ve-digger had finished his task, and two mounds of
fresh, reddish earth rose beside the grave. Drawing from his pocket
some buyo, he regarded dully what was going on around him, sat down,
and began to chew.

At that moment a carriage, which had apparently made a long journey,
stopped at the entrance to the cemetery. Ibarra got out, followed by
an old servant, and silently made his way along the path.

"It is there, behind the great cross, senor," said the servant,
as they approached the spot where the grave-digger was sitting.

Arrived at the cross, the old servant looked on all sides, and became
greatly confused. "It was there," he muttered; "no, there, but the
ground has been broken."

Ibarra looked at him in anguish.

The servant appealed to the grave-digger.

"Where is the grave that was marked with a cross like this?" he
demanded; and stooping, he traced a Byzantine cross on the ground.

"Were there flowers growing on it?"

"Yes, jasmine and pansies."

The grave-digger scratched his ear and said with a yawn:

"Well, the cross I burned."

"Burned! and why?"

"Because the curate ordered it."

Ibarra drew his hand across his forehead.

"But at least you can show us the grave."

"The body's no longer there," said the grave-digger calmly.

"What are you saying!"

"Yes," the man went on, with a smile, "I put a woman in its place,
eight days ago."

"Are you mad?" cried the servant; "it isn't a year since he was
buried."

"Father Damaso ordered it; he told me to take the body to the Chinese
cemetery; I----"

He got no farther, and started back in terror at sight of Crisostomo's
face. Crisostomo seized his arm. "And you did it?" he demanded,
in a terrible voice.

"Don't be angry, senor," replied the grave-digger, pale and
trembling. "I didn't bury him with the Chinese. Better be drowned
than that, I thought to myself, and I threw him into the water."

Ibarra stared at him like a madman. "You're only a poor fool!" he
said at length, and pushing him away, he rushed headlong for the
gate, stumbling over graves and bones, and painfully followed by the
old servant.

"That's what the dead bring us," grumbled the gravedigger. "The curate
orders me to dig the man up, and this fellow breaks my arm for doing
it. That's the way with the Spaniards. I shall lose my place!"

XIII.

THE LITTLE SACRISTANS.

The little old man of the cemetery wandered absent-minded along
the streets.

He was