before an enclosed booth, piled high with baskets, sombreros, hand-made chairs, and various other articles. Coming nearer she saw what had attracted Jo Ann’s attention—several long coils of rope hanging near the back of the booth.

“Jo Ann Cutrer, what do you mean by running off like that!” she scolded.

With only a nod at Peggy, Jo Ann stood gazing at the rope, her forehead wrinkled in deep thought.

“Oh dear!” she murmured. “I can’t think of the Spanish word for rope. What can it be?”

“Why don’t you add an a to rope as you did before,” suggested Peggy, smiling.

“Rope-a, rope-a,” repeated Jo Ann several times; then her face brightened. “I believe that is the word. I’m sure I’ve heard that word before.”

Turning to the man in charge of the booth, she repeated in Spanish, “Cuanto la ropa?”

The man looked amazed at first, then stared blankly at her.

“I want la ropa,” she repeated impatiently.

With a shrug of his shoulders, the man shook his head and pointed to another booth farther down the aisle. The next moment his face brightened, and, reaching over, he handed her a basket.

“No—no!” exclaimed Jo Ann, frowning more deeply than ever.

“Maybe he doesn’t understand what you’re saying, Jo,” Peggy suggested, smiling. “Maybe that’s not the right word for rope.”

“Something’s wrong, that’s certain,” Jo Ann replied.

Turning to the man again, she pointed to the back of the booth behind a stack of sombreros. “See, I want that rope back there.” A broad smile spread over his bronze face as he picked up several of the hats and handed them to her.

Jo Ann shook her head vehemently. “No—no.”

Since the only thing left near the hats was the coil of rope hanging on a peg behind them, he handed her the rope.

“Sí, sí,” she replied, and reached over to take the rope from him. “How much is it?” she asked in Spanish.

As soon as he replied she answered promptly, “Bien—I’ll take it,” and handed it back to him to 

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