to confuse his ideas and the veil of sleep
descended upon his eyes.

He saw a bedroom where two dim tapers burned. The curate, with
a rattan whip in his hand, was listening gloomily to something
that the senior sacristan was telling him in a strange tongue with
horrible gestures. Crispin quailed and turned his tearful eyes in
every direction as if seeking some one or some hiding-place. The
curate turned toward him and called to him irritably, the rattan
whistled. The child ran to hide himself behind the sacristan, who
caught and held him, thus exposing him to the curate's fury. The
unfortunate boy fought, kicked, screamed, threw himself on the floor
and rolled about. He picked himself up, ran, slipped, fell, and parried
the blows with his hands, which, wounded, he hid quickly, all the time
shrieking with pain. Basilio saw him twist himself, strike the floor
with his head, he saw and heard the rattan whistle. In desperation
his little brother rose. Mad with pain he threw himself upon his
tormentor and bit him on the hand. The curate gave a cry and dropped
the rattan--the sacristan caught up a heavy cane and struck the boy a
blow on the head so that he fell stunned--the curate, seeing him down,
trampled him with his feet. But the child no longer defended himself
nor did he cry out; he rolled along the floor, a lifeless mass that
left a damp track. [60]

Sisa's voice brought him back to reality. "What's the matter? Why
are you crying?"

"I dreamed--O God!" exclaimed Basilio, sitting up, covered with
perspiration. "It was a dream! Tell me, mother, that it was only a
dream! Only a dream!"

"What did you dream?"

The boy did not answer, but sat drying his tears and wiping away the
perspiration. The hut was in total darkness.

"A dream, a dream!" repeated Basilio in subdued tones.

"Tell me what you dreamed. I can't sleep," said his mother when he
lay down again.

"Well," he said in a low voice, "I dreamed that we had gone to
glean the rice-stalks--in a field where there were many flowers--the
women had baskets full of rice-stalks the men too had baskets full of
rice-stalks--and the children too--I don't remember any more, mother,
I don't remember the rest."

Sisa had no faith in dreams, so she did not insist.

"Mother, I've thought of a plan tonight," said Basilio after a few
moments' silence.

"What is your plan?" she asked. Sisa was humble in everything, even
with her own sons, trusting their judgment more