Say Koitza stands in the doorway of her dwelling, her wan face wearing an immobile expression.

Her little girl, elegantly arrayed in a breech-clout and turquoise necklace, clings to her mother's wrap with one hand while the other disappears in her gaping mouth.

The child is half afraid, half curious; and has an anxious, troubled look.
Shyuote, however, evinces no sign of embarrassment or humility.

Planted solidly on his feet, with legs well apart and both arms arched, he gapes and stares at everybody and everything, occasionally fixing his glance upon the resplendent sky overhead.

In vain we search for Zashue and his elder son, Okoya.
The mass of spectators--hundreds are here already and more are coming constantly--do not content themselves with devout and reverent admiration.