Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1898-07-02

more often the bare skin Of rose-cofored
leg. There are scores OF Indian women
in still brighter dresses carrying bundles
On their backs in striped blankets Of rcd,
blue, yellow and green, and there ere
Indian men and boys wearing ponchos or
the same gorgeous hues. There are
wound tightly about their olive skinned
faces with fur prayer mats and prayer
books in their hands. They have stopped
at the markets on their way home from
church and some are accompanied by the
men of their families dressed in high black
hats. black clothes and black gloves. How
quiet it is! There is the hum of conversa-
ton. the chatter of gossip and now and
then the jangle of bargaining; but the
crowd moves in and out without friction,
and though there are thousands about you
hear scarcely a football. Take a look
downward. Most of the feet about you are
bare, and a large number of the Indians
wear leather sandals, which make hardly a
sound as their owners pass over the
streets.
The Bolivian Baby.
What a lot of babies there are all about
us. We have to pick our way about care
fully to keep from treading upon them.
Some lie on the cold streets and paw at the
cobbles or play with the merchandise their
mothers are selling. Some are too young
to crawl. and they are tied UP in shawls
on the backs of their mothers, who go on
with their business with apparent disre-
o ).
There is one now peeping out of that red
shawl below us. Its face is as brown as a
berry and its little black eyes blink at us
from under its yellow knit cap, the ear
laps of which stand out like horns on each
side of it's face. There is another baby a
few months older being handled on the
streets by it's Indian father. and on the
other side of the street we see two little
tots who are taking their meals at their
mothers bare breasts.
Let us stop for moment and make notes
upon some of the queer things sold all
about us. The goods are spread upon
blankets or they lie fiat on the cobble stone
street. The vegetables and grains are d-
vided up into piles. There are neither
weights nor measures, and almost all
things are sold by the eye. You pay so
much for such number of things or so
much pile. The piles are exceedingly
small. and things are bought in small
quantities. Marketing is done here from
day to day. l doubt if there is a cellar in
La PaZ, and the average cooking stove
would hardly be big enough for doll 5
play house in America Think of carrying
home a half dozen potatoes from market.
This is the size of many of the potato piles
offered for sale here. And such potatoes!
Here is brown-faced Indian girl who Is
selling some at our feet l venture you
never such little potatoes before.
They are not bigger than marbles, and she
offers us eight for cents. What queer po-
tatoes they are! Some are of a bright vio-
let color, some pink the toes of
that baby who is playing among them
and some are as black as the feet of the
Indian girl who has them for sale. Po-
tatoes do not grow large at the altitude of
La PaZ, and. though there are also large
ones in the markets, these come from the
warmer lands lower down.
Frozen Potatoes.
But the most curious of all the potatoes
sold in La Paz are those known as chunc
(choon-yo). These are sold in large quaint
ties and you may see piles of them at every