For at her feet, grubbing in the dirt and not a whit cleaner, crawls a fat, chubby, ink-eyed little urchin, all but nude, and chuckling roisterously with the delight of having just constructed with success a model mud-pie after the universal infantile receipt the wide world over, who glances up at its child-mother and glibly gabbles, “Mamita! mamita !" with roguish glee.

The ground tremored under their big boots.

And temerously, his hands went over her, over the salt, compact brilliance of her body.

The spectral chain-rattling and moans gave me the chills.