed. “But there was a time, Miss Curiosity, ages ago when these beautiful gardens actually did float from place to place, a time when you didn’t know from one day to the next just where you’d wake up and find a certain particularly beautiful one.”

“Why?” The subject was an intriguing one and Nan wanted to know all about it.

“Oh, they say,” Walker continued quietly, “that the earth of the gardens lies on interlacing twigs. Naturally before the water filled in as it is now, these twigs moved with the current and carried their burden of earth and flowers along with them.

“This was always a beautiful spot,” he continued, “even back before the Aztecs found the eagle on the cactus and conquered the region and settled their capitol. When they did all this and found themselves with leisure on their hands, the nobles made of this place a playground, and the Aztec papa and mama came here with the Aztec child for Sunday picnics.

“Today, if I hadn’t been as energetic as I am,” he paused and grinned at the snort that this brought forth from Alice’s father, “a descendant of these same Aztecs, who still, by the way, speaks the tongue of his forefathers, would have been plying this gondola. The Aztecs still live around here and still preserve many of the ancient customs of their people.”

He rested the paddle on the side of the canoe as he finished and, as water dripped from it making little rings in the canal, he sat idly dreaming. The canoe drifted along and came to rest under an over-hanging willow. No one spoke. It was a magic moment, for the sun was setting and sending low rays over the water. Tropical birds were singing full-throated songs and in the distance they could hear, faintly, the sound of music.

Finally, Alice spoke. “It can’t be very different,” she said, “than it was centuries ago. For the same exotic flowers ran wild here then that do now, and the same birds sang. How queer that makes me feel. Century after century has unrolled and yet this is the same.”

“I know.” Walker looked across at her. “Makes you feel, doesn’t it, that time isn’t so important after all, that a philosophy in which ‘maÑana’ is the all-important word is perhaps not such a bad one after all.”

“Here, here,” Adair MacKenzie broke the spell. “Don’t go preaching that maÑana business to these girls. They are lazy enough as it is. Look at them now, will you?”

In truth, the girls did all look comfortable and lazy, entirely at peace with themselves and the world and not at all like the busy energetic beings that they were at school.

“The world doesn’t seem real, does it?” Nan looked at Bess as she made this observation.

“No,” Bess answered. “Not real at all. This, I believe, is the most romantic spot we have ever been in.”

“Yes,” Nan agreed idly, and for some reason or other her thoughts drifted back towards home and school and then to Walter, Grace’s brother.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Grace broke in on her train of thought as though she knew what had been going on in Nan’s mind. “Mother said in that letter I got at Wells Fargo’s this morning that she had consented to let Walter go on a motor trip through the West and Mexico with his Spanish teacher.”

“Yes.” Nan’s voice betrayed her interest, and she was conscious as she spoke that all the girls were suddenly more alert. The piece of news was one they were interested in too.

“It seems,” Grace went on, pleased that she had the attention of everyone, “that every year he takes a group down through this district so that they can hear Spanish spoken by the people whose tongue it is. Walter likes Spanish and so he’s going along with them.”

“When will he be here,” Bess asked the question which she knew Nan wanted to ask but wouldn’t in face of the interest that everyone was showing in the matter.

“Oh, mother wasn’t sure,” Grace answered. “It all depends on so many things. They’ll be gone the whole summer and will linger at the places the boys seem to like the best. It seems that the teacher leaves the itinerary almost entirely up to them.”

“Sounds like fun.” Nan tried to be casual and general as she spoke, but she didn’t altogether succeed.

“What’s all this about?” Adair MacKenzie had caught the drift of the conversation. “Who is this Walter anyway?”

“He is Grace’s brother,” Nan answered.

“Yes?” Adair was not to be put off so easily.

“And he went with us to Rose Ranch a few summers ago and met us in London with Grace’s mother and dad last year.” Nan thought it would be better for her to answer the questions.

“Hm-m-m. Think I understand.” Adair appeared to be devoting much thought to this “understanding” business for he said nothing further for a while. Finally, as though he suddenly remembered what they had been talking about, he returned to the subject.

“Why can’t the young hoodlums—I have no doubt but what they are young hoodlums, all boys are—stop at the hacienda with us for a few days?” he asked.

Grace’s face beamed at this. “Why, how nice!” she exclaimed, “but just think, there will be five of them at least.”

“What of it?” Adair dismissed this as an objection. “Got lots of room. We’ll make a party of it when they come and serve them a real Mexican meal.” Adair seemed to have forgotten entirely that he personally despised Mexican cooking. “Hot tamales, tortillas, everything.” He waved his hand grandly as though the whole world would be at the disposal of the boys for the asking.

“Like boys anyway,” Adair went on. “Girls are a nuisance. Always fainting. Oh, it doesn’t matter,” he glossed over this last part of conversation as he saw the blood mounting to Grace’s cheeks. “Just like to have boys around.” He ended rather weakly. “Now, let’s see. It’s getting pretty dark, better move on.” He motioned to Walker who obediently took the paddle in hand and began the leisurely journey back.