ourse we could
see the Santo Nino. People often came all the way from Manila just
for that. And then we were taken into the clean, barely furnished
drawing-room of the _convento_, where an anticipatory refreshment
was served, the while we were regaled with a history of Cebu's
famous image. This refection consisted of a wee glass of delicious
Muscatelle apiece and some crisp, very rich cakes made by the sisters
of a neighbouring convent, and as we ate and drank, a fat, jolly old
padre, who thought he could speak English, tried to tell us about the
Santo Nino in that language. As his enthusiasm and interest increased,
he often forgot to use his newly acquired tongue and lapsed into
Spanish, which was far more comprehensible to us than was his sublime
disregard of syntax when attempting Anglo-Saxon, notwithstanding the
fact that he tried to better his linguistic efforts by shouting out
each English sentence like a phonograph gone mad. It was from him we
first heard the legend of the Santo Nino--how it was an idol in the
old days, worshipped by savage Visayans, and how, after the advent
of the Spaniards with Magellan, there was a great fire in the town,
everything in one populous section being burned, save a little nipa
shack in which stood the wooden idol. On every side buildings crashed
down, sending showers of sparks over the inflammable thatched roof
of the nipa house. A monsoon was blowing at the time, which fanned
the flames into so fierce a blaze that finally all attempts were
abandoned to save property in that section of the town, and people
fled to the woods with the few belongings they could gather together,
there to watch the cruel flames spreading in every direction.

It is probable that Cebu would have gone up in smoke had it not been
that the monsoon brought on its wings a fierce tropical rain that beat
down upon the burning city and quenched the fire. But in that section
where it had raged hottest, nothing was left standing save the little
nipa shack already mentioned. Around it were the ruins of pretentious
Spanish houses, across its threshold lay a smouldering, blackened piece
of wood, which alone should have converted it into cinders. But there
it stood unharmed, not even scorched by the fierce heat to which it
had been subjected, and within its walls the Visayan idol smiled down
on the curious crowd, with a superhuman intelligence. Recognizing
at once its miraculous powers, the Spanish priests obtained it