José’s earliest impressions, of course, were those of home, to him a wonderful place, and his parents most remarkable people, omniscient beyond a doubt! Surely there was nothing in the world they did not know or could not do! His mother in particular was the busiest person. As the first rays of the sun dimmed the morning star, she arose and put wood on the fire which had been smoldering all night under the pot of beans and under the comal or griddle, and by the time the rest of the family were well awake the little, round, flat tortillas were toasting. These little toasted cakes of thin, unleavened corn dough were the staple food, not only of the Tepecano, but of millions of Mexicans of the peon class. Torn in half and used as a scoop to carry a mess of brown beans and chili sauce to the mouth—ah! Who could ask for anything more savory? Surely not little José. But what a drudgery it meant to his mother! Not that she considered it drudgery—she knew of nothing else, and it was the lot of every woman.