hoice, so we must decide."

"The coadjutor," murmured Juana timidly.

"Ahem! The coadjutor doesn't know how to preach," declared Sipa. "Padre
Martin is better."

"Padre Martin!" exclaimed another disdainfully. "He hasn't any
voice. Padre Damaso would be better."

"That's right!" cried Rufa. "Padre Damaso surely does know how to
preach! He looks like a comedian!"

"But we don't understand him," murmured Juana.

"Because he's very deep! And as he preaches well--"

This speech was interrupted by the arrival of Sisa, who was carrying
a basket on her head. She saluted the Sisters and went on up the
stairway.

"She's going in! Let's go in too!" they exclaimed. Sisa felt her heart
beating violently as she ascended the stairs. She did not know just
what to say to the padre to placate his wrath or what reasons she
could advance in defense of her son. That morning at the first flush
of dawn she had gone into her garden to pick the choicest vegetables,
which she placed in a basket among banana-leaves and flowers; then she
had looked along the bank of the river for the _pako_ which she knew
the curate liked for salads. Putting on her best clothes and without
awakening her son, she had set out for the town with the basket on her
head. As she went up the stairway she, tried to make as little noise
as possible and listened attentively in the hope that she might hear
a fresh, childish voice, so well known to her. But she heard nothing
nor did she meet any one as she made her way to the kitchen. There
she looked into all the corners. The servants and sacristans received
her coldly, scarcely acknowledging her greeting.

"Where can I put these vegetables?" she asked, not taking any offense
at their coldness.

"There, anywhere!" growled the cook, hardly looking at her as he
busied himself in picking the feathers from a capon.

With great care Sisa arranged the vegetables and the salad leaves on
the table, placing the flowers above them. Smiling, she then addressed
one of the servants, who seemed to be more approachable than the cook:
"May I speak with the padre?"

"He's sick," was the whispered answer.

"And Crispin? Do you know if he is in the sacristy?" The servant
looked surprised and wrinkled his eyebrows. "Crispin? Isn't he at
your house? Do you mean to deny it?"

"Basilio is at home, but Crispin stayed here," answered Sisa, "and
I want to see him."

"Yes, he stayed, but afterwards he ran away, after stealing a lot