Kate laughed, and went back to her room to dress, in the powerful newness of the morning. Outside her window the women were passing quietly, the red water-jar on one shoulder, going to the lake for water. They always put one arm over their head, and held the jar on the other shoulder. It had a contorted look, different from the proud way the women carried water in Sicily.
‘Niña! Niña!’ Juana was crying outside.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Kate.
It was another of the hymn-sheets, with a Hymn of Quetzalcoatl.
‘See, Niña, the new hymn from last evening.’
Kate took the leaflet and sat upon her bed to read it.
QUETZALCOATL LOOKS DOWN ON MEXICO
Jesus had gone far up the dark slope, when he looked back.
Quetzalcoatl, my brother! he called. Send me my images,
And the images of my mother, and th
