his art from no one knows what master, is getting ready
his castles, balloons, and fiery wheels; all the bells of the pueblo
are ringing gaily. There are sounds of music in the distance, and the
gamins run to meet the bands and give them escort. In comes the fanfare
with spirited marches, followed by the ragged and half-naked urchins,
who, the moment a number is ended, know it by heart, hum it, whistle
it with wonderful accuracy, and are ready to pass judgment on it.

Meanwhile the people of the mountains, the kasama, in gala dress,
bring down to the rich of the pueblo wild game and fruits, and the
rarest plants of the woods, the biga, with its great leaves, and
the tikas-tikas, whose flaming flowers will ornament the doorways of
the houses. And from all sides, in all sorts of vehicles, arrive the
guests, known and unknown, many bringing with them their best cocks
and sacks of gold to risk in the gallera, or on the green cloth.

"The alferez has fifty pesos a night," a little plump man is murmuring
in the ears of his guests. "Captain Tiago will hold the bank; Captain
Joaquin brings eighteen thousand. There will be liam-po; the Chinese
Carlo puts up the game, with a capital of ten thousand. Sporting men
are coming from Lipa and Batanzos and Santa Cruz. There will be big
play! big play!--but will you take chocolate?--Captain Tiago won't
fleece us this year as he did last; and how is your family?"

"Very well, very well, thank you! And Father Damaso?"

"The father will preach in the morning and be with us at the games
in the evening."

"He's out of danger now?"

"Without question! Ah, it's the Chinese who will let their hands
go!" And in dumb show the little man counted money with his hands.

But the greatest animation of all was at the outskirts of the crowd,
around a sort of platform a few paces from the home of Ibarra. Pulleys
creaked, cries went up, one heard the metallic ring of stone-cutting,
of nail-driving; a band of workmen were opening a long, deep trench;
others were placing in line great stones from the quarries of the
pueblo, emptying carts, dumping sand, placing capstans.

"This way! That's it! Quick about it!" a little old man of
intelligent and animated face was crying. It was the foreman, Senor
Juan, architect, mason, carpenter, metalworker, stonecutter, and on
occasions sculptor. To each stranger he repeated what he had already
said a thousand times.

"Do you know what we are going to build? A