alking to the Sage. The younger, a child of seven years with large
black eyes and a timid countenance, was huddling close to his brother,
a boy of ten, whom he greatly resembled in features, except that the
look on the elder's face was deeper and firmer.

Both were meanly dressed in clothes full of rents and patches. They sat
upon a block of wood, each holding the end of a rope which extended
upward and was lost amid the shadows above. The wind-driven rain
reached them and snuffed the piece of candle burning dimly on the
large round stone that was used to furnish the thunder on Good Friday
by being rolled around the gallery.

"Pull on the rope, Crispin, pull!" cried the elder to his little
brother, who did as he was told, so that from above was heard a faint
peal, instantly drowned out by the reechoing thunder.

"Oh, if we were only at home now with mother," sighed the younger,
as he gazed at his brother. "There I shouldn't be afraid."

The elder did not answer; he was watching the melting wax of the
candle, apparently lost in thought.

"There no one would say that I stole," went on Crispin. "Mother
wouldn't allow it. If she knew that they whip me--"

The elder took his gaze from the flame, raised his head, and clutching
the thick rope pulled violently on it so that a sonorous peal of the
bells was heard.

"Are we always going to live this way, brother?" continued
Crispin. "I'd like to get sick at home tomorrow, I'd like to fall
into a long sickness so that mother might take care of me and not
let me come back to the convento. So I'd not be called a thief nor
would they whip me. And you too, brother, you must get sick with me."

"No," answered the older, "we should all die: mother of grief and we
of hunger."

Crispin remained silent for a moment, then asked, "How much will you
get this month?"

"Two pesos. They're fined me twice."

"Then pay what they say I've stolen, so that they won't call us
thieves. Pay it, brother!"

"Are you crazy, Crispin? Mother wouldn't have anything to eat. The
senior sacristan says that you've stolen two gold pieces, and they're
worth thirty-two pesos."

The little one counted on his fingers up to thirty-two. "Six
hands and two fingers over and each finger a peso!" he murmured
thoughtfully. "And each peso, how many cuartos?"

"A hundred and sixty."

"A hundred and sixty cuartos? A hundred and sixty times a
cuarto? Goodness! And how many are a hundred and sixty?"

"Thirty