om him.

"_Dominus vobiscum_," he repeated, not mechanically, not insincerely,
but in a spirit of benevolence, of genuine well-wishing, which his
contact with the child a few minutes before seemed to have aroused.

The people bent their heads piously and murmured, "_Et cum spiritu
tuo._"

The open door looked out upon the central _plaza_, where stood a large
church of typical colonial design and construction, and with a single
lateral bell tower. The building was set well up on a platform of
shale, with broad shale steps, much broken and worn, leading up to it
on all sides. Jose stepped out and mingled with the crowd, first
regarding the old church curiously, and then looking vainly for the
little girl, and sighing his disappointment when he did not see her.

In the _plaza_ he was joined by Rosendo; and together they went to
the house of the Alcalde. On the way the priest gazed about him with
growing curiosity. To the north of the town stretched the lake, known
to the residents only by the name of _La Cienaga_. It was a body of
water of fair size, in a setting of exquisite tropical beauty. In
a temperate climate, and a region more densely populated, this
lake would have been priceless. Here in forgotten Guamoco it lay like
an undiscovered gem, known only to those few inert and passive folk,
who enjoyed it with an inadequate sense of its rare beauty and
immeasurable worth. Several small and densely wooded isles rose
from its unrippled bosom; and tropical birds of brilliant color
hovered over it in the morning sun. Near one of its margins Jose
distinguished countless white _garzas_, the graceful herons whose
plumes yield the coveted aigrette of northern climes. They fed
undisturbed, for this region sleeps unmolested, far from the beaten
paths of tourist or vandal huntsman. To the west and south lay the
hills of Guamoco, and the lofty _Cordilleras_, purpling in the
light mist. Over the entire scene spread a damp warmth, like the
atmosphere of a hot-house. By midday Jose knew that the heat would
be insufferable.

The Alcalde, Don Mario Arvila, conducted his visitors through his
shabby little store and into the _patio_ in the rear, exclaiming
repeatedly, "Ah, _Senor Padre_, we welcome you! All Simiti welcomes
you and kisses your hand!" In the shade of his arbor he sat down to
examine Jose's letters from Cartagena.

Don Mario was a large, florid man, huge of girth, with brown skin,
heavy jowls, puffed eyes, and bald h