e tried nothing since?"

"I was rash enough to try two more experiments, one after our change
of curates; but both proved offensive to the same authority. Since
then I have done my best to convert the poor babies into parrots."

"Well, I have cheerful news for you," said Ibarra. "I am soon to
present to the Government a project that will help you out of your
difficulties, if it is approved."

The school-teacher shook his head.

"You will see, Senor Ibarra, that your projects--I've heard something
of them--will no more be realized than were mine!"

XVIII.

THE STORY OF A MOTHER.

Sisa was running toward her poor little home. She had experienced
one of those convulsions of being which we know at the hour of a
great misfortune, when we see no possible refuge and all our hopes
take flight. If then a ray of light illumine some little corner,
we fly toward it without stopping to question.

Sisa ran swiftly, pursued by many fears and dark presentiments. Had
they already taken her Basilio? Where had her Crispin hidden?

As she neared her home, she saw two soldiers coming out of the little
garden. She lifted her eyes to heaven; heaven was smiling in its
ineffable light; little white clouds swam in the transparent blue.

The soldiers had left her house; they were coming away without her
children. Sisa breathed once more; her senses came back.

She looked again, this time with grateful eyes, at the sky, furrowed
now by a band of garzas, those clouds of airy gray peculiar to
the Philippines; confidence sprang again in her heart; she walked
on. Once past those dreadful men, she would have run, but prudence
checked her. She had not gone far, when she heard herself called
imperiously. She turned, pale and trembling in spite of herself. One
of the guards beckoned her.

Mechanically she obeyed: she felt her tongue grow paralyzed, her
throat parch.

"Speak the truth, or we'll tie you to this tree and shoot you,"
said one of the guards.

Sisa could do nothing but look at the tree.

"You are the mother of the thieves?"

"The mother of the thieves?" repeated Sisa, without comprehending.

"Where is the money your sons brought home last night?"

"Ah! the money----"

"Give us the money, and we'll let you alone."

"Senores," said the unhappy woman, gathering her senses again,
"my boys do not steal, even when they're hungry; we are used to
suffering. I have not seen my Crispin for a week, and Basilio did
not