ointment in the cabinet,"
added Padre Sibyla.

"Pshaw! Yes--no--to be a cabinet official isn't exactly my beau-ideal:
any upstart may become one. A villa in the North in which to spend the
summer, a mansion in Madrid, and some property in Andalusia for the
winter--there we shall live remembering our beloved Philippines. Of
me Voltaire would not say, 'We have lived among these people only to
enrich ourselves and to calumniate them.'"

The alcalde quoted this in French, so the employees, thinking that
his Honor had cracked a joke, began to laugh in appreciation of
it. Some of the friars did likewise, since they did not know that
the Voltaire mentioned was the same Voltaire whom they had so often
cursed and consigned to hell. But Padre Sibyla was aware of it and
became serious from the belief that the alcalde had said something
heretical or impious.

In the other kiosk the children were eating under the direction of
their teacher. For Filipino children they were rather noisy, since
at the table and in the presence of other persons their sins are
generally more of omission than of commission. Perhaps one who was
using the tableware improperly would be corrected by his neighbor
and from this there would arise a noisy discussion in which each
would have his partisans. Some would say the spoon, others the knife
or the fork, and as no one was considered an authority there would
arise the contention that God is Christ or, more clearly, a dispute
of theologians. Their fathers and mothers winked, made signs, nudged
one another, and showed their happiness by their smiles.

"Ya!" exclaimed a countrywoman to an old man who was mashing buyo in
his _kalikut_, "in spite of the fact that my husband is opposed to it,
my Andoy shall be a priest. It's true that we're poor, but we'll work,
and if necessary we'll beg alms. There are not lacking those who will
give money so that the poor may take holy orders. Does not Brother
Mateo, a man who does not lie, say that Pope Sextus was a herder of
carabaos in Batangas? Well then, look at my Andoy, see if he hasn't
already the face of a St. Vincent!" The good mother watered at the
mouth to see her son take hold of a fork with both hands.

"God help us!" added the old man, rolling his quid of buyo. "If
Andoy gets to be Pope we'll go to Rome he, he! I can still walk well,
and if I die--he, he!"

"Don't worry, granddad! Andoy won't forget that you taught him how
to weave baskets."

"You're ri