shoulders and gesture of the hands. "I
thought, of course, that it was the money she wanted when she finally
consented to dance, but I'm not so sure of it now."

"What reason have you for supposing otherwise?" asked Pedro.

"Every reason. What do you think she did with the heap of gold and
silver that was showered upon her by the audience?"

"What?" excitedly demanded old Miguel, who by this time had fortified
himself with a fresh glass of _aguardiente_.

"Why, after it had been gathered up and handed to her, she, without so
much as looking at it, tossed it lightly into the center of the stage
and bade the musicians and stage-hands remember her when they drank to
their sweethearts to-night."

Captain Forest's interest began to be aroused.

"_Caramba_--'tis strange!" muttered old Miguel, eyeing his glass
meditatively; his head nodding slightly from the effects of too much
liquor. "But what will Padre Antonio say when he hears of it? How
fortunate he wasn't here to witness a sight that must have caused him
the deepest humiliation. Poor man," he continued, assuming a sympathetic
tone, "it is already the scandal of the town."

"Bah! what of that?" returned Carlos.

It was evident to all that the delights of the _Fiesta_ were beginning
to tell on the old man. Already it had been noted on previous occasions
that an overindulgence in _aguardiente_ usually invoked a religious
frame of mind in him, but which in Miguel's case resembled rather the
groping of a lost soul than the prophetic vision of the seer.

"What of that?" echoed Miguel, an ominous light flashing from his eyes.
"Those golden _pesos_ so lightly earned will just about pay for a
thousand masses in order to avert excommunication and enable the Church
to snatch the soul of the Chiquita from the fires of purgatory as a
punishment for conduct unbecoming the ward of a priest."

"Bah! you talk like an infant, Miguel! What a sad, weary world this
would be if there were only priests and churches in it and men did
nothing all day long but say aves and burn candles on altars," and
Carlos lightly blew a ring of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Ah, yes, perhaps--_quien sabe, amigo mio_?" answered the old man dryly.
"But the Church is the Church."

"Miguel, you are growing old," said Pedro, slapping him lightly on the
back. "Have another glass!"

"I'm not old. I'm no older than the rest of you, and neither will I have
another glass," retorted Miguel hotly, greatly irr